They Shook Hands: Year Three (Original Version)

They Shook Hands : Year Three

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

Chapter Fifteen - Anti-Dementor Lessons

"Ah, Harry! Do come in."

It was the first Thursday back from holiday, and Harry had reported to the History of Magic classroom promptly at eight. Professor Lupin was waiting for him with a large packing case that he'd placed next to Professor Binns' desk.

"What's that?" said Harry.

"Another Boggart," said Lupin, stripping off his cloak. "I nearly didn't find one in time. I've been looking all week. Good fortune I found this one lurking inside Mister Filch's filing cabinet. It's the nearest we'll get to a real dementor. We'll be able to practice on him, and I can store him in my office between lessons."

"Wicked," said Harry. He was very impressed with Lupin's plan. He had found a great substitute for a real dementor.

"So-" Professor Lupin had taken out his own wand, and indicated that Harry should do the same. "The spell I am going to try to teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry -- well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level."

"The Patronus Charm."

"Yes. When it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus," said Lupin. "But what is a Patronus?"

"It's a guardian force; a protector. It acts as a shield between you and the dementor."

"Yes. Five points to Slytherin. The Patronus is a projection of the very things that the dementor feeds upon: hope, happiness, the desire to survive; but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the dementors can't hurt it."

That all sounded spiffing to Harry.

"But I must warn you, Harry, that the charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it."

"I won't know until I try. How do you conjure it?"

"With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy memory."

Well that put Harry in a right fix. A happy memory. Harry thought about that. He frowned when nothing came immediately to mind. Well, he would just have to think hard. Fortunately he only had a couple of recent years to sift through; nothing in the first eleven years of his life counted.

Blaise? She was more confusing to him at the moment than anything else. Harry wasn't sure he wanted to try facing even a fake dementor with something so shaky.

His friends? He was happy to have friends, but he suspected that Professor Lupin had something else in mind.

Harry was silent for a long time, sunk deep into thought. Finally Professor Lupin said, "All right, Harry?"

"Yeah." Harry was getting depressed just by this effort. "I just don't know what memories I have that qualify."

Lupin regarded him thoughtfully. "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to bring you down."

"Can we just move on?"

"We can come back to this, yes. The incantation is-"

"Expecto patronum."

"Yes." Lupin looked a little surprised. "Have you been studying?"

"Of course."

"Very good. This is the wand movement."

He demonstrated. Harry copied it. Then he did it again and kept repeating it. Repetition was necessary for perfection. It was one of the maxims of wand-waving.

"Is my grip okay?"

"It's fine. Make the left sweep a little shorter."

Harry corrected it.

"Excellent. How's that happy memory coming along?"

"Don't ask," Harry muttered. He had a bunch of choices, none of which felt right to him. Finally Harry settled on the day he'd learned he was a wizard. Knowing he wasn't destined to go to Stonewall High and would be learning all about magic instead was about as happy a time as he could think of.

"Okay, I've got one."

"Give it a try," Lupin suggested.

"Expecto patronum!"

Something whooshed suddenly out of the end of his wand; it looked like a wisp of silvery gas.

"Wow, look at that!"

"Very good," said Lupin, smiling. "Right, then. Ready to try it on a dementor?"

"Yes," Harry said, gripping his wand very tightly, and moving into the middle of the deserted classroom.

Lupin grasped the lid of the packing case and pulled.

A dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned toward Harry, one glistening, scabbed hand gripping its cloak. The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out. The dementor glided out of the box and started to sweep silently toward Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath. A wave of piercing cold broke out on Harry's forehead.

"Expecto patronum!" Harry yelled. "Expecto patronum! Expecto-"

White fog obscured his senses. Big, blurred shapes were moving around him. He listened for his mother's voice, but got a shock when there came a new voice, a man's voice, shouting and panicking.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

There was the sound of someone stumbling from a room - a door bursting open - a cackle of high-pitched laughter - the thump of a body hitting the floor -

Now he heard his mother's voice, louder than ever, echoing inside his head. "Not Harry! Not Harry! Please! I'll do anything!"

"Stand aside! Stand aside, girl!"

"Harry! Harry! Wake up!"

Harry jerked back to life. Lupin was tapping him hard on the face. Harry was lying flat on his back on the floor. The classroom lamps were alight again. He didn't have to ask what had happened.

"Sorry," he muttered, sitting up and feeling cold sweat trickling down behind his glasses.

"Are you all right?" said Lupin.

"Yes." Harry pulled himself up on one of the desks and leaned against it. "No. I heard my dad," he mumbled. "That's the first time I've ever heard him. He tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for it."

Harry suddenly realized that there were tears on his face mingling with the sweat. He bent his face as low as possible, wiping them off on his robes, pretending to do up his shoelace, so that Lupin wouldn't see. What he missed was the funny expression on Lupin's face.

"You heard James?" said Lupin in a strange voice.

"Yeah." Face dry, Harry looked up.

"Harry, perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This charm is ridiculously advanced. I probably shouldn't have suggested putting you through this."

