Harry Potter and the Triangle Prophecy

Harry Potter and the Triangle Prophecy

Chapter Twelve

Parapets

The English infantry led this attack with the greatest intrepidity, right up to our parapet,
but there they were opposed with a courage at least equal to their own. Rage, fury and
desperation were manifested by both sides, with the more obstinacy as the assailants and
assailed were perhaps the bravest soldiers in the world. The little parapet which separated
the two forces became the scene of the bloodiest struggle that could be conceived.... It
would be impossible to describe in words strong enough the details of the carnage that
took place during this first attack, which lasted a good hour or more. We were all fighting
hand to hand, hurling them back as they clutched at the parapet...

--Ben Levick, Eyewitness Account of the Storming of the Schellenberg, 2nd July 1704

Harry stared at the paper; for some reason, the hair on the back of his neck was standing up. It was a perfectly ordinary birth certificate, but it wasn't the one from the British government. His aunt had said in her terse letter that she didn't trust him not to lose it (some things, he thought, would never change). Instead, she'd sent him the hospital certificate, which had an old-fashioned-looking engraving of St. Dawyd's Hospital on the front, where he'd been born, in addition to his name, birth date and place of birth written in elegant script (Harry James Potter, born 31 July, 1980, Cardiff, Wales), his weight at birth (seven pounds, four ounces), length (twenty-one inches), and the name of the doctor who'd delivered him (F.X. O'Sullivan).

The back of the document bore his mother's thumb-prints, his very small newborn footprints, his parents' names, and the places and dates of their births. He stared thoughtfully at his father's information for a moment, never having really looked at it. James Godric Potter, it turned out, had been born 5 August, 1960 in Bath. Why Bath? he wondered. But his mother....his mother, according to this, had been born exactly four months before, on 5 April, 1960, in Appleby Magna, Leicestershire.

He wandered to a chair and sat with a thump, staring at the paper. Then he almost immediately sprang out of the chair again and ran to his dorm; he flung open his trunk and rifled through it until he found the shoebox where he saved his correspondence. Unfortunately, that was as far as his organization went; the letters he'd received over the previous years since he'd gotten his Hogwarts letter (which was at the bottom) were piled higgledy-piggledy in the box, parchments mixed with the Muggle stationery Hermione usually used when she wrote, and the occasional post card and birthday card. He finally found what he was looking for and raced back down to the common room.

"You already knew all about it, Hermione!" he told her breathlessly, waving the letter at her that she'd written to him earlier in the summer. He'd found it on his desk on the day he'd returned home from work and found Yvonne Martin watching his Aunt Petunia using magic to clean the kitchen. He pulled it out now and read portions of it.

"Both of her parents were also teachers. They're retired. They moved to Leicestershire in 1973, after their daughter Valerie died from leukemia. Evidently, when they were in London at St. Michael's hospital, they met a family from Appleby Magna--the mother also had cancer, so they were in the same unit rather a lot--and they wanted to move to London so she'd be closer to St. Michael's. The Doughertys wanted to move away from London, to try to put the loss of their daughter behind them, so they moved into the Leicestershire house and paid the other family rent...."

He raised his face to Hermione's, grinning. "Don't you see? The family that they were paying rent to--it was my mother's parents! Maggie grew up in the same house as my mother and aunt!" Hermione looked back at him in amazement, her eyes very large.

"I don't understand, Harry. Why do you think--"

"Snape's Pensieve!" he hissed to her under his breath. "When we saw him visiting my mum in Godric's Hollow," he reminded her, whispering, "my Aunt Petunia also visited, remember? She was reaming out my mum for not saving my grandmother--"

Hermione's eyes were now wide with understanding. "That's right! I'd forgotten!" She frowned. "But that still doesn't mean--"

Harry was the one staring into space now. "And there's something else...." he said slowly. "When you first told me where the house was, at number ten Highgrove, I've been trying to work out where I've heard that address before." He reached through his troubled, crowded memory and remembered many, mornings, as a small boy, waking up to the sound of rude pounding on his cupboard door....

"Get the post, you lazy thing! Make yourself useful for once!"

(This despite the fact that he did most of the cleaning round the house.)

Grumbling, he stumbled out from under the stairs and shuffled toward the front door, bending over to pick up the post from the welcome mat as though he were an old man. Bills, adverts, a postcard from Aunt Marge, and an envelope addressed to "Mrs. Vernon Dursley, Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey." He turned it over, and on the back, with no name, was the address of origin for the envelope: Number 10 Highgrove Street, Appleby Magna, Leicestershire.

And then there was the occasional terse question from his uncle to his aunt: "Have they paid the rent yet? It's not my fault they're teachers, is it? If they did something sensible for a living, maybe they wouldn't fall behind on the rent when they have unexpected expenses suddenly. You'd think I killed her uncle, just so they'd have to pay for the funeral..."

Like most children, Harry didn't pay particular attention to the financial discussions he heard in the Dursley home. He was frequently reminded--very loudly--of what a financial burden he was on his long-suffering aunt and uncle, but, as he saw whenever they were lavishing gifts on Dudley, they were clearly in no danger of being destitute, so he didn't take any of it seriously. He actually would have been quite happy to have the Grunnings drill factory fail and for his aunt, uncle and cousin to experience living in an unsavory place with spiders crawling over their skin all the time, even though he'd have to live with them under these conditions as well. But then he realized that they'd probably find some way to blame him for a Grunnings failure, and they'd probably take their miserable new life-style out on him in some way, and in the end he'd come to the conclusion that they were most harmless when happily getting by with enough money and toys, so that they didn't need to resort to Harry-beating for entertainment.

"For years, the Doughertys have been paying rent to my Aunt Petunia! I remember seeing the envelopes. Maggie definitely grew up in my mum's house."

"Okay," Ron said, frowning, trying to process the information. "So my sister grew up in the same house where your mother lived. That still doesn't explain why your mum was born three days earlier than you thought."

Harry narrowed his eyes, thinking. "Well, if we add five and four and the numbers in the year 1960..." He paused. "We get twenty-five. That reduces to seven, right Hermione? Now, stop me if you think I'm wrong, but I think my mum is probably the first Daughter of War in the prophecy. I mean, can you think of any other woman who had more to do with Voldemort's fall?" He noticed that Zoey and Annika winced at the name, but Harry plowed on. Ron, Ginny and Hermione no longer batted an eye when he did this.

"Not me," Ron said, shrugging. "I mean--if she hadn't died--" His voice trailed off, and he swallowed. Harry remembered his reaction to Harry's Pensieve, his finding out first that the world had changed so drastically when his mother hadn't died, and then that Harry had killed his mother to save Ron's life, and had gone to Azkaban because of that.

"Right. So if we add seven to the lion's eleven and the Moon Child's five, that gives us twenty-three, which then becomes five after you add the two and three.. If the first triangle is half of the second, that makes the second one ten. Which becomes one when you add the one and zero!" he said triumphantly. Still grinning he went on, "And five and one make six, the total for the two triangles!"

Hermione looked uncertain. "I don't know, Harry....I was so sure that Annie Weasley was the second Daughter of War...."

Harry stopped and thought again. "Well, the second triangle has to total ten, if I'm right about this. So we start with eleven and five, which makes sixteen. If the total for the three people is in the twenties, it would have to be twenty-eight for it to break down to ten. Or thirty-seven, if it's in the thirties. Twenty-eight is twelve more than sixteen. Thirty-seven is twenty-one more."

Ron's face lit up. "Those both become three when you break them down! And you missed the teens; nineteen is just three away from sixteen. No matter how you add it, the second Daughter's number has to be three, if the total is going to be ten!" Harry and Hermione looked at him, shocked. He turned pink. "What, I can't learn a little about Arithmancy during the hols?"

Then Harry remembered Sandy speaking to him on the shores of Loch Ascog: The Daughter is three. Sandy had already told him.

"So," Ron said now, "the question is: was your mum trying to hide that she was in the Prophecy?" Harry remembered her arguing with Lucius Malfoy, in his other life. She'd been very adamant about her birthday. If there was anyone she would want to convince about her not being in the Prophecy, it was Lucius Malfoy. Voldemort too, of course, but Malfoy was very nearly as important. Perhaps she had started out simply lying to him and that explained everything. And then she had to be consistent about it. Every year on the eighth of April, Harry remembered that they celebrated her birthday. She couldn't afford for one of her children to slip and mention the real date to anyone. Draco Malfoy was Harry's and Jamie's best friend. He could have inadvertently mentioned her real birthday to his father and endangered her.

"Looks that way," Harry said quietly, looking down at the certificate again. In his other life, she'd married Severus Snape, who had told her about the prophecy before the timelines had changed. Perhaps it had been his idea to pretend that she had a different birthday. Harry knew he would have done anything to protect her, or make her happy.

"But," Hermione said now, an alarmed note in her voice, "if she was hiding her true birthday, does that mean that Voldemort knew what the totals should be for the two triangles? Does that mean he knows what the number should be for the second Daughter of War?"

Harry's heart had leapt into his throat. "Could be. Ron--is it at all possible that your older sisters weren't actually born when they think they were? Well, Maggie definitely wasn't born when she thought. But what about Annie? And you, Ginny--" he said reluctantly, since she was hacked off at him. "Have you ever seen your birth certificate?"

Ginny shook her head. "What you're saying doesn't make sense, Harry. My mum is sure to remember very well when each of us was born...."

"Not if she was memory-charmed. Remember, Pettigrew lived with your family for years, and he didn't have the nerve to kill your sisters when he was only nineteen, and took them away to protect them."

Harry looked around the common room, at the clusters of students socializing and relaxing. He hated to think of any of the Weasleys being in danger; they were like family to him. Then his eyes opened wide. There was another group that was like family to him--and to the Weasleys as well. "Wait! The centaur told Bill the Daughter of War would come from his family--"

Ron shrugged. "I remember. I'm assuming that's why you want to know my mum's birthday...."

Hermione stood excitedly. "And Mrs. Weasley told us about being taken up north during the war, when she was a child. She's surely a Daughter of War!"

"No, no," Harry said, "I mean--sure, that's a possibility. But I just thought--Bill had another family. This family. Gryffindors. All Gryffindors are family, really. The centaur might have meant another Gryffindor, not necessarily a blood relation...."

"Well, then, it could be anyone, Hermione said dejectedly.

"It does give us more possible candidates, but that's better, isn't it? Rather than running out of people to consider? And it would mean Voldemort has to figure it out still, too. He's in the same position we are."

"Maybe," Ron intoned ominously. "I wouldn't be so sure. If Pettigrew did know who the other Daughter of War was, he might have told him. Or he could just decide to try to get rid of all Gryffindors." Or all Weasleys, Harry thought, shuddering. "Or," Harry added shakily, "he might have deliberately told him the wrong person was the Daughter of War, and that's another reason why he wants to be beyond Voldemort's reach. Can you think of any other reason why he'd turn himself in? Knowing that he'd be going to Azkaban? Whatever he's expecting Voldemort to do to him, it must be far worse than dementors. Which means he must have done something really bad as far as Voldemort's concerned."

"And," Hermione continued, "if you're right, it would mean Voldemort already knows Wormtail gave him the wrong name."

"Maybe. He could just be preparing for the worst," Harry countered.

The four of them were silent for a few minutes, but then Ron yawned and stretched. "Blimey, I could do with some dinner. And bed right after that. Tryouts for the English team tomorrow."

Harry opened his eyes wide. "Oh! That's right! I forgot you were trying out too!"

Ron grinned at him. "Think you'll make the Welsh team?"

"Dunno. How are we getting to the tryouts?"

"Remus is taking me by Floo from the Three Broomsticks. I'm to fly down to the village in the morning with Professor McGonagall. The place is somewhere in Kent; big wizarding estate. No Muggles around for miles, and they've got anti-Muggle charms on the perimeter of the property, just in case. Remus said Sirius is meeting you in the entrance hall after breakfast. He has a Portkey for the two of you."

"Sirius is coming with me?" Harry said, feeling a little better.

"Sure. You don't think Dumbledore would let you go alone? After you left St. Mungo's like that, without telling any of us you were all right? As it is, he wasn't sure he'd let either of us do this. Remus told me; it was touch and go, but between the two of them, he and Sirius convinced him. Personally, I think I'll probably feel terrifically out of practice. I'll probably stink like an old egg."

Harry grimaced. "No you won't. You'll run rings around the others. I'm going to make a complete fool of myself...."

Hermione was rolling her eyes. "All right, all right. Let's go eat before we get into some kind of who-will-do-worse contest." She grinned and pulled on both of their hands, and they cheerfully let themselves be led to the portrait hole. When they were in the corridor, Harry wistfully looked over his shoulder at Ginny for a second before the portrait banged shut again.

* * * * *

After the evening meal, Sirius stopped at the Gryffindor table to him to tell him about the plan for the morning, and Harry listened patiently, pretending he didn't already know. He followed Ron's lead and turned in after dinner, so he'd be well-rested. He was supposed to take the fourth patrol shift at four-thirty in the morning, but Tony Perugia had agreed to trade with him, so Harry was taking the first shift for Tony the following evening. He was afraid he was taking advantage of Tony, trading a nine-o'clock shift for one at such an ungodly hour, but Tony seemed quite happy about it. Then he found out that Tony was going to be doing revision with Ruth in the common room at nine o'clock on Saturday night, and he stopped wondering about the deal he'd struck.

He was to meet Sirius in the entrance hall at eight-thirty, right after eating breakfast. Or rather, after having tried to eat breakfast; he could barely choke down a piece of toast and some orange juice. His usual nervous loss of appetite was plaguing him, as it did before every Quidditch match, and he hoped he wouldn't faint from hunger if the Seeker tryouts lasted a very long time. While he was waiting for Sirius to finish breakfast, Professor McGonagall left for the village with Ron, and soon after, Snape emerged from the Great Hall with Maggie beside him. They were deep in conversation, but he stopped when he saw Harry in his Gryffindor Quidditch gear, then looked like the reason for this attire had occurred to him; his eyes widened and he nodded.

"Good luck, Pot--" He cleared his throat, looking sideways at Maggie. "Good luck, Harry," he corrected himself. Harry wished he could come with them.

Maggie laughed, looking at Harry. "Is that how you dress for Quidditch? What is it--like football on broomsticks?"

"Not quite--" he began, but Sirius was coming out of the Great Hall now, grinning at him. Harry wasn't sure what else he should wear. He'd donned the usual protective equipment under the robes, as well, wondering whether perhaps he would be required to do without it. He had no other Quidditch gear.

"You look just like--" Sirius started to say, and Harry hoped he wasn't going to bring his father up again. It wasn't the time to get maudlin. He seemed to change his mind and asked Harry, "All set?" Sirius also had a broomstick slung over his back with a sturdy-looking leather strap that was attached to the broom handle at the end and just above where the twigs began. It looked like one of the school brooms.

Harry nodded. Sirius took the Portkey out of his pocket. It was a brown bottle which had once held lager. "Hold on, Harry. We'll be off in a couple of minutes."

Harry clutched his broom firmly in one hand and the neck of the bottle in the other. After waiting only a couple of minutes, he suddenly felt like he couldn't have removed his hand from the bottle if he'd tried; it seemed to be glued in place. And then he felt that distinctive hook behind his navel pulling him into a whirling vortex. Snape, Maggie and the entrance hall were gone, and there was just whirling confusing, his broom, Sirius and his broom, and swirling robes....

They landed with a thump. Harry stumbled a little, but did not fall. Still, he hoped no one was watching him. He felt shaky and nervous and like he just might spew.

They were atop the wall of an enormous grey-stoned castle. It wasn't like Hogwarts castle, a place where you could live and go to school. The castle walls were topped by what could be called an elliptical road, twenty feet wide, bordered by chest-high parapets, and Harry was strongly reminded of pictures he'd seen of the Great Wall of China, but on a smaller scale. He could see that, enclosed within the curving walls, was a space that was perfectly-sized for playing Quidditch without too many prying Muggles being able to see what was going on. Harry knew that the castle was somewhere in Wales, but he wasn't sure where, precisely. Looking down, he saw that the two levels below the parapets seemed to have large openings in the walls all around, looking toward the interior. Most of the openings were covered by heavy tarpaulins, fastened with ropes laced through rings sunk into the stone masonry. One or two were open, revealing serried rows of benches for the spectators to watch the game. On the ground, very far away, it seemed, Harry could see doors which probably gave onto team changing facilities and the like. He'd never seen a Quidditch pitch like this; the seating being below the parapets meant that the spectators were sheltered from the weather, but their view of players flying very high would also be obscured.

He stood at the edge, holding onto the stone barrier with one hand, wondering why there was no one else around. He looked at Sirius momentarily, with alarm, waiting to find out that he wasn't his godfather at all, but another Death Eater who'd been taking Polyjuice Potion....

But moments later, loud pops! starting erupting all over the grassy field far below and on the castle walls as well, as numerous black-robed witches and wizards appeared, wands drawn before they determined that there was no immediate danger. They were quickly followed by the players for the Welsh national team, reporting for work, also popping onto the pitch and the walls, wearing red and green robes. Harry reckoned the black-robed people were Aurors. Security. He felt Sirius tense up beside him. The witches and wizards in red and green robes began to gather in small clumps, ignoring the Aurors, smiling and laughing as they greeted each other. Harry noticed some players for the Caerphilly Catapults, the Harpies, and other teams. He looked at Sirius uncertainly. I don't belong here, he thought, his stomach in knots.

"Harry!" He swung his head around; Owen Aberystwyth was striding toward him, grinning and holding out his hand. Harry felt like his arm might come out of its socket if Owen decided to be much more enthusiastic about greeting him. He did his best to grasp the older man's hand hard, to avoid having his knuckles crushed. "Welcome!" Owen said, grinning, once he'd released Harry's sore hand. Then he noticed Sirius, and his eyes opened wide. He went white, and he was already a very pale man. "You--you're--I mean--you must be--"

"Sirius Black," Sirius said to him, holding out his hand and giving Owen an ironic half-smile. Owen did not take his hand but continued to stare, wide-eyed, at Sirius, who finally put his hands in his pockets, his mouth drawn into a line. Harry wondered how much of that Sirius had experienced since he had been cleared. You'd think he hadn't been exonerated at all, Harry thought, trying not to feel angry.

Instead, he decided to get some information about where he was. Waving his arm over the rolling wooded landscape outside the castle, he asked Owen, "Where are we, exactly?"

"Well, you could say it's Tomen Castell. Except it's not. It's on the same site, but Tomen was just earth and timber. When Muggles look at this, all they see is a mess of trees growing on what used to be the motte. They don't bother with it. This was actually built by the great Llywelyn ap Iorwerth, who was born at Tomen. He also built the stone castle at Dolwyddelan. That's the name of the village over yonder." He nodded toward a distant cluster of houses that Harry could barely discern through the abundant greenery. "It's not generally known that he was a wizard, you know. At any rate, this was built special for Quidditch and has been hidden from the start, with spells and such. This is where the European Cup final is being played, in December," he said proudly. "We're hoping to be in the final, of course," he added, raising his eyebrows at Harry. "Best place in all of Britain for the game, in my opinion. Some folk--well, they don't like having an established place for it. Prefer to move around. But the folk over in our village--" he gestured "--are the sort of Muggles who are magic-tolerant, so we like it here."

Sirius and Harry looked shocked, so he elaborated. "I don't mean they know about us, per se," he said quickly. "They sort of--well, whenever one of'em maybe sees something he oughtn't, he just tells himself, real sensible-like, that it couldn't be. Goes about his business without anyone needing to throw around any memory charms. Most Muggles whose families have lived in the same place for generations are the same; they have family stories that have been handed down, so they know there are some things in certain places which can't be explained with their logic and science, and they don't bother trying. They don't look too close. A bit of superstition, if you like, but it works out for us."

Harry nodded, seeing that Owen, while explaining why the castle seemed so perfect for Quidditch, had relaxed a little about Sirius, who was nodding and looking around at the landscape. "This is a good location," Sirius agreed. "I was afraid it would be at Conwy, a little further north."

"We're in Conwy still," Owen said, sounding annoyed.

"I mean the castle of the same name--" Sirius tried to explain, grimacing. But Owen was relaxing again.

"Nah. Too close to the sea. Easier to control access by Muggles from land. If ships are passing, or even small pleasure-craft, we can't guarantee they wouldn't see people flying on broomsticks. Not from the sea. Nah, we're well away from the sea here."

Sirius nodded and Harry tried to relax a little. However, he tensed up again when he saw a dark-haired woman in red Quidditch robes walking toward them, carrying a gleaming broomstick that made Harry wish he'd taken out his broomstick repair kit that morning and worked on his, so it didn't look like it had been sitting around for a month, gathering dust. Some of his twigs were a little bent out of shape, even though it was still practically new.

"Erica, come here and meet one of the possibilities for new reserve Seeker," Owen said to her, smiling. Harry recognized her as Erica Welch, the witch who had taken over for Audra Griffiths on the Holyhead Harpies.

Harry nodded as he shook her hand. "Nice to meet you." Her eyes went up to his forehead automatically.

"Nice to meet you, too," she said, her eyes widening when she saw Sirius. Then she turned to Owen abruptly and said, "Twenty-five Galleons, right?"

Owen gave her a half-smile. "Right. Twenty-five Galleons. Or the equivalent in Muggle money, whichever you prefer." He turned to Harry again. "Damned difficult to come by Galleons these days, what with the Gringotts mess."

"Right," Harry said, a bit confused.

When a small, thin man of indeterminate age popped! into existence about six feet away, Owen cried, "Jean-Claude!"

The small man, who had some grizzled growth on his face but bright brown eyes and sharp cheekbones, strode toward Owen and shook his hand. He wore a close-fitting grey T-shirt and carried brown robes over his arm. He had a very worn-looking broom that made Harry feel a little better about his.

"I would not meess theess for anyzing, Owain. Zey deed not 'ave any openings on ze French team, so...."

Owen nodded. "So this is your chance to play in the European Cup, if you're lucky. I know what you mean."

Harry stared at the small thin man, who had a mix of dark and grey hair, but strong, tanned, wiry-looking arms. He couldn't have been over five-feet four inches, and Harry was strongly reminded of some of the jockeys he and Draco Malfoy had seen when they'd gone to the track to watch Alicia ride Granny's Ghost to victory.

"Um," Harry began awkwardly, speaking to Owen, "aren't you supposed to be from Wales to be on the Welsh team?" His own voice sounded very strange to him.

Owen grinned. "Jean-Claude Jones' dad is as Welsh as you and me, Harry. His mum is French, and he grew up there and went to school there, but he was born a little north of here, where his dad's from. How is the old trouble-maker, Jean?"

The small man gave them all an ironically Gallic smile, one head cocked to the side. "Still makeeng trouble, as you say. Some zings nevair change, n'est ce pas?"

"Truer words were never spoken, old boy--" Owen said, shaking his head. Harry swallowed. So, he was up against an old friend of Owen's. Brilliant. And he was almost the same size Harry was when he was just starting out as a Seeker. He was the perfect build, small and lithe. Harry felt large and awkward. I should have switched to being a Keeper, Harry thought. Look at him; what made me think I could still do this?

Then another man popped onto the wall nearby, and Owen greeted him enthusiastically as well. He was quite pale and his dark hair had some scattered grey in it. He wasn't much taller than Jones, but even more muscular. Harry didn't catch his last name, but his first name was Neil.

"All right, now, listen up, you three," Owen said when the cursory introductions were over. "This is how it is. You see before you," he waved at the players now flying about the pitch in their red and green robes, for the most part never going higher than the parapets, "our team, both the starters and reserves. There's a mix on the two teams--red and green--so don't get any ideas that one or the other is better. I'm paying each player on those teams twenty-five Galleons--although that may wind up being in Muggle money--for every ten points they score today. I'm also paying each person on the winning team a bonus of another two-hundred Galleons. You four," he said, motioning to Harry, Erica, Jean-Claude and Neil, "will all be looking for the Snitch. When one of you three catch it," he added, pointing at the Harry and the other two men, "the game will be over and whichever team has the most points from goals alone at that point will win. If Erica catches it first, she will release it again and we keep going until one of you three show me which one of you deserves to be my new reserve Seeker. Erica will be paid twenty-five Galleons for every time she catches the Snitch and releases it."

He glared at the three would-be Seekers now, his eyes narrowed. "In case you don't understand your situation, let me be clearer about it. Every player out there wants to make this stretch on as long as possible, because the longer it does, the more money they make. That means they don't want you three to catch the Snitch. You are not playing for a team today; you're playing for yourself. Usually you have two Beaters hitting Bludgers toward you and two away from you. Today there will be four Beaters hitting Bludgers toward you and no one hitting them away from you. There is no one out there that you can count as a friend, and you're not just competing against two other people trying out for Seeker, you're also competing against our current Seeker, who, lest you forget, just led the Holyhead Harpies to victory in the League final." Erica Welch glowed, but also looked a little bashful about this. Harry swallowed.

"There will be no fouls called. For any player. The others all know that if one of them needs to stop playing, they will not be paid at all, even if their team wins. If any of you get hurt and need to land, that's too bad. The moment you touch the grass, you're done, you're out of the running. Are there any questions?"

Harry looked at Neil and Jean-Claude, who ignored him and glared back at Owen stubbornly.

"Good," Owen said in reply to their silence, clapping his hands together once. "Oh, and I almost forgot. If one of you three catch the Snitch before Erica, you'll be on the team, but not as reserve Seeker. If that happens--Erica will be the reserve Seeker," he said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Harry noticed the truculent expression she wore, thinking, She's not just playing for money. She's playing for her job.

Harry swallowed and glanced at Sirius. He'd never felt so nervous in his life. This was unlike any other type of match he'd ever experienced. He thought about just backing out, saying that he'd changed his mind....but then he pictured the Daily Prophet headline if that happened....

HARRY POTTER TOO COWARDLY TO EVEN TRY OUT FOR WELSH TEAM;
SHOULD HE STILL BE HEAD BOY OF HOGWARTS?

He shook himself, annoyed that he was thinking of the press. I'm going to do my best, and no one can ask for more.

Soon everything was a blur; Owen blew on a whistle and the other Seekers threw on their robes, mounted their brooms and sped to the middle of the pitch. Harry then leapt on his broom and followed, glad his new broom was more obedient that the last one he'd had. Soon the players were zipping over the field at blinding speeds, the Chasers on the Green team tossing the Quaffle back and forth to each other with pinpoint precision, but failing to get it past the Red team's Keeper anyway. One of the Red Chasers caught the Quaffle when their Keeper hurled it almost the length of the pitch and raced toward the Green team's hoops. The Chaser feinted and scored, so it was ten points for the Red team.

Harry was admiring the Chaser's skill a moment too long, though; he turned his head, saw a Bludger only a half-dozen feet away and quickly ducked, feeling his hair move as it swished over his head. He sat up again and shook himself, then flew toward the edge of the pitch, resolving to ignore the Chasers, no matter how interesting they were, and concentrate on not being killed by a Bludger.

And look for the Snitch.

He scanned the field with his eyes; there was so much activity, it was difficult to see what was really going on. The Quaffle and the Bludgers were being hurled or beaten about, the Chasers and Beaters were zooming back and forth, circling each other, looping and rolling....

Then Harry noticed what the other Seekers were doing. Jean-Claude was flying on the tail of a Green Beater for some reason, and Neil was flying in circles near the Red goal. Erica was looping around the Green goal hoops, looking around very avidly. Suddenly, she went into a dive and Harry saw a gold flash lower down on the field. He shot toward it, noticing even as he drew nearer that his broom was faster than hers. He was inching ahead of her, bit by bit, seeing the Snitch fluttering down there....

Harry grunted and struggled to keep his grip on his broom as a massive wizard in green collided with him. He looked at Erica with alarm, expecting her to get to the Snitch first, but the Green player had hit her before Harry, and she was hanging from her broom by one hand. Harry felt a sharp pain in his side and wondered if he'd broken some ribs; it was suddenly quite excruciating to draw breath. He glanced down quickly and no longer saw the flash of gold. He was about to glare at the wizard, but he was already gone, carrying the Quaffle toward the Red Keeper.

Erica scrambled back onto her broom, her face dark with rage. She sped away from Harry, and he turned to see two Red players bearing down on him, looking like they were up to no good. When they were almost upon him, he suddenly dove, and then he heard a yell behind him; they'd collided with their own teammate, a Beater who had now dropped his bat. Harry watched it fall, not the least bit sorry to see it go. Unfortunately, he left his guard down too long, and another Red player flew hard into the tail of his broom while yet another player, coming from the opposite direction, put his hand out and gave his broom handle a hard push. Suddenly, he was spinning counter-clockwise in mid-air, very fast, his ribs aching, his fingers slipping from the handle, and the world just a blur. He made a concerted effort to hold fast and then jerked the handle up sharply, shooting into the sky above the parapets, breathing quickly, his head still spinning. Each breath felt like he was being stabbed in the chest.

The other players were showing no mercy. I'll either get onto the team or die trying, he thought.

He decided that perhaps Jean-Claude had had a good idea to pick another player and tail him. He would keep moving that way, instead of being virtually a stationary target. And, Harry hoped, perhaps the more he moved around the better his chances of seeing the Snitch again. He looked down at the flurry beneath him for a moment before choosing to latch onto a witch in red, barreling toward the Green Keeper with the Quaffle. Her reddish-brown hair streamed out behind her and she looked alarmed when she turned around and saw him on her tail. As he flew he watched the other Seekers. Neil was speeding crosswise across the field of play for some reason, but then he stopped and peered down. Harry looked down too, but there was no gold flutter down there. He turned to face forward again and almost plowed into the center goal hoop; he swerved just in time and decided that following a Chaser wasn't the best idea. He was about to go after a Beater when the wizard who had dropped his bat before maneuvered his broom so that he could use the twigs to hit a Bludger at Neil, who was oblivious. If he didn't move, it would hit him in the back of the head.

Harry sped toward him, yelling, "Duck!" Neil either didn't hear him or disregarded him, Harry couldn't decide which. The Bludger was very close. Harry would never reach him in time. He tried something else. He pointed down and cried, "The Snitch!" going into a dive, hoping Neil would follow. He remembered the way Krum had executed the Wronski Feint at the World Cup, and he tried his best to approximate that now. His breathing was labored and his ribs were a constant dull ache. He looked over his shoulder and Neil was flying in his wake, the Bludger sailing harmlessly over his head. When Harry saw that, he breathed a sigh of relief and jerked his broom handle up again, climbing away from the ground once more.

"Just kidding," he called to Neil shakily. Neil scowled at him, evidently unaware that Harry had saved him from being concussed by a Bludger.

The Chasers on both teams were scoring repeatedly while the four Seekers continued to fly about and get bashed into occasionally. Harry decided to try marking Erica, as she was the one he reckoned he had to beat. She was rather annoyed about this and tried to shake him off. Then he noticed that Neil was marking Jean-Claude, and the French-Welsh wizard was just as annoyed about being followed as Erica.

Unfortunately, Erica and Harry were near the Red goal hoops and the other two Seekers were near the Green hoops when the Snitch was spotted about six feet off the ground near the Green end of the pitch. Harry turned and sped toward it as soon as the saw that bit of gold, but Neil and Jean-Claude were much closer, having gone into a dive, side by side, elbowing each other so badly that if fouls were being called, both would have been cited for extreme cobbing. Their fighting escalated to such a level that their locked bodies plowed right into the Snitch, sending it skittering toward the edge of the field. Finally, Jean-Claude, furious, gave Neil a vicious push that sent him hurtling off his broom. He had only fallen from about eight feet off the ground, and was probably not hurt, but Harry could see how disappointed he was.

He was on the ground. Neil was disqualified.

Harry continued to speed toward the Snitch in its new position; he glanced over his shoulder and saw Erica close behind. Jean-Claude was also heading toward it. Then suddenly a Bludger hit Harry's broom twigs and he wobbled off course, right in front of Erica, whose broom handle hit Harry in the left elbow so painfully he had to struggle with all his might not to let go of his own broom. Pain radiating up his arm, he looked in the vicinity where the Snitch had been, not seeing it. It was gone again.

Now it was just the three of them. Harry marked Erica and Jean-Claude marked him. Harry scanned the field for the Snitch, but saw nothing. The three of them wove around the other players in a strange sort of train.

"You shall beat it."

"What?"

Sandy didn't repeat herself. But then Harry thought about her words. The Beater who had dropped his bat earlier was scowling at Harry and started flying straight at him. Harry took his broom straight up, only to find that a Bludger was heading directly for him. He halted immediately, letting the Bludger zip past. Scowling at the Beater, Harry looked down at the ground where the dropped bat lay. A thought lit up his brain, and he said, "Thanks, Sandy!"

"For what, Harry Potter?"

"For giving me an idea!"

He wondered if he could do what he needed to do. He put his hand out as he flew, concentrating hard. "Accio bat!" he cried.

The bat soared up toward him and leapt into his waiting hand, hitting Jean-Claude's broom twigs on the way; he shook his fist at Harry. When Harry had the bat in hand, he looked for one of the Bludgers and went flying after it. If I can't catch the Snitch myself, I can at least make sure the other Seekers don't get attacked anymore, he thought. He flew toward a Bludger that was flying straight at him and then swung back, grunting loudly, feeling a jolt move through him as he struck it, hearing the ringing sound of metal on metal as one of the iron bands on the bat hit the Bludger. It was as if someone had pushed all of his ribs into his lungs. He sent the orb hurtling toward the Beater who'd given them so much trouble; he looked shocked and he dove out of the way, glaring at Harry afterward through narrowed eyes. Harry narrowed his own eyes and glared right back, continuing to heft the bat in his right hand.

They were playing a different game now. Every time Harry thought he saw someone coming after one of the other Seekers, he hit a Bludger at the player in question. He didn't aim for the people so much as their brooms, to take them off-course. The other players were getting very annoyed with Harry. Harry was starting to think he might like to be a Beater.

Perhaps to make it more difficult for him to defend his fellow Seekers, the Red Chasers managed to separate Jean-Claude from Erica and one of the Green Chasers grabbed her broom tail and started pulling her toward their goal hoops. Harry scowled, looking around for Bludgers. One was rounding the Green goal hoops, so he sped there and hit it hard at the Green player harassing Erica, who swerved to avoid it. It went sailing harmlessly past him. Then Harry spotted the other Bludger, high above the center of the field. He flew upward and swung back hard with the bat, hitting it toward the Red Chasers who were surrounding Jean-Claude, making it impossible for him to choose where to fly. But as soon as Harry hit the Bludger, he saw a golden fluttering that had been hidden behind it. Had it been marking the Bludger? he wondered. Could it do that--?

His breathing still enormously painful, he switched the bat to his left hand quickly, wrapping that hand around both bat and broom handle, and reached out and clutched at the tiny thing, hoping that he wasn't dreaming. Harry looked down at it in wonder, the tiny wings now fluttering vainly against his fingers and palm. He swallowed and looked up at the parapets, where many more people than he remembered were watching. He thought he also saw some indistinct figures in the stands, under the parapets. He was looking for Sirius, and when he found him, he saw that his godfather had been watching the other players. He grinned at him and held up his hand, trying to get his attention.

"I've got it!"

He thought the other players might be upset with him, but suddenly, realizing what had happened, all of them raced upward, thrilled smiles on their faces. Harry saw that Sirius was punching the air and yelling himself hoarse, his smile filling his face, and soon Harry was surrounded in the air by the members of the Welsh national team, being patted on the back while they said things like, "Good show, Potter!" and "Did you do that Summoning Charm without a wand?" and "Never seen the Seeker take over for one of the Beaters! And you still got the Snitch!"

Harry was smiling so much his face hurt. And then his breath caught as the injury to his ribs made his breathing difficult again, and he sailed up above the parapets, then landed near Sirius, collapsing with exhaustion. Owen Aberystwyth strode over to him, helping him to his feet, taking both the Snitch and the bat from him. By now Harry could barely draw breath. He felt like he was living in a dream. Owen put out his hand and shook Harry's, saying, "Congratulations, Harry. You're on the team." Harry nodded dumbly, his powers of speech having left him. When Sirius came forward and hugged him enthusiastically, his speech returned in the form of a pained howl.

"What's wrong, Harry?"

"I--I think I have some broken ribs. Madam Pomfrey can take care of it."

"Not right away she can't. You need immediate attention. We'll take you down to the team doctor. How long were you playing like that?"

"Dunno. It happened pretty early." He looked up and saw that Owen was looking more pleased than ever, that he'd continued playing while injured. Erica had landed nearby and she walked up to Harry now, her hand out.

"Congratulations," she said, just a touch of disappointment in her voice. "I suppose this means I'm the reserve Seeker now." The meaning of her words washed over Harry. He wasn't a reserve. He was a starter. He remembered Owen's words now about what would happen if Erica didn't catch the Snitch first. To his surprise, Owen put his arm around Erica and gave her a hug. Is that usual? Harry wondered.

"Oh, come on, love. You know you're always a starter to me in other ways...." He was grinning at her and she colored, before they walked off, their arms around each other. "I'll be in touch about practices, Harry!" Owen called over his shoulder. Harry tried to close his mouth so that he wouldn't look completely stupid. He turned to Sirius.

"What the--"

"Oh, you didn't know?"

"That they're seeing each other? No, I didn't. I can't believe he's replacing her! And she's not hacked off at him, or threatening to break up with him...."

Sirius laughed and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "No, it's more than that." He looked after the retreating pair, grinning. "She's not just his girlfriend, Harry."

Harry frowned. "Then what?"

Sirius smiled even more broadly and said, "Erica's his wife."

* * * * *

After Harry saw the team physician about his ribs, he felt much better. The boneset was under bandages wrapped around his torso, mending the broken bones, and the painkiller potion he took made him feel rather like he was at the dentist, but the dentist had numbed his torso instead of his gums. He felt odd and awkward, but no longer in pain.

Since the Portkey wasn't going to activate again until the late afternoon--just in case the try-outs took all day--they needed to kill time. They walked over the rolling green hills to the village, carrying their brooms. When the houses came in sight, they tucked the brooms, their robes and most of Harry's other Quidditch gear under a tall hedge that was dividing two paddocks, dotted with sheep ranging from dirty cream to dun-colored. Harry's trousers and Quidditch sweater would pass muster in a Muggle pub, so Sirius didn't need to Transfigure his clothes. Sirius was already wearing black jeans, shirt and boots.

"I wish I had my old bike," he said wistfully as they walked, avoiding piles left by the sheep.

"Did I ever tell you I had dreams about a flying motorcycle?" Harry asked him, remembering how irate his uncle had been about Harry mentioning this. Sirius laughed.

"No, you never said..."

"Why did you bring your broom, anyway?"

Sirius hesitated. "It was just a precaution."

"A precaution? What were you going to do, fly onto the pitch?"

Sirius frowned. "Never mind. Let's just go to the village...."

Then something black flickered just out of Harry's range of vision; he turned and saw an Auror walking half a field behind them. More precautions, Harry thought. Sirius turned to see what he had noticed; he grimaced.

"Stupid things," he said in an undertone. "I know they're supposed to keep an eye on you, but we're almost in the village and they're still wearing their robes...." He sounded like he thought they might also be along to keep an eye on him.

He waved to them and they stopped, looking alarmed. He picked up the fabric of his sleeve and held it away from his arm, pantomiming. They looked puzzled, so he finally cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted at them, "Ditch the bloody robes!"

Understanding dawned on them then, and they removed the robes, carrying them over their arms like overcoats. One of the Aurors was wearing white tie and tails; the other man, a tweedy jacket over a shocking pink woman's blouse and orange plaid trousers. Sirius rolled his eyes.

"When are they going to give those blokes training in how to dress like real Muggles?" he muttered to Harry, shaking his head. They turned and continued walking toward the village.

While they ate their lunch in a corner booth in the pub, the Aurors sat at the bar, several stools apart, as though they weren't together. Harry and Sirius chuckled as they ate their fish and chips, observing the wizards' fascination with the television over the bar, which was showing an advert for toothpaste during a break from an American comedy. Well, Harry thought, at least we don't have to worry about being the conspicuous ones.

Harry stiffened, however, when he heard the publican say to the Auror in the formal attire, "Late for a wedding, are you?" The Auror looked down at his clothes, then back up at the publican behind the bar.

"Er, not exactly. Um, it was supposed to be me. She changed her mind."

Everyone in the pub, except for the other Auror, Harry and Sirius immediately started commiserating with the jilted "groom" and started telling stories of other couples who hadn't quite made it to the end of the wedding ceremony--or even the beginning. The Auror looked stunned to be the center of attention, and his partner scowled, obviously upset that they weren't blending seamlessly (although Harry thought they could have dressed more carefully if that were the goal). Harry and Sirius were having difficulty eating and drinking while stifling their laughter.

As he ate, he thought, It's been a good day. He hoped Ron's was going as well.....

* * * * *

"I made the team!" they said simultaneously when they saw each other.

"You made the team, too?" they both responded.

Hermione was looking like it was very hard not to jump around at this news. Harry frowned at her. "I thought you were afraid I'd be too much of a target if I did this."

"You told me all about the Aurors that were there. It sounds like you were be perfectly safe."

"Yeah, well, there were these two...." He told them about going to the village with Sirius. Ron didn't laugh when Harry described their clothes. Hermione did.

"I don't get it," Ron said, his face blank. Hermione rolled her eyes and set about explaining it to him, while Harry's eyes wandered to Ginny, sitting by the common room fire, reading. He wanted her to be happy for him, but instead she seemed to be studiously ignoring him, turning pages slowly. He turned away; it hurt too much to be so close to her and yet a million miles apart.

After dinner, Ron and Harry described their trials for the other Gryffindors in the common room. Dean and Seamus were screaming with excitement when he told them about hitting the Bludgers. Ron's tryout was equally harrowing, but he'd passed each test with flying colors. Part of the time he had to specifically only help another Chaser score, no matter how tempting it was to try to score himself. That was the hardest part, for Ron.

"And were they trying to knock you off your broom, too?" Harry asked him.

"Yeah. When the first bloke ran into me, he didn't know what hit him," Ron grinned.

It seemed that it was nine o'clock in no time, and suddenly Draco Malfoy was standing by his elbow. In the Gryffindor common room. When Harry spotted him, he cried out in surprise.

"Malfoy! What the hell are you doing here?"

Draco Malfoy crossed his arms and glared at Harry. "I could ask you the same thing, Potter. We're supposed to patrol now. You switched with Perugia, remember?"

"But how did you get in here?"

"I went to McGonagall. She used the password to open that portrait hole you lot use as a doorway, then let me come in. Oh, don't look so worried; she wouldn't let me stand close enough to hear what your bloody password is...."

Harry grimaced. "Hang on. We can leave in a minute."

He still hadn't changed his clothes; now he switched to running clothes which were immediately obscured by his school robes. At least I'll be comfortable. He adjusted his Head Boy badge on his breast and put the Marauders' Map and his wand in his pocket. Malfoy nodded when he returned to the common room, and they left without speaking. Harry glanced over his shoulder at Ron and Hermione, who shrugged.

Professor McGonagall was waiting in the corridor, looking at Harry very disapprovingly. "I know that you worked hard today, Potter, and I appreciate that you are excited about your new job. But you still have duties to perform as a school prefect. Punctuality is expected for all patrollers. Staff as well as students, as I had occasion to tell Professor Snape last night. Keeping me waiting...Two in the morning...." she muttered darkly as she strode ahead of them. Harry wondered if the delay had anything to do with Maggie, and he looked at Malfoy with his eyebrows raised. Malfoy scowled at him.

"So, Professor McGonagall," Harry said, trying to converse with his head-of-house instead. "Are you patrolling tonight, as well?"

She turned and looked at him very sternly again. "Not the first shift. I would also be late if that were the case. I am doing the second shift. At the moment, I am merely returning to my office, where I was when Mr. Malfoy came looking for you. He was already in the entrance hall with Lewis, MacMillan, Professor Sprout and Professor Trelawney. At nine o'clock sharp. As you should have been. It is now--" she checked Harry's own watch, twisting his arm around slightly more than it was meant to. He tried not to wince. "--nine-twenty-five. As Head Boy you are expected to set an example. Don't let this happen again."

"Yes ma'am," he said meekly, before she turned and began walking down the corridor that led to her office. He saw that Malfoy was smirking now.

"Which way should we go?" he said, trying to ignore the insufferable expression on the blond boy's face.

"So," Malfoy drawled, ignoring the question. "Golden boy is on the Welsh team. Big surprise. Bet they couldn't wait to have Potty, hero of the wizarding world. Pity you'll just be a reserve. Won't actually get to play. But they can still say you're on the team...."

Harry felt the anger surging up in him and was helpless to stop it. "For your information, the tryout was very rough, and I won fairly. And I'm not a reserve player."

Malfoy's jaw dropped. "Good lord, they're so desperate they made you a starter?"

"They didn't--" he started to say, but bit his tongue. "Let's just patrol, shall we Malfoy? We have a job to do for the next two hours. Let's just do it and try not to get on each other's nerves too much, all right?"

Malfoy shrugged. "You're not getting on my nerves. I've just learned to accept that no one in the wizarding world actually expects you to be qualified for anything. You just get whatever you want regardless...."

Harry stopped in front of him, bellowing in his face. "That's a lie! And even if it were true, how is that different from you having gotten everything you wanted your whole life because of your father? Talk about not earning anything! I worked damn hard to get on that team, and--"

"Halt!" screamed a familiar voice. Harry looked up in surprise to see Ernie MacMillan and Trixie Lewis, a Ravenclaw sixth-year, come barreling round the corner, their wands drawn, their faces very white. When he saw it was Harry and Malfoy, Ernie lowered his wand. "Oh, it's you. Just scare the shit out of us, while you're at it, Harry! Hell's bells. Whatchoo have to be shouting all over the place for?"

Harry reddened. "Sorry, Ernie. Just a simple difference of opinion." He glared at Malfoy.

"Well it's a damn noisy one. You're lucky Sprout and Trelawney didn't come running too."

Malfoy guffawed. "As if Sprout could run anywhere. She's so dumpy--"

But this wasn't the right thing to say to Ernie, who pointed his wand at Malfoy now. "You take that back! That's my head-of-house you're talking about! I'd rather have her for my head-of-house than that excuse for a teacher you've got!"

"That's enough!" Harry said to Ernie, coming between him and Malfoy, who had also drawn his wand now. He turned to Ernie. "I don't want to hear one more word about Professor Snape, do you hear? He's risked his life doing Dumbledore's bidding more times than you have, I'll warrant. And you!" he said, turning to Malfoy. "Now that you can't insult Ginny's mother any more, you've moved on to Sprout?" He looked back and forth between the two boys. "I'm at fault here too, but I say this stops now. We're all supposed to be patrolling the corridors, not creating trouble in them. I don't want to hear one more disparaging word about a teacher or staff member or the person who says it will lose twenty points for their house. Is that clear?" Ernie and Trixie nodded; Malfoy drew his mouth into a line and gave a smaller nod. "Now," Harry went on, "Malfoy and I will take this corridor; you two go up a flight and do there. And remember, we need to meet the next shift in the entrance hall at eleven-thirty and report any unusual findings. Any questions?"

He knew there wouldn't be. The four of them moved off in their two different directions and it was relatively peaceful for the rest of the shift. Harry tried not to leap to the bait when Malfoy said things designed to set him off, and he also tried not to set Malfoy off. Sometimes it was very difficult.

When eleven-thirty finally arrived, they were descending the marble stairs into the entrance hall, where the new patrollers were waiting. Professor McGonagall was talking in low tones to Professor Sinistra and Mariah Kirkner was eyeing the other students, who were all fifth-years, somewhat suspiciously. Harry was still getting to know the new prefects, and he remembered that the dark-haired boy was Harrison, a Hufflepuff, but he couldn't remember his first name. Robert Jensen, a Slytherin prefect, was also waiting, as well as Tamara Katz, a Ravenclaw.

When Mariah spotted Draco Malfoy, Harry saw a slow smile creep over her face that could only be described by calling it lascivious. He glanced at Malfoy, who was responding with a similar smile. Professors McGonagall and Sinistra were oblivious. Harry watched the two Slytherins carefully.

Moments later, Ernie and Trixie appeared, as well as Professors Sprout and Trelawney, who gave Harry a very wide-eyed look, as though alarmed.

"Thank you, all," McGonagall said to the first shift. "We'll take over now. Students--go straight to your houses, no dawdling in the corridors. Will you be going to your quarters, Professors?" she asked Sprout and Trelawney.

"I'm turning in, Minerva," Sprout said, using a grubby hand to cover her yawn. "I'm up early and down in the greenhouses, you know..."

"I--I shall be returning to my tower," Trelawney said mistily, looking at Harry through her enormous, thick spectacles. "I suddenly feel moved to see whether I can find anything in my crystal ball that is of interest. I strongly suspect that I shall...." Her eyes were still on him. Harry tried to keep a blank expression on his face, although it was very, very hard not to scowl. Plus, if he said what he thought of her, he'd have to take twenty house points from himself.

As he was starting to ascend the stairs again, he thought he heard Mariah's low voice say to Malfoy, "See you in the common room later."

He froze for a moment, then resumed climbing the stairs. He felt the Marauders' Map crinkling in his robe pocket and thought about what he'd do if the map showed Malfoy and Mariah together in their common room. Would Ginny care? She was still very angry with him. He just wished Malfoy would break up with Ginny if he wanted to be with Mariah. But he seemed determined to keep Ginny unavailable, a prisoner of his so-called love. Harry sighed and resumed moving upward.

He didn't tell Ron or Hermione about what he'd heard Mariah say when he returned to the Gryffindor common room. He went up to bed, even though most of the other students in the common room would probably still be up for hours, as it was Saturday night. He'd had an exhausting day. Still--if he could bring himself to wake up at two in the morning to look at the map--

As he set his clock for two in the morning, he glanced over at Neville's bed; Neville was sitting against his pillows, still fully clothed, reading an Herbology text. Harry didn't recognize it. The title was Creating Hybrids with Magical Herbs Without Running Afoul of the Law by Belladonna Fernrock.

"That looks rather advanced," Harry said to Neville as he removed his robes.

Neville looked up, a very strange expression on his face. Harry had the urge to reach for his wand suddenly, for he had a very bad feeling that this wasn't Neville at all, but an impostor. The feeling was much stronger than it had been with Sirius, when they'd arrived in Wales for the tryouts. For six years, Neville's face had had the look of someone who was never quite sure that he was where he belonged. There was something missing from his features, an assurance that he knew his place in the universe and was in it. His expression had previously appeared to be thrown together haphazardly and seemed to have the potential to dissolve if a reprimand from McGonagall or Snape was too sharp.

Now his features were knit together by a calm surety; there was a cohesiveness to Neville's countenance, a maturity, that Harry had never seen before. He realized that he hadn't really spent much time with Neville since the term had started (there were so many students in the seventh-year classes it was hard to keep track of what everyone was doing), and now he was shocked by the change that had come over his dormmate. Harry looked at him with narrowed eyes. The last time Neville had looked markedly changed he had become addicted to two dangerous potions.

"It is," Neville said in response to Harry's statement about the book. His voice was deep and even, his face had thinned out and had a slight bit of growth on it, as it was late at night. Harry realized for the first time that Neville was no longer a little boy. It was very, very difficult to accept Neville as a man, but that was clearly what he was now.

"Er, okay," Harry said uncertainly. Neville had always taken to Herbology more than any other class, and Harry reckoned he would do something in the field once out of school. He said goodnight to Neville but received no response before he pulled his hangings closed around his bed.

* * * * *

On Monday morning, Ron gave Hermione her birthday present at breakfast. Ron hadn't suggested giving her a joint gift this year, as he was now Hermione's boyfriend. She opened a small hinged box at the Gryffindor table, only to shut it again immediately, blushing deeply. She turned to Ron, looking very much like she wanted to kiss him, but she settled for leaning close to him and whispering in his ear, and then he was the one blushing.

After lunch, Ron waylaid Hermione on the front steps of the castle and kissed her on the cheek before she left for Hogsmeade for their Apparition lesson. Sirius waited indulgently, grinning at Ron, before kicking off, shooting into the air. Harry watched Hermione kick off and he followed, along with the other students. When the village hall was in sight, they set down in the street and waited for Sirius to unlock the heavy front doors with his key, followed by his muttering a countercharm to break the locking charm that was also on the door. Once inside, they settled themselves in the front row of seats and Sirius paced before them, trying to look stern, but somehow managing to look very avuncular instead.

"All right! We had a good first week. Not much Apparition happening yet, obviously, but I need to make certain that you all understand the limitations of Apparition before you attempt to do it yourself. Apparition can be very, very dangerous. Now, I know I spent a great deal of time telling you splinching stories last week, and yes, some of them can be rather amusing--" He winked at Harry, who tried not to laugh at the memory of some of the stories. "--but you've got to know about the consequences of Apparating for frivolous reasons or when you're in the wrong frame of mind for whatever reason. The results are nothing to laugh at. So, before we get started--is everyone here?" He pulled a register out of his pocket and started scanning it, looking up at the assembled students repeatedly as he matched names with faces.

"Hmm," he said after a while. "Where is Lavender Brown?"

Parvati Patil raised her hand tentatively. "She decided she doesn't want to take the lessons, Professor Black. At least not right now. She said she'll decide after the autumn term whether she wants to do it."

Sirius nodded. "That's fine. And is Mr. Nott absent for the same reason?" he asked the Slytherins. They looked at each other, baffled, raising eyebrows and shrugging shoulders.

"I'll ask him when we're back at the castle," Millicent Bulstrode replied. As Malfoy already had his Apparition test, she was the only Slytherin prefect present.

"Right! So. Without looking at your notes," he said pointedly, causing several students to slam their copybooks shut guiltily, "who can tell me some of the basic rules concerning Apparition?"

Hermione raised her hand immediately, and Sirius didn't make her wait long. "Yes, Hermione?"

"Never Apparate or Disapparate where you can be seen by Muggles."

"Good," he said, beaming at her. "However--that rule has been in place for a very long time. It is no longer completely adequate. Or rather, there is a corollary which is unstated in the laws concerning Apparition, but which you must all consider carefully as you determine whether a particular location is Apparition-safe. Who remembers the corollary?"

Hermione's hand shot up again, and Sirius smiled warmly at her. His words, however, were at odds with his expression. "Now, Hermione. Give others a chance. Yours is not the only memory I would like to test." It was a gentle reprimand, but it was a reprimand nonetheless, and Harry saw that her face was clouded as she slowly lowered her arm.

"Yes, Dean?" Sirius said, looking past her.

"Never Apparate or Disapparate where you can be seen by Muggles or be recorded by Muggle devices."

"That's right. Five points for Gryffindor. Just because no people are present does not mean that a location is safe. Muggles have security cameras everywhere these days. What were formerly nice, deserted corners of the Muggle world, places witches and wizards could usually count on to use for Apparating and Disapparating without problems, have become carefully-monitored potential crime scenes, places that are judged to be dangerous by dint of their isolation. Which is exactly what we need to safe when Apparating--isolation. Muggles, however, view these locations as dangerous because criminals can lurk there and surprise unwary people. It's becoming very, very difficult to find good Apparition points other than wizarding homes or businesses. One can't be too careful. It is of utmost importance that you do not find yourself being filmed while doing magic. In fact, it's even more difficult a problem to fix than a Muggle seeing you. One person can be taken care of with a memory charm. A camera, on the other hand, may be broadcasting a signal to a machine which is filming the view through the lens from many miles away. It could be very difficult to track down that machine and destroy the evidence."

He looked grimly at them all. "Now then--who can remember something else I said about who can and cannot Apparate?"

Blaise Zabini raised his hand. When Sirius acknowledged him, he said smugly, "Pregnant women can't do it." Harry thought of Fleur, walking up the drive at the Spinnet estate....

Sirius nodded but looked dissatisfied. "Yes--but. What is the reason for pregnant women not being able to Apparate? Oh, and five points for Slytherin," he added.

Parvati raised her hand now and he nodded at her. "Apparition only affects the person casting the spell, the clothing that person is wearing and the objects that person is carrying, and sym--sym--"

"Symbionts," Sirius prompted her.

"Symbionts of no more than a few cells in size." She frowned. "I have no idea what I just said."

Sirius laughed, his eyes crinkling up. He looked now like the handsome, laughing man in his parents' wedding photos. "You're just repeating what I said last week. I understand. Does anyone remember what a symbiont is?"

Hermione looked like she was considering raising her hand, but she crossed her arms instead, looking grumpy. Harry was sure she knew, but was trying to be contrary now. He raised his hand.

"Harry."

He lowered his hand and spoke. "A symbiont is another name for a parasite. Sort of. You said we have bacteria living in us that we have a symbolic--"

"Symbiotic."

"Er, right. We have a symbiotic relationship with them. It. Them. It. What I mean is--the bacteria help us digest food, and things like that. We don't lose them when we Apparate, even thought they're actually, um, their own beings. I'm not sure how to say it. I was going to say independent--"

"--and yet they're not independent, are they?" Sirius finished for him. "They are quite dependent upon us. And we are dependent upon them. That is what symbiotic means. There is a relationship of mutual benefit and interdependence between us and our bacteria. These organisms are too small to be seen by the human eye. We knew they existed long before Muggles did, of course, because of magical methods of observing very small objects, and once they invented microscopes with which to see them, Muggles also learned that these organisms exist. We can also do some things that Muggles can't, medically, because we have spells and potions designed to influence these organisms, to do things at a microcosmic level to cure illnesses and repair injuries. Muggles can do a little along these lines, and they're learning more all the time, but they don't have Pepper-Up potion yet. They can't heal broken bones in about twenty-four hours.

"But tell me, what does all this have to do with why pregnant women cannot Apparate?"

Pansy raised her hand and he nodded at her. "Even when it's very small, a baby is too large to be affected by an Apparition spell cast by the mother. And you can't Apparate while carrying a small child or animal in your arms, either. Same reason."

"Good point. Five points for Slytherin. That's right. A baby in its mother--even very soon after conception--a pet, another adult--trying to Apparate with any being like this leads to enormous complications. Now, it would be nice if the person casting the spell simply disappeared and the thing which cannot be moved using Apparition simply stayed in the original location. But that is not what happens. Some of the worst splinchings in history have been as a result of people trying to do something as seemingly simple as Apparating while holding a cat...."

Harry shuddered, then remembered Hermione accidentally giving herself many of the attributes of a cat--including whiskers and a tail--for a number of weeks when they were in second year. Using Polyjuice Potion with a cat hair had had very unpredictable results. He had a feeling the results of trying to Apparate with a cat would be similar--or worse.

One of Pansy's Slytherin girlfriends raised her hand. "But then why aren't we nekkid when we Apparate somewhere else? Why do our clothes go with us?"

Many of the boys started whistling and making catcalls. Sirius scowled. "Do I need to start giving out detentions?" he said very loudly, his voice echoing in the hall. The boys stopped, looking abashed. Dean had had his fingers in his mouth (having produced a very loud whistle using this method); he removed them quickly and then sat on his hand.

"Miss--er--Tobin asked an excellent question. Does anyone know the answer?" Hermione raised her hand timidly, and Sirius nodded at her. "Can you help us out, Hermione?"

"The clothes aren't alive. Just about every kind of clothing you can think of that isn't synthetic is made from things that were alive at one time: linen comes from flax and cotton from cotton plants, wool from sheep and silk from silkworms. But the materials are no longer alive. They don't have a life force. They're static."

"Five points for Gryffindor! Very good. Yes, good way to put it. They're static. For the most part. As they are no longer alive, they are subject to the ravages of time and will decay and break down, but this sort of change should not be confused with the sort of change that occurs in living, growing creatures. So then--"

"But I'm confused about something," Hermione went on, interrupting Sirius. He didn't complain.

"Yes?"

"Well, what happens if you Apparate with a plant? You know, what if you want to take your aunt a nice geranium from your greenhouse. What happens if you Apparate while carrying the flower pot with the geranium in it?"

Sirius stopped suddenly and stared. After a moment, he shook himself and said. "Well, it seems that Hermione has given us our first project. Now, before you research this, I want you all to theorize. That means I do not want you to look it up in the library. Use what you know already and tell me what you think might happen. You may cite references to support your hypotheses. Developing hypotheses in this manner will come in handy as you continue in your Charms studies. Later in the year you will be working on creating new charms, and you have to learn how to project the likely outcome of a new and untried piece of magic. So! That is your assignment for next Monday: write a two-foot essay outlining what you think would happen if someone Apparated while holding a live geranium. And think about whether the size of the plant would make a difference." He looked round at them all. "Is anyone writing this down?"

The students scrambled to pull out their quills. Harry gave Sirius a small smile as he wrote. He had the feeling that Hermione had reached the limit of his knowledge and that he needed to do more research, but he thought that Sirius had recovered well, giving the class a writing assignment to give him time to get up to speed on the papers that might have been published about Apparating with plants.

"So. You all will answer that question in your essays. Moving on--I am looking for someone to tell me who else cannot Apparate...."

* * * * *

That evening after dinner, Ron reported to the Potions dungeon. Harry and Hermione went with him. He left them in the classroom, however, and stepped forward alone to knock on Snape's office door.

"Come," was the terse reply. Ron turned the knob and entered. A steaming goblet was already waiting for him on the desk, Harry saw through the doorway. "Drink it all, Weasley," Snape said quietly. Harry wasn't sure, but he almost sounded sympathetic, and for the first time Harry wondered what Porphyry Potion was like.

Ron nodded and picked up the goblet; he was standing sideways to Harry and Hermione, who could see Ron grimacing even as his Adam's apple bobbed repeatedly. Ron drained the goblet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then put it back on the desk.

"Has Remus had his yet?" he asked quietly. Snape nodded.

"He flew to the castle from Hogsmeade after the last class and he has left again. He is working this evening." Hearing this, Harry realized that Remus must have gone back to his old job as a night watchman at the warehouse.

Ron closed the door behind him as he left and didn't look at Harry or Hermione. Hermione tried to put her arm around him as they walked, but he squirmed out of her embrace and sped up, walking ahead of them, alone. Harry shook his head at Hermione, then saw that she had tears in her eyes. He sighed and reached out for her hand; she took it and he squeezed it sympathetically, feeling her do the same in return. They walked behind Ron like that, holding hands. Harry watched Ron's back as he loped before them; his shoulders seemed to be bearing more than was fair for a seventeen-year-old boy, even if that boy was also a werewolf.

Ron wasn't especially sociable in the common room that evening, even though it was Hermione's birthday. He went up to bed early without kissing Hermione good night. Harry had noticed that he was particularly moody starting the week before the full moon, and he wished Ron's first instinct wasn't to shut them out at that time. He kept Hermione company in the common room for a little while longer, until she claimed she was tired and wanted to sleep. He kissed her on the forehead and wished her a happy birthday, catching Ginny's eye. He missed her so much it was like an ache; he hadn't even been able to spend time with her the previous evening, when he was supposed to patrol with her, as she'd swapped with Hermione and taken the first shift instead of second.

When they reached the entrance hall the next morning, Draco Malfoy and Mariah Kirkner were not there to meet them as usual. Ginny shrugged and said listlessly, "They were doing the third shift last night. I meant this morning. They wouldn't have been done until four-thirty. They probably slept in."

Harry watched her face as she said this; her inflection was flat and toneless and she was starting to worry him; he didn't want her wasting away, as she'd done in her other life. He wished he had managed to wake up at two in the morning and check the map the previous Saturday night; in the morning, Neville had informed him that he had slept straight through the alarm, he was so tired. Neville had had to stumble across the room to get it to stop making noise, as Harry wasn't showing any signs of waking up and turning it off.

At breakfast Ginny just picked at her food. A pall seemed to be cast over everything, to Harry. Even receiving a letter from Owen about the first team practice didn't make him feel differently.

During Double Divination, after lunch, Ron's mood was worse than ever. Trelawney, of course, wasn't helping. She kept talking about his "melancholy aspect" and how the fate he had suffered (being bitten by a werewolf) was "surely seen in the stars."

"If it was bloody well seen in the stars," he grouched quietly to Harry, "it would have been nice for her to say something to me. Even if I couldn't have stopped it, I'd have known."

Maggie was not present, as she was attending classes herself at that hour. Harry thought he might try to talk to her later, to see whether she could talk to Ron. They got on well; having an older sister seemed to agree with Ron. He took her advice about most things far more seriously than when it came from Bill or Charlie (or, especially, Percy).

On Wednesday Harry was supposed to do the fourth patrol with Malfoy again, but found that the Slytherin had swapped with a Ravenclaw named Dorian who had been trying to get out of the third shift on Tuesday. Arnold Dorian was a sixth year who looked more like a second year, at best. He seemed to be very sharp but talked a bit too much for Harry's taste. He reminded Harry of what Colin Creevey would be like if he swallowed a dictionary, the Standard Books of Spells for all seven years and Hogwarts, A History, just for good measure. Harry almost missed Malfoy.

After lunch on Friday, they had Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. Professor Sprout looked very harried when they arrived.

"All right, everyone. I know you are seventh years, but I'm afraid I won't be teaching you anything new today. I'm putting you all to work. This is something you all know how to do. We're going to be repotting Mandrakes. There are one hundred plants, so each of you will be repotting at least five, but if you get six or seven done, you will receive ten house points..."

"One hundred Mandrakes!" Seamus Finnigan burst out.

"Yes, one hundred. There were two hundred, but the sixth year Ravenclaws and Slytherins helped me with those. Now then--the earmuffs are over here. You know what to do. Don't dawdle! The headmaster wants a constant supply of Mandrake Draughts available in the school apothecary this year. I agree with him; we can't take any chances...."

Harry wondered whether there were threats Dumbledore hadn't revealed to him, threats that explained the need for so many Mandrakes. He retrieved a pair of earmuffs and found a worktable to use. Ron and Hermione were working together, and he saw that Ron seemed to acting a little more naturally around her again. Sunday would be a different story, however; Harry knew Ron was planning to stay holed up in the Shrieking Shack all day and night. Dumbledore had given him permission (and he'd had it rebuilt). On the eve of the full moon, Ron didn't want to take any chances.

Harry was partnered with Justin Finch-Fletchley. They didn't need to put on their earmuffs right away, so they were able to talk. They stood in a queue to get terra cotta pots, and Harry said to him, "So. How was your holiday, Justin?"

Justin frowned. "I've had better."

Harry swallowed while the awkward silence stretched on and on. Finally, they reached the front of the queue and each of them took five pots and returned to their work stations. They donned their gardening gloves (the soft cloth ones that were adequate for plants whose touch wasn't lethal) and pulled out the bin under the table which held the potting soil. Justin started shoveling soil into a pot, but it just fell through the hole in the bottom. He swore, something Harry had never heard Justin do. He looked inordinately angry.

"Forgot the sherds," he said tersely.

"I'll get them," Harry said quickly. He went back to the benches along the back of the greenhouse, where there was a bin containing fragments of broken pots. He scooped up a bunch with his gloved hands to protect him and carried the broken bits back to where Justin was staring into space. Why does everyone seem so changed now that we're in seventh year? he wondered, glancing at Neville briefly when he passed him on the way back.

While they were placing pot sherds in the bottoms of their pots and adding potting soil, Harry thought he'd give a conversation one more try.

"How's Liam?" he asked innocently. Justin raised blazing eyes to his.

"Liam!" he spat. Harry guessed this was the worst possible thing to say, but it was too late now. "Oh, he's fine as long as he can shag any bloke he wants. That's how Liam is."

Harry shoveled the potting soil into his pots and grimaced. After a few moments of silence, he thought Justin was done, but then he started up again.

"I told him over and over that it wasn't his fault. But would he believe me? No; instead he had to start going to Muggle pubs, drinking too much and looking for any bloke who'd have him...."

Harry frowned. "What wasn't his fault?"

"Niamh, of course." Justin sighed and looked very tired now. He stopped shoveling soil and just stood with his trowel in the air, appearing very forlorn. "We had gone out the night before. I had my seventeenth birthday last November and learned to drive during the Christmas holidays. My mum gave me my very own car when I returned home in June. Convertible VW Golf. Not new, but still rather nice. Fantastic for driving along country roads with the top down....." Suddenly, Justin had gone from not talking in anything but brief, terse sentences to emitting a stream of information.

"Liam was supposed to go to Diagon Alley with his sisters the next morning. I dropped him off at a wizarding pub several miles from my house and he Flooed home from there. We were very late, and he was knackered in the morning. Orla said she tried to wake him up and once she could tell he was actually breathing she reckoned he was too tired for shopping and let him sleep. After--after Niamh died, he kept insisting that it was his fault. That if he'd been there, he could have saved her, or died in her place...."

"All right! Is everybody ready for their earmuffs?" Professor Sprout said loudly from the front of the greenhouse. No one in the place could afford to not have their ears protected once people started pulling Mandrakes from their pots. Justin had to stop talking now, to Harry's relief. He'd forgotten all about Niamh dying in the Diagon Alley attack. And somehow, Liam had convinced himself that his sister's death was his fault, and he was drowning his sorrows in too much drink and too many strangers and pushing away Justin, whom Harry thought he loved....

When she ascertained that everyone's ears were covered, they began moving their Mandrakes from the old pots and putting them in the new. Harry was rather surprised to find that he had plants that ranged anywhere from infancy to adolescence. Why were they in so many different stages of development? he wondered. And then he wondered again why Dumbledore had been so adamant about the Mandrake Draught supply.

Professor Sprout checked on everyone's repotting and then gave the signal for them to remove their earmuffs. Harry shook his head afterward; it was good to hear things again. The students bustled about, cleaning up, and Harry managed to say to Justin.

"I'm--I'm sorry about Liam, Justin. You seemed to be good together."

"I thought so, too," Justin replied with a resigned sigh as he wiped down their worktable with a cleaning flannel. "But I wish he understood my point of view. Niamh wasn't thrilled about our seeing each other at first. I thought she was upset about Liam having a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend, but it turned out that wasn't it at all. She was actually against us at first because I'm Muggle-born. They have relatives who are very rigid about purity of blood, all that rot. She finally came round, as Orla had fairly early, and then she was just grand, was Niamh. The four of us did a lot together. We even drove to Brighton earlier in the summer and spent several days. Fantastic weather. I mean--when I'd heard she'd died, I felt a bit like I'd lost a sister, too--" His voice had become thick and Harry saw that his eyes were shining. "Liam didn't care about anyone else's mourning. No one else mattered. The most important thing was for him to beat himself up about it, morning, noon and night." His voice was a whisper now, but it didn't seem to be so that people couldn't hear; Harry thought he might not have the strength to speak more loudly.

"I'm sorry," he said again, hearing how hollow a sentiment it was. But Justin finally smiled feebly.

"Thanks, Harry." He took off his gloves and put them away, hoisting his rucksack on his shoulder and preparing to walk back to the castle. Harry watched him go; somehow, Justin looked very alone. He wondered whether he should ask Remus Lupin to talk to Justin, but changed his mind. Justin would probably just be hacked off if I did that.

He turned and joined the other Gryffindors, who were walking down toward Hagrid's cabin for the Care of Magical Creatures class. Harry saw Neville walking by himself and caught up with him, hoping he could answer a question that was burning within him..

"Oi, Neville! Why do you suppose Sprout had us potting so many different sorts of Mandrakes? I mean, there were babies and toddlers--"

He stopped and smiled a strange new smile that Harry had never seen on Neville's face before. Hermione and Ron, who'd heard Harry's question, had been walking several feet behind Harry. They practically collided with him and Neville. Neville looked at all three of them, looking very--un-Neville-like.

"Can you three keep a secret?"

They looked at each other, wide-eyed, before nodding.

"I was staying at Professor Sprout's this summer. She has just a small cottage, but an enormous greenhouse. Dumbledore had her start the Mandrakes early in July. Trouble was, they would only have been two months old by the time the term started if they were just grown using normal methods. So he procured something from the Ministry that Sprout could use to speed up the growth, and asked her if there was anyone she could think of to help her. She thought of me," he said proudly.

Hermione frowned. "There's no way to speed up a Mandrake's growth, as far as I know. What did the headmaster get from the Ministry?"

He now looked like the cat that ate the cream. "Have you ever heard of--a Time Turner?"

The three looked at each other nervously, then at Neville.

"No, Neville," Hermione said innocently, while Harry tried not to laugh and Ron pressed his lips together and nudged her in the ribs. "What is it?"

Neville told them about it, and the fact that they had used it to prematurely age the plants by actually traveling back in time with them. The trouble was, he and Professor Sprout had to travel forward in time again with the plants, so they were aged-up a bit too.

"Technically, I should have celebrated my eighteenth birthday sometime in mid-August," he whispered as they drew nearer to Hagrid's. "And my nineteenth birthday should be around the end of the summer term. I'm glad I'm not doing it any more, though. Even though we were sticking to a schedule so that we ate proper meals and slept about six hours for every eighteen we were awake, I'm rather tired of living through six days every time the rest of the world goes through one. My summer hols literally lasted a year, for me. It feels like ages since I've been in school. Just hope I haven't forgotten everything. Except Herbology."

"No danger of that," Hermione said happily, seeing how well an extra year of maturity suited him. Having a clear purpose and duty seemed to suit him well too, Harry thought. He now understood the Neville he'd noticed in the dorm, reading; he looked like he'd grown up because he had. He was almost an entire year older than Harry, technically. It was odd to think this, since it was Neville, who constantly lost his toad and melted his cauldrons. Neville growing up. Well, Harry thought, remembering fixing the timelines. Stranger things have happened. Stranger things have certainly happened.

* * * * *

Ginny managed to avoid patrolling with him again on Sunday night, and Harry took on extra shifts over the weekend so that he could spend Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights with Ron in his Animagus form. Hermione switched some shifts as well. Harry tried to distract her during the day on Sunday, as Ron was keeping away and Harry didn't feel it was his place to tell Hermione why. After their final class on Monday, Ron drank his last dose of Wolfsbane Potion, the three of them ate in the school kitchens, and then went down to the Whomping Willow together, accompanied by Sirius.

Harry put out his wand, touching the knot he knew would still the frantic branches. Sirius nodded at the three of them and they ducked down into the tunnel. They emerged in the rebuilt Shrieking Shack, sitting down together to wait for the sun to set.

Ron sat alone, a brooding cast to his features. Hermione and Harry were to one side, waiting. Finally, Harry couldn't take it any more.

"Oh, come on, Hermione. Just show me your Animagus form. Don't make we wait until moonrise...."

She grinned and glanced at Ron. "Should I, do you think?"

Ron shrugged. "Why not? This way you can explain it to him tonight, instead of making him wait for the morning."

"Oh, but it was going to be such fun to make him wait..."

"Hermione!" Harry pleaded. She laughed.

"All right. Now, Harry, keep an open mind...." She stood up. He nodded and waited. She took a deep breath and then--

Her paws touched down. Her nose had elongated into a snout and she had a slightly feathery tail. Her coat was a mix of grey and black, and her eyes glowed intelligently, her ears pricked up. Harry laughed.

"I don't believe it!" Then he stopped. "Wait a minute," he said, remembering something. "You started training to be an Animagus at the beginning of sixth year...."

She changed into her human form again and sat next to him, breathing with difficulty. "I know. That's why, once Professor McGonagall and I knew what form I was going to take, I was reluctant to tell you two. I was afraid you might think I was going to be a wolf because of Remus--who was Professor Lupin to us at the time. I thought you would both accuse me of having a crush on a teacher again." Harry was surprised; she didn't usually like to admit to her Lockhart crush.

Harry was puzzled. "Then why--?"

"I did all kinds of research to find out what animals I identified with. I like cats, of course, but after being one temporarily in second year--" She shivered. "I didn't want to repeat that again, somehow. And then, in my research, I came across all of these articles in Shaman Monthly about North American shamans and wolves. The Clan of the Wolf is so revered, Harry, and it's in part because the wolf is regarded as a teacher. When I read that, something in me just clicked. I know you said I was a cellist in your other life, and when I was small I thought about being a doctor--but in recent years, more and more, I've come to think that what I really feel like, deep down, is a teacher."

Harry patted her hand. "Well, you were very good at teaching me Summoning Charms for the Tournament," he said, smiling.

She nodded. "Something about teaching just--just makes me feel completed. I've talked to Maggie about it a little, since her parents--I mean, her adoptive parents--were teachers, and she's a teacher. She talks about teaching as a calling, not a job. I know just how she feels! If I trained at St. Mungo's to be a doctor, it would never be more than a job to me. But teaching....Just look at some of our most dedicated teachers here at Hogwarts! Do you think they do it for the money? The more I read about the attributes of the wolf the more I knew that this was an animal I could bond with, that I could learn to become. I felt like the wolf chose me, not the other way around...."

Harry nodded. "That's how I felt about the griffin."

"Right! But then--well, when Remus bit Ron--" she looked at Ron sadly; "--I was no longer worried about you two thinking I was attracted to Remus. Instead, I felt like--like I caused Ron to become a werewolf. Which is stupid and superstitious and I should know better. I've said all of that to myself countless times, so you don't need to. But I still felt incredibly guilty. Remus finally talked me out of it, and talked me out of going to McGonagall to try to choose a different animal form. I know I wasn't supposed to tell others about my training, but he was a teacher at the time, and I couldn't think of anyone who would understand better what I was going through. He said that your dad," she said to Harry, "and Sirius and even Pettigrew were the same way about choosing their animals. Started off thinking that it was their decision, and their animals choosing them sort of snuck up on them. He asked me why I chose a wolf and I told him. He asked me whether those things were still true after he bit Ron, about the wolf-as-teacher and so on. I said they were. Finally, he convinced me that it wasn't my fault he'd bitten Ron and that I should go ahead and stick with my wolf form, especially as I was almost done my training. So I did, and to my relief, when I showed Ron for the first time, he didn't throw a wobbly."

Harry smiled at her, but then he noticed that Ron was looking rather ragged around the edges. He nodded at her and changed into his griffin form. Hermione became a grey timber-wolf once more and a few moments later, Harry tensed up, as Ron was screaming in agony from his transformation. When it was finally over, he sank down onto the floor, resting his jaw on his front paws, looking very tired and dog-like, and not at all dangerous, thanks to the Wolfsbane Potion. Harry and Hermione flanked him and closed their eyes too. Harry felt his cat's motor rumbling through him and heard the peaceful snuffling of the wolves next to him. This was as it should be, he thought: the two of them were with Ron, keeping him from spending the night alone in a wooden shack with the wind whistling through the cracks. They'd been friends since they'd knocked out a mountain troll together and they weren't going to stop being friends now just because one of them was a werewolf.

---