They Shook Hands: Year Three (Original Version)

They Shook Hands : Year Three

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic
by Dethryl

Chapter Ten - Halloween in Hogsmeade

Harry toiled away in the library, working on his Ancient Runes assignment. He would rather have been studying Potions or Defence; Runes certainly wasn't his favourite subject, and not for the last time he wished learning the basics wasn't so tedious. He dipped his pen in the inkwell and drew a neat Ingwaz.

A flash of blonde hair caught and drew his eye. Blaise had tossed her head, sending her curls flying. Harry watched now as she caught her lower lip between her teeth while she penned her own quill with a neatness and precision Harry still had yet to master. One blonde curl kept falling into her face, and she would twirl it around her finger for awhile before hooking it behind her ear. A minute or so later, the whole sequence would play out again.

She glanced up at him, as if she felt his eyes resting on her. Harry felt blood creep into his face and immediately stared down at his parchment. He dared to peek up, though, and Blaise giggled merrily and smiled warmly at him. He blushed again.

Harry hadn't known quite how to act around his friend ever since he'd heard her tell the other girls that she wanted to kiss him. She'd kissed him before, of course, at Christmas and on other special occasions, but it was an open secret that Blaise wanted to kiss Harry in a romantic way, that she wanted Harry to kiss her. Therein lay part of the confusion. It wasn't that Harry didn't like Blaise. He quite thought the world of her. She was warm, caring, loyal, and very, very smart. Did that mean he wanted to kiss her? Harry didn't know.

Ever since they'd eavesdropped on the girls on the train, the blokes had been constantly, though privately (away from the girls), having a go at Harry about snogging with Blaise. Fortunately Harry could fire right back at Tim with digs about Pansy and Jenna. Unfortunately, none of the girls seemed interested in Draco, so his grief went on uninterrupted. The only positive side was that he took as much pleasure from baiting Tim as he did Harry. The constant mentioning of the situation kept it prominently in his thoughts, and he worried a great deal about the prospect of doing such a teenaged thing as snogging.

Tangentally connected to his musings over girls and how complicated they all seemed to be, they'd had a bit of excitement a week into term when Harry had received a package from Wand Smasher that held signed copies of their group photos from the show. Tim and Millie did much gloating and showing off in the Slytherin common room, as did Parvati in Gryffindor as well. Harry himself had a note written by the band's manager that granted him and one guest free entry and backstage access to any show on the current tour. A list of dates was included. One guest ought to have implied one of his mates, but his dawning awareness of girls was leading his imagination down all kinds of paths instead.

Should he ask Blaise to go with him over the holiday break? She had expressed an interest in going when she'd heard about the first show during the summer, but only after Harry had decided to go. Would she say yes even if he did ask her? She'd admitted her butterflies to the other girls (and, inadvertently, the boys) on the train. If he confronted her on her crush, what would she do? Did he even want to find out?

Aside from girl trouble and the blokes trying to wind each other up about it, Harry's days were all in all very routine. He went to classes, studied his books, and listened with interest to the tales from the subjects he wasn't taking -- such as the first Care of Magical Creatures class where, Millie breathlessly reported, Hagrid had brought out hippogryffs. He laughed with the others when Crabbe shared that Professor Trelawney (Divination) had predicted that Ronald Weasley would suffer an altogether messy demise. Before long he had choir meetings and Quidditch practices as well. Tim's birthday at the beginning of October was an excuse to stay up late and eat too much cake, as was Millie's three weeks later.

Everything was almost normal enough that Harry could have let himself believe that there wasn't an escaped murderer out in the world somewhere looking for him. While Harry never forgot about Sirius Black and how he had betrayed the Potter family, he didn't let his desire for vengeance consume him. The time would come, he realized, and then nothing could prevent it. Harry would kill Black eventually.

But until that happened, Harry studied his spells and learned whatever he thought might be useful. He did his best to get through his days without giving in to the urge to hex Weasley's mouth shut permanently and waited patiently for Professor Trelawney's prediction to come true. The great prat seemed unable to learn the lessons that Harry and his friends had tried so often to teach him.

The boy simply would not shut up about the dementors. Whenever he saw Harry, Weasley would mime a fainting spell. Other times, he and the other Gryffindors would wave their hands in front of them and make spooky noises meant to imply dementors. It was irritating in the extreme, but there were ways of getting back at him.

Harry had broken the news to the Hogwarts grapevine that Arthur Weasley was now driving the Knight Bus. While it wasn't as bad as working in the Centaur Liason Office (which he also did, the driving job being a second source of income for the family), it certainly wasn't what you said you wanted to do when you grew up. Predictably, Ronald nearly burst blood vessels in his face when news reached him of what gossip was floating around the school. Short of stamping around the castle like a cross troll, however, there was little he could do to deny it. After all, it was true.

Something also true, to Weasley's persistant and vocal displeasure, was that his sister Ginny had settled into Slytherin House so smoothly that even Harry was amazed by how well his plan had worked. Draco took endless pleasure in reminding Weasley of it, too, every chance he got. His favourite parting taunt at the Gryffindor was a promise to give his sister greetings when next he saw her. Weasley remained convinced that the evil Slytherins had brainwashed her, but Ginny was actually doing quite well in Slytherin.

Ginny had gained the patronage of Laine Slater, who was the leader of her little gang, and both of the Slater twins had always been quite keen on Harry. Because he had asked it of her, Ginny could not have had a better ally than Laine Slater. The house would not soon forget Laine laying into Erika Chabré when the fourth year had chanced to snidely comment about homeless Weasleys in her hearing. Laine's crackling vituperation probably still echoed in some far reaches of the dungeons. Laine had squashed all opposition from within the house with her public display of friendship, and the blissful expression Harry saw on Percy's face made him feel like a bag of Galleons.

Despite the grim events that might have been omens of a bad year, if you believed in that sort of thing, which Harry, after hearing Jenna scorn Divination, did not, somehow there was cheerfulness at the castle. Everyone seemed to have recovered from the immediate presence of dementors. After the attack at the beginning of the school year, the Ministry, under pressure from the unlikely alliance of both Dumbledore and Lucius Malfoy, withdrew the foul guards of Azkaban from anywhere on the Hogwarts grounds.

Though the dementors had gone, they had not gone far. Those looking forward to the Hogsmeade weekend were not looking forward to facing the town's new residents. Harry wasn't thinking about that right now, though. He still needed to figure out how he was going to even get to Hogsmeade. He had no signed permission slip from a parent or guardian.

Harry shoved his Ancient Runes text aside and put his chin in his hands, staring off into nothing. How was he going to get out of the castle?

"Don't be glum, chum," Draco said sympathetically. He knew what had been bugging Harry all week. "I can't go either, you know."

"Because of me," Harry groused.

"For which you've earned several black marks," Draco agreed with a nod. "But not enough for me to trade you in."

"If only there was some way to fake the permission slip," Harry complained. "Stupid, stupid Muggles! Why should they have any say over where I go and what I do?"

"They shouldn't," Tim responded, coming to sit down. He thumped a heavy book on the table, drawing a sharp glare from Madam Pince. "I've been working on this for a couple of weeks now, and I think I've figured out how you can thumb your nose at them, Harry."

"How?" Tim's words were as a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. Any chance he could get out of the castle he would grasp at. Not only was it because the Muggles were denying him and he longed to rub their noses in it, but he had promised Laine that he would bring her back something nice from Hogsmeade. Likewise, Draco had promised Shawna a present, and Sarrah had wanted some butterbeer. That was the price for unloading their ex-Gryffindor tagalong.

"Arithmancy," Tim answered in a satisfied tone. "As long as we can get a sample of a signature, I think it can be done." As he explained the concept behind his scheme, something about a Similarity Test and more differentiation, Harry felt a headache start behind his left eye.

"Can you do it?" he asked at last.

"Well, no." Tim looked embarassed by that, though from what Harry had heard, he had no reason to be. That he even followed what he'd been studying spoke volumes about his intelligence. "But I think I've worked around that, too." He lowered his voice to a whisper, appropriate in a library, but barely audible. "Who do we know who's very, very good at Arithmancy?"

"Percy," Harry replied instantly. "You think he could do this?"

"I do. He's the Head Boy, you know. If he can't, I don't think we're going to fake this."

"Will he do it, do you think?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded. "Yes, he'll do it. I need to find the great Muggle's signature. I'm sure I've got it somewhere."

'Somewhere' turned out to be an old letter sent up addressed to the school instructing them that Harry was not to leave during the Christmas holiday. Harry found the irony very satisfying. With the signature sample and permission form in hand, Harry tracked down Percy that very evening. The weekly prefects meeting, on Thursdays this year, was just getting out, and Harry was waiting in the hall outside the classroom.

"Evening, Percy," he said as the Head Boy stepped out into the corridor.

"Potter!" he exclaimed.

"Move it, Weasley!" said the Head Girl, Tiffany Trotter, as she shoved him out of the way. She glared at Harry for no discernable reason, harrumphed at him, and flounced away, her shoes clicking on the polished wooden floors.

"Excuse her, please," Percy grimaced. "That had entirely to do with me."

"Because she's a Gryffindor?"

"Yes."

"Stupid," Harry judged. "Glad I'm not in their house."

"I spent five years with them all," Percy said wistfully. "I thought we all knew each other better than this, but even magic can't grant all wishes. As long as I'm wishing, I'd like a life-size statue of a giant made from solid gold, too."

Harry tried not to smile. Percy had been evicted from his house with more than just hurtful words like Ginny had; they'd thrown hexes at him too, and left him dangling from the top of the Astronomy Tower by his feet. Only his having saved Draco's life (which was what had brought about his unpopularity in Gryffindor in the first place) had opened the doors of Slytherin House to him.

Percy shook his head, clearing away troubling thoughts. "But Tiff is my problem, not yours. What can I do for you, Potter?"

"Let's go inside."

Puzzled, judging from his expression, Percy ushered Harry into the prefects' meeting room. The place looked lavish and ornate. It was decorated in shades of purple, giving the room a very royal appearance. The shelves held nothing but leather-bound books -- shiny and new, unlike the dusty tombs in the library. In the middle were some wooden tables, with more books spread upon them. Thick arm chairs dotted the room, looking more like thrones with big footstools to make sure the prefects were comfortable. Up towards the ceiling, the walls were decorated with small, silver-framed portraits of all the prefects that had come before, with large gold ones to indicate a Head Boy or Girl. With a sudden lump in his throat, Harry saw his mum and dad's portraits on the Gryffindor wall. Harry swallowed his sudden emotion and made himself turn to the business at hand.

"I need your help with something, Percy. You're the only one I can turn to."

"What is it?"

"I need you to help me forge my permission slip to Hogsmeade."

"What?!"

"Yes. Tim figured out a way, but none of us have the skill to do it. You do."

"You flatter me if you think I can fool the teachers."

"And how far will flattery get me? It's just a regular piece of parchment, isn't it?" Harry pressed. "It's not magicked like the anti-cheating quills, right?"

"Well, no." Percy, despite himself, seemed to be thinking it over. "It's ordinary parchment."

"So you could do it."

"I believe I could."

"Then please do so." Harry held out the permission slip and the note.

"Harry, I'm not sure you realize what you're asking of me. This is serious business here. You could get into a lot of trouble over this. I could get into a lot of trouble for this." Percy looked worried now. As Head Boy, and before as a prefect, his duty was to enforce school rules. Now he was being asked to help break them.

It really didn't matter to Harry that he might get in trouble, or that Percy might as well. All he cared about was that he was able to get into Hogsmeade when the Muggles wouldn't want him to. Harry frowned slightly at the older boy now.

"It wasn't all that long ago that you asked something of me, you know. It was something that was difficult to pull off, fraught with peril, and I did it as a personal favour to you. Do you remember, Percy?"

By the expression on his face, he did indeed know what Harry was talking about.

"Ginny is quite happy in Slytherin. I've made sure of it. I keep my promises, Percy."

Percy swallowed hard. Harry held all the cards, and he knew it.

"So you'll do the Arithmancy and get this Muggle's signature onto that permission slip. You're a wizard of your word, aren't you?"

"I will obey," Percy whispered. "My Lord."

* * *

At breakfast on Saturday morning, everyone was excited about the visit to Hogsmeade. That, of course, did not interfere one iota with the Hogwarts gossip mill. Amidst all the speculation and betting revolving around the next weekend's Quidditch match (Slytherin versus Gryffindor), everyone was talking about Professor Snape and how he had substituted for Professor Lupin during Friday's lessons. In particular, Gryffindor's loss of twenty-two points was being blamed on Ronald Weasley. Harry didn't know what the problem was. Back towards the end of September, Professor Snape had taken their Defence class and done just fine.

Harry hurried back to the dorm after the meal to don his favourite green cloak and a pair of gloves. The weather was somewhat chilly, and Harry liked staying warm. He tapped himself on the chest and spoke the Self-Warming Charm that Professor Snape had taught them all back in first year.

"Are we all ready?" he asked his mates. They met the girls in the common room, and Harry noticed that Blaise had done herself up quite fancily. He studied her for a long moment and smiled at her when she met his eyes. They were all just about to leave when they were interrupted by a prefect.

"Hold it right there!" Jamie Zabini bounced up off the sofa and took three quick strides. She grabbed Blaise by the chin and turned her sister's face to the light. "What's all this, then?"

"It's not anything," Blaise denied as she tried to squirm away.

"Looks like Rosedust," one of Jamie's friends, Lynn Fawcett commented.

"And some Lascivity," Jamie declared. "Blaise Aliza Zabini, why were you rooting through my kit? You know full well that you are not allowed to wear make-up unless Mother gives permission."

"But I'm going out to Hogsmeade!" Blaise protested.

"Looking like that much of a tart?" her sister exclaimed. "Over my dead body!"

With that final denial, Jamie dipped two fingers into Blaise's collar, twisted her wrist to choke the poor girl, and began hauling her to the bathroom.

"A good scrubbing ought to teach you not to invade my make-up!"

Harry felt a pang of sympathy, but also had to hide a smile.

"It appears that Blaise will not be joining us," Jenna observed with vast understatement.

"Good. She and Draco can play at snogging like their siblings do," Millie laughed. "Wow, that's almost creepy."

"Someone ought to express an interest in snogging Draco," Harry struck in for his best mate, who was not going with them.

"Go right ahead," Jenna invited him.

"Not ever, thank you very much."

"Then who do you want to kiss? What's her name?"

Harry ignored that question and the intermittant repetition of it that lasted through the corridors, up into the entrance hall, where they turned in their permission slips to a sour-faced Filch, and out the front doors and down the path, until they reached the wrought-iron gates that stood open with one solitary guard in a tatty black shroud. The awful wave of coldness struck them, and no one wanted to laugh. Harry wished desperately that it would not be so absolutely suicidal to conjure a bucket of pink paint.

The dementor didn't interfere with them, though, and Harry was glad for that. They walked away as quickly as possible. He tried to follow Jenna's story about Divination, doing his best to put the awful things out of his mind.

"Well Trelawney made this random statement," the funny girl was saying, "to the effect that something awful that Brown had been dreading would happen in the middle of October. Well wouldn't you know, her pet rabbit got mauled by a fox not two weeks ago!"

"What?!" several of them, Harry included, exclaimed.

"I couldn't believe it myself, but Brown was so tearful that I just know it really happened."

"How could she be dreading her rabbit getting killed by a fox?" Millie wanted to know.

"Yeah," Tim chimed in. "Seems a bit vague to me."

"I'm sure she wasn't dreading that in particular, but it has to have been something she's worried about at one point or another." Jenna tried to explain it. "But Trelawney did predict something awful would happen, and it did."

"Lucky guess," Pansy said scornfully. "Even a clock that doesn't work anymore can be right twice a day."

"Divination is rubbish," Tim declared with confidence. "Professor Vector says so."

"Oh, I couldn't agree more. Arbitrarily deciding that a lump of sodden tea leaves looks like a bowler hat or a dog's head? If you believed in it, it's enough to make you start looking for signs everywhere."

"But there are signs everywhere," Goyle spoke up. "Like that one there that says 'High Street'."

Crabbe guffawed loudly. Everyone else, even Jenna, who loved to make her friends bemoan her wit, groaned at Goyle's awful punniness.

From all the discussion that had taken place during the past week or so, Harry knew that Hogsmeade was the only entirely wizarding village in Britain. Tradition held that it had been founded about the same time as Hogwarts, over a thousand years ago. The village founder, according to seventh year prefect Sam Palce, had fled persecution at the hands of Muggles, winding up near the castle. Hengist of Woodcroft had found safe haven and settled down to build a village that was still picturesque, with thatched cottages and shops and one main road. Harry was quite enchanted with the place.

"Where do we go first?" he wanted to know.

"Honeydukes," Goyle answered, wincing as his voice cracked. "We need to get sweets before the good stuff is gone."

"Trust a fathead to be thinking with his stomach," Tim jeered.

"My head's not fat!"

"He's right, Tim," Crabbe stuck in for his best mate. "If we wait, there'll be only blood-flavoured lollipops and Cockroach Clusters left."

"Tim, how could you let those two beat you in an argument?" Pansy asked scornfully. "You're slipping a little bit, there."

"Shut up, Pansy," Tim retorted weakly. "Can't you let it go for even a day? We're in Hogsmeade for Merlin's sake! Don't you want to have fun?"

"Running you into the ground is fun!"

Tim shook his head and did not respond. Instead, he stuck his hands in his pockets and started walking up the lane, his cloak billowing slightly in the cool autumn breeze.

"Where's he going?" Pansy asked. "Was it something I said? I must remember it for future use."

"You just don't know when to quit, do you Pansy?" Millie asked rhetorically. "Hey Tim! Wait up!" Millie jogged to catch up with Tim, and the pair of them sauntered off alone into the village.

"We're going to Honeydukes," Crabbe announced. "Harry, are you coming?"

"Maybe a bit later," he said, still a bit stunned by Tim's sudden fit of temper. "I've got to buy some presents for a few people before I do anything else."

"Very good, then," Goyle said with a nod. "We'll see you around." The two biggest boys in third form headed off to the sweet shop, leaving Harry standing at the top of High Street with Pansy and Jenna.

"This is not what I imagined," he confessed to the girls.

"How many things are exactly what we envision?" Jenna asked philosophically. "Never fear, though. Pansy and I won't leave you all alone. Blaise would never forgive us."

Harry grinned. "Well that's good. The pair of you might come in handy, at that. I don't know what sort of presents to get for girls."

"Oooh," Pansy gushed. "Harry, you little charmer, you!"

"Don't overreact, Pansy," he laughed. "Draco and I promised presents for the second year girls to get them to take Ginny off of our hands."

"Then we should definitely help you get something nice," she declared. "That girl gets a little overbearing, I swear. I nearly hexed her last year. I could tell she was starting to put on airs because of hanging around with us older kids."

The trio set on down the lane, delighting in their first visit to the village. Third year students were everywhere, rushing to and fro, trying to do everything all at once. The older students were a little more sedated, but Harry suspected that the village residents were glad such madness descended on them only a few times a year.

The first stop was at the Three Broomsticks, an inn at the near edge of town. With a good locale and a pleasant, homey exterior, the place was a frequent haunt of many Hogwarts students. Harry waited his turn in line and ordered two flasks of butterbeer for Sarrah Nolan. Her bribe had been remarkably simple; she'd told him exactly what she wanted. Laine and Shawna, by contrast, had said only that they wanted "something nice". Butterbeer acquired and safely sequestered in a deep pocket of his cloak, Harry departed the Three Broomsticks with full intentions of returning later for a round or three.

The three Slytherins wandered through the village, delighting in the simple freedom. Harry browsed through the different and fantastic sweets at Honeydukes, got lots of laughs looking through the shelves at Zonko's joke shop, and marvelled at the selection of clothing at Gladrags Wizardwear. With the help of the two girls, Harry eventually picked out a black-and-gold pheasant-feather quill in Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. That would be Shawna's present. For Laine, Harry decided on an eagle-feather quill imported from America.

His duties fulfilled, Harry wanted to explore. They exited the shop and turned left down the side road, but hadn't taken more than a few steps before a well-hated voice called out to him sneeringly.

"So you summoned up enough courage to visit Hogsmeade, did you, Potter? Aren't you worried that the nasty dementors will get you? Woooooo!" Weasley waggled his fingers in Harry's general direction.

"What would a Weasley know about courage? Doesn't it take four of you to match one Slytherin?" Jenna beat Harry to the punch.

Weasley's face started to turn red. He was so very, very predictable. "Gotta have girls defend you, Potter?"

"These girls? Absolutely. I notice you're by yourself. Can't you be pleasant for just one day, Weasley?" Harry gave his nemesis a withering glare. "Or must you always be a ghastly, spotty, vicious little git?"

"Nice one," Jenna said as an aside.

"Thanks."

"You're nothing but a sneaky, slimy, snakey Slytherin!"

"I'm much more than that!" Harry was taking the piss, having as much fun laughing at Weasley's pathetic insults as he was throwing his own zingers.

"Oh, let me tell you what else you are, Potter!"

"Better watch yourself, Weasley," Harry warned him in mock-friendly tones. "Aren't you supposed to die this year? You wouldn't want to get bit by a poisonous snake, would you?"

"Bloodydark Parselmouth! I'm tired of you Slytherins thinking you're magic's gift to the world," Weasley spat with disgust. "You think you're so bloody wonderful."

"We are the best," Harry told him seriously. "But I wouldn't expect a beef-witted apple-john like yourself to appreciate it. Why don't you go away and try to improve yourself? Maybe if you work hard enough at it, you'll get up to the level of a Hufflepuff by the end of the year."

Weasley looked ready to burst. His hand flashed to the pocket of his second-hand robes and practically ripped the fabric in his haste to draw his wand. For the first time, he was armed first. Nobody said a word; the situation had escalated.

"Not so mouthy now, are you, Potter?" Weasley exulted. "Nothing to say when you don't have the upper hand, eh?"

"You've made a horrible mistake, Weasley," Harry warned him in a soft voice. "Put your wand away before you do something you'll regret."

"I should shut your mouth for you, Potter. I've been practicing a lot this year, waiting for the right time to hex you good."

Harry was thinking very quickly now. His chances of getting out of this without a scuffle were minimal, he realized. Weasley did have his wand pointed at him. Harry couldn't draw his own without getting hit with a spell. Well, it would just have to be trickery.

He shifted his focus, looking past Weasley. "That's it! Get him, Goyle!"

"Goyle!" Weasley reacted, throwing a glance over his shoulder. The point of his wand drifted, enough for Harry to charge forward and tackle the Gryffindor to the ground.

"Geroff!" Weasley grunted, as Harry tried to wrest his wand away. The shaft of wood went flying. Harry balled up his fist and punched Weasley in the face as hard as he could.

"Yow!" The pain that exploded in his hand was not as bad as the time he'd broken his leg falling off his broom, but it was close. There was a loud snap, just as there had been on that occasion, and Harry cradled his injured hand.

"Petrificus totalis!" Jenna's quick spell-casting saved Harry from a sure beating; there was no way he could have fought Weasley only one-handed.

Harry climbed off the Gryffindor and gave him a disgusted look. "See what you did? Honestly, the situations you get yourself into."

Pansy inspected his hand. "I think it's broken," she announced. "You need to have Madam Pomfrey look at it immediately."

"Damn you, Weasley!" Harry swore. "We need to fix him somehow."

Jenna smiled in such an evil fashion as to take Harry aback. "Jenna, what are you thinking?"

"Justice," she said shortly. With a wave of her wand, she turned a spare bit of parchment she pulled from her pocket into a white circle. This she bent down and covered Weasley's face with. One quick Sticking Charm later, she straightened up. "We can leave him now."

And they did.

With undue haste, the two girls hurried Harry up to the castle, past the awful dementor, and up to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey asked no questions as she spooned a tonic into him, and mere moments later his hand felt good as new. Harry thanked her profusely, but ignored her questions about the dementors and how they were affecting him. All Harry wanted to do was get back into the village and continue exercising his privileges. But he could not ignore the dementors themselves so easily.

As they once again approached the gates of the castle, Harry felt the awful coldness washing over him. He took smaller and smaller steps and finally stopped walking at all. In his head, he could hear the echoes of that woman screaming. He wanted to vomit.

"Harry? Harry, are you okay?"

"No, Jenna," he managed to whisper. "Not at all."

"No more Hogsmeade for you," she declared, spinning him around by main force. "March!" And she gave him a shove to get him going.

Stumbling, but gradually gaining strength (the further away from the dementor he got), Harry allowed himself to be guided back into the castle. He was soon settled into a comfortable chair in front of the fire in the Slytherin common room. He nibbled on a Chocolate Frog and tried not to think about the woman who screamed in his head.

"So Draco, what did you and Blaise do today?"

* * *

When Sunday morning came, Harry still didn't want to go anywhere near the gates of the castle. Even looking out the exterior windows was enough to make him nauseous. His eyes were drawn every time to the hooded figure haunting the wrought iron, which today stood open.

Most of his friends were going out into the village again. Crabbe and Goyle were headed back to Honeydukes to get another enormous sack of sweets. Tim had decided to buy the book he'd seen in Dervish and Banges and gone with them. Pansy, Blaise, Jenna, and Millie had declared "No boys allowed" and departed as well. The only Slytherin still around was Draco, and he was in a foul mood for not being able to go at all.

Harry lost a couple of games of chess, but Draco's victorious crowing grated on his nerves. He put his pieces away, drew on his cloak, told Draco to go soak his head, and went for a walk. He had stopped to look out the window, but seen only the dementor.

"Good morning, Harry." The voice that startled him out of his reverie belonged to Professor Lupin, who was coming around the corner.

"Professor Lupin! Good morning."

"What are you doing up here?" the Defence teacher asked, in a much different tone than Filch would have used. "Shouldn't you be having fun down in Hogsmeade?"

Harry shook his head. "Didn't feel up to it."

Lupin eyed him for a moment. "I see. Well, if you're feeling under the weather, might I offer you a cup of tea? I was just headed back to my office. Would you be interested in seeing a grindylow? We'll be studying them next lesson."

Professor Lupin was the best Defence teacher that Harry had yet had. They'd just finished studying kappas. Without wasting any time, now they were on grindylows. Before a week had passed, they would be learning about hinkypunks. Harry was certainly not about to turn down a chance to get a leg up on his studies.

"Sure."

The Defence classroom was not far, and Harry followed Professor Lupin into his office, wondering how it would have changed from Lockhart's obsequious self-obsession. To his delight, the place had a neat and tidy look to it now. Magical devices were on display, but not crowding the shelves. A very large tank of water stood in one corner, and a sickly green creature with sharp little horns had its face pressed up against the glass, pulling faces and flexing its long, spindly fingers.

"A water demon!"

"Yes, indeed." Lupin surveyed the grindylow thoughtfully. "We shouldn't have much trouble with him, not after the kappas. The trick is to break his grip. You notice the abnormally long fingers? Strong, but very brittle."

The grindylow bared its green teeth and then buried itself in a tangle of weeds in the corner of the tank.

"That's very tally," Harry said with gusto. Defence was once again his favourite subject.

"Is that the latest slang?" Lupin asked curiously. "In my day, good things were called max."

"Maximum?"

"Exactly. Now, about that tea? I'm afraid I only have teabags."

"That's fine," Harry took the opportunity to poke around the room while the professor fixed the tea. He jumped as, with one tap of his wand, Lupin make the tea kettle start whistling a merry tune.

"There we are. Isn't that nice, then?"

"Thank you, sir."

"You know, Harry, my encounter with you today is most well-timed. I've been meaning to pull you aside for some time now."

"Yes, sir?" It was usually never a good thing when the teacher wanted to pull you aside for a private talk.

"I hope you're not harboring any resentment towards me for not wanting you to face the boggart."

Oh! Harry shook his head. "No, sir. Given what happened, it seems you had your good reasons."

"Thank you for understanding. It is always chancy to confront students with their worst fears. You, with so much tragedy in your life, are a more delicate situation than most." That was the closest anyone usually came to saying that he had been orphaned by the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries. "And that you conjured up a dementor, well," the man trailed off thoughtfully.

"What does it mean?" Harry asked, the expression on Lupin's face worrying him.

"It suggests, Harry, that what you fear most is fear. This is both wise and profound. It reflects a certain maturity on your part. I can't help but wonder how you acquired it so early in your life."

"About these dementors," Harry said, eager to change the subject. "You've got to know more about them than anyone in the castle, right?"

Lupin smiled at Harry's presumption. "Professor Dumbledore knows more than the entire staff put together. Professor Snape also knows a great deal about the Dark Arts, as I'm sure you are aware. But yes, I know about dementors."

"Something strange happens to me when I'm around them," he began, but broke off as there came a knock on the door.

"Enter!" Lupin called, and Professor Snape strode through the door. He carried a large goblet, the contents of which were smoking faintly. He tossed a curious look Harry's way, but spoke to Lupin:

"Here is your concoction, Lupin. As before, drink it directly."

"Thank you, Severus. I do appreciate your efforts."

"Mister Potter, a pleasure to see you. I hope you're not here because of poor performance in class."

"No, sir!" The last thing he wanted was for Snape to think he'd been slacking off on his studies. "Professor Lupin invited me for tea."

"Lupin, you never invite me for tea."

"I didn't realize you craved my company that much, Severus. As it was, I invited Harry so I could show off the grindylow that came in yesterday."

"Such minor Dark creatures, Lupin. When were you planning on starting them on a really dangerous creature, like a werewolf? When I quizzed your third year Gryffindors on Friday, they had no idea at all how to identify one."

"All of the students have had a rather spotty education in the past few years, Severus," Lupin replied mildly. "I'm only trying to help them acquire a fundamental base of knowledge."

Snape placed the goblet on the desk. "I wouldn't wait on this," he said and departed in short order. Lupin caught Harry's curious look and replied.

"I've been feeling a bit off-colour lately, and that potion is the only thing that helps. Professor Snape, as you know, is one of the very best, and I was never more than a passing student of Potions. This one is particularly complex, so I'm really quite fortunate to be working with him."

Was Lupin buttering up Snape because he was Harry's Head of House?

"A pity sugar makes it useless," Lupin said regretfully, taking a large swallow and shuddering.

"Sugar makes most potions useless," Harry recited from his lessons.

"Quite correct." Lupin took another swallow. "That really does taste awful. Best to get it down quickly." He drained the goblet. "Oh, that taste! Good thing I have tea, that's all I will say."

* * *

The Halloween Feast was lavish like never before. The Great Hall had been decorated with hundreds and hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering bats, and many flaming orange streamers, which were swimming lazily across the stormy ceiling like brilliant watersnakes. The food was delicious; even those who'd gone into Hogsmeade today and stuffed themselves in either Honeydukes or the Three Broomsticks managed second helpings of everything. The feast finished with entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a bit of formation gliding; Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor, had a great success with a reenactment of his own botched beheading. The Bloody Baron, needless to say, did not participate.

It was such a pleasant evening that even Weasley couldn't spoil Harry's good mood when he shouted out through the departing crowd, "The dementors send their love, Potter!"

Harry, Draco, and Tim followed the rest of the Slytherins along the usual path down to the dungeons and the Slytherin common room. Margaret Rosier, a sixth year prefect, gave the password ("We miss Kettleburn.") and they all tramped in and settled down for the evening.

Not fifteen minutes had passed before Professor Snape came through the stone wall. "Everyone up at once. Back to the Great Hall. Not a word out of anyone, or it will be detention for a week. Move now, quickly!"

What the heck was going on? Harry was just as confused as anyone else, and he followed the crowd back upstairs. They found themselves joined by the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in discovering the Gryffindors already there. Professor Dumbledore was standing, pacing, obviously thinking very quickly. When all the students had returned, he raised his hands for silence.

"The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," he announced, as Professors Flitwick and McGonagall closed all doors into the hall. "I'm afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances, and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately," he added to Percy, who was looking very serious. "Send a Messenger spell or one of the ghosts."

Professor Dumbledore paused as he was about to leave the hall and said, "Oh, yes, you'll be needing-" and with one casual wave of his wand, the long tables flew to the edges of the hall and stood themselves against the walls. With another wave, the floor was covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags.

"Sleep well," Professor Dumbledore wished them, closing the door behind him.

The hall immediately began to buzz excitedly; the Gryffindors were telling the rest of the school what had just happened.

"We got back to our common room, right?"

"But we couldn't get through the secret door."

"The painting that guards the entrance was slashed to ribbons!"

"The guardian ran away. Peeves said she was running through the landscape up on the fourth floor."

"Peeves said?"

"Yes, Peeves said."

"She wouldn't let him in."

"Who?"

"And Peeves said it was Sirius Black!"

"Sirius Black!"

to be continued...