"No!" said Harry. "I'm going to do this! I'm not thinking happy enough thoughts, that's what it is. Hang on."

"Are you truly so unhappy, Harry?" Lupin asked in kindly tones.

"I don't feel unhappy." And he didn't. Every day was an improvement; every day was a chance to live.

Lupin paused thoughtfully before he said, "I was friends with your father at school."

Harry turned to stare at the man. "You knew my dad?"

"James was the best friend a fellow could have," Lupin said simply. "When he and Lily were murdered by Voldemort, I nearly lost my mind. It was a long road back to anything approaching a normal time for me."

Harry didn't know what to say to that.

"Oh, how I wish you could have known them, Harry. You're the spitting image of James, as I'm sure you've been told."

"With my mother's eyes," Harry muttered.

"Yes." Lupin nodded. "You've done very well in my class this year, and from all accounts are excelling in your other subjects as well. I don't think it inappropriate to say I believe they would be proud of you."

That made Harry feel good. In fact it made him feel more than good. Suddenly -- he remembered!

He was eleven years old, and it was Christmas holiday. Harry was standing in an empty classroom looking into the Mirror of Erised. In the enchanted glass, he could see his family; aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and great-grandparents; but most of all, his mum and dad. His mum's eyes were filled with tears that she could not be there for him. His dad's face expressed the pride he surely felt at seeing his son so well on his way to becoming a man. Harry felt their love around him like a warm blanket, and he had never wanted anything more.

The real Harry tapped into this memory, and he had to blink away more tears. "I've got something," he said in a thick voice. "But it's not what you would call real."

Lupin didn't bat an eye. "Is it strong?"

"Yes."

"Then let's try it, shall we?"

"Let's."

Harry faced the packing case once more.

"Ready?" said Lupin. "Concentrating hard? All right. Go!"

He pulled off the lid of the case again, and the dementor rose out of it. The room went icily cold and dark once more. The dementor glided forward, drawing its breath; one rotting hand was extending toward Harry.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry bellowed. "EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The screaming had started again, but it was quieter now. It sounded very far away. The room wasn't sliding away into a white fog. Harry could still see the dementor, which had paused. Then a huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of Harry's wand. It hovered between him and the dementor, and though Harry's legs felt like water, he was still on his feet.

"Riddikulus!" roared Lupin, springing forward.

There was a loud crack, and Harry's cloudy Patronus vanished along with the dementor; he sank into a chair, feeling as exhausted as if he'd just run a mile, and felt his legs shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Professor Lupin forcing the Boggart back into the packing case with his wand; it had turned into a silvery orb again.

"Excellent!" Lupin said, striding over to where Harry sat. "Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!"

"I want another go."

"Not now," said Lupin firmly. "You've had enough for one night. Here."

He handed Harry a large bar of Honeydukes' best chocolate.

"Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time next week?"

"Okay," said Harry. He took a bite of the chocolate and watched Lupin extinguishing the lamps that had rekindled with the disappearance of the dementor. A thought had just occurred to him.

"Professor Lupin?" he said. "If you knew my dad, you must've known Sirius Black as well."

Lupin turned very quickly.

"What gives you that idea?" he said sharply.

"Nothing. I mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts too."

Lupin's face relaxed.

"Yes, I knew him," he said shortly. "Or I thought I did. You'd better be off, Harry, it's getting late."

Harry left the classroom, taking a rest next to a suit of armour, sitting on its plinth to finish his chocolate. He wished he hadn't mentioned Black; Professor Lupin was obviously not keen on the subject. Then Harry's thoughts wandered back to his mother and father.

He felt drained and strangely empty, even though he was so full of chocolate. Terrible though it was to hear his parents' last moments replayed inside his head, these were the only times Harry had heard their voices since he was a very small child. But he'd never be able to produce a proper Patronus if he half wanted to hear his parents again.

"They're dead," he told himself sternly. "They're dead, and listening to echoes of them won't bring them back." It was no different from wasting away in front of the Mirror of Erised. There was no sense in dwelling on dreams, and there was no sense in longing for what could never be.

He stood up, crammed the last bit of chocolate into his mouth, and headed back to the Slytherin dungeons.

* * *

In the middle of January, a blizzard struck the castle in the night, covering every surface with snow near as high as a man. The route to the Astronomy tower was now a snow tunnel. A great swath marked the road to the front gates.

Lots sledding runs were well-trampled, for the ride down was smashing good fun. It took one so far that on the long walk back up the hill, Harry wished it were possible to Apparate on Hogwarts grounds. He also wished he knew how to Apparate.

Filch was seen often with a shovel in his hands, or a mop, keeping the entrance hall free of snow and slush. He kept an angry glare directed at everyone, and even pinned a first year Hufflepuff to the wall with the mop when the boy didn't stomp the snow from his feet before walking inside.

They hadn't even cleaned the snow off the Quidditch pitch. Harry's team mates mumbled a bit about that, but Flint put a stop to their grousing. "You don't cancel Quidditch because of a little snow."

"A little? It's as tall as Bole's sister!" Derrick compared.

"I told you to shut up about my sister," Bole snapped.

"I was only saying-"

"Yeah, yeah, that she went snogging with Higgs in a snow tunnel," Bole said, not sounding happy at all. "I'd hurt him, but she told me if I laid a finger on him, she'd never speak to me again."

"I don't see what you've got against him, mate," Derrick wondered. "We've lived with him for near on six years."

"That's exactly why I don't want him near Amanda! I've heard him talk!"

"That's all it is, you knothead!"

"Derrick's right, Bole." Bletchley chimed in. "Besides, Amanda's too smart to let him do more than kiss her. She's told the other girls about that at least a dozen times."

"How do you know?"

"Heather told me."

"If you sissies are done talking about girls," Flint said scathingly, "I would like to say a few words of inspiration. If it wouldn't inconvenience you, we've got a Quidditch match to win."

"Say on, oh my captain!" Montague hailed deeply.

"Men, the snow couldn't have come at a better time. The sunlight will be bouncing off of it, so Ravenclaw won't be able to see."

"The same with us, oh glorious leader," Bole sneered.

"Not at all. I've obtained a counterspell that will neutralize the glare. Observe." Flint drew his wand and pointed it at Bole's face.

"Hey!"

"Mico absentis!"

Two thick black lines of what looked to Harry like greasepaint appeared on Bole's cheeks. It made him look quite fierce. Actually, he looked somewhat like a Muggle athlete, but Harry refrained from telling him so. The Beater was apt to get mad and thrash Harry.

"This charm is guaranteed to work and is not considered cheating according to the official rules of England." Flint sounded quite proud of the fact that he'd read a book.

"Well that's a relief," Bletchley observed dryly. "We wouldn't want to cheat."

Pucey, Montague, and Harry all started snickering. Even Flint had a bemused look on his face, but it vanished quickly. He pointed his wand at Bletchley next. One by one, Flint applied the charm and each boy got a pair of stripes on his face.

"We'll be able to see better, and the depth of snow in the stadium will completely change the dynamic of the game." The drifts on the pitch were nearly up to the lower part of the stands. "But it's still soft, just like you lot of sissies, and you can dive through it if need be."

Which sounded quite fun, actually.

"Now let's get out there and make 'em ashamed to write home about it!"

And they did.

The final score was three hundred-twenty to one hundred-ten. Harry soared across the surface of the snow, dipping his tail twigs in slightly and sending up a shower of snow like a wave, to catch the Snitch with a flourish. Chang had a disappointed look on her face at the other end of the pitch. She'd gotten distracted by snow glare and had dove just before Harry had spotted the Snitch for real.

* * *

On the last Wednesday in January, Harry received an owl at breakfast from Professor Lupin informing him that tomorrow's anti-dementor lesson was cancelled. No reason was given, merely instructions to report as scheduled on the third of February.

Harry was just as glad for the night off. With all the Quidditch practices, he'd let some of his assignments go longer than he'd intended. Nothing had gone past due, and Harry wanted to keep it that way. He settled himself in the common room at a table next to the fireplace and began scribbling essays.

Blaise must have decided to do homework as well, because she opened her books at the same table. She smiled at Harry, but didn't interrupt his writing, for which he was grateful. She bowed her head over her own parchment and began scratching away with her quill.

Harry had not been alone with Blaise since they'd gotten back from the Wand Smasher show. They'd exchanged small glances, but hadn't talked about the two kisses they'd shared. He was still trying to decide how he felt about those. He'd also been trying, very unsuccessfully, to comprehend what had transpired with Jenna and Laine.

So Harry kept his mouth shut. And Blaise seemed content to sit in silence. They didn't speak, except to borrow certain class notes. They were joined at various times by the others, but only Blaise seemed to have a lot of homework that night. Eventually they were alone together, in a common room that had slowly vacated as students sought their beds.

Harry put down his quill and stretched his cramped hand. Flexing his fingers to restore the circulation, he grinned wryly at Blaise. "I suppose Professor Snape would take it as a compliment that I sprained my hand while doing his essay."

"He'd hold you up as an example to the rest of the class," Blaise agreed with a nod. "You've really got a knack for Potions. I think you might even be better than me now."

"Don't say that. Who will I copy from?" he teased.

"Tim."

"Of course."

The conversation ground to a halt. Long minutes passed in silence as they did no more than look at each other.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?

"Would you like to kiss me again?"

Harry felt very warm suddenly, and he knew he must be flushing madly. "It's all very confusing, isn't it?"

"It can be. Not for me, but I'm quite intelligent, you know."

"I know."

Silence.

Blaise tipped her head at him, asking without words what his answer was. He wasn't one hundred percent sure about it, but he decided to try. He leaned towards her, puckering his lips. They connected.

She was still soft. Harry latched onto that thought desperately. His nose was mashed into her cheek. Before he could gather another thought, a startled exclamation of "Oi!" caused them to spring apart.

Crabbe stood at the entrance to the common room. He was staring at them with an indescribable look on his face. He stamped over to their table.

"What's all this, then?"

Blaise was blushing furiously, and she wouldn't look up. She found the fire fascinating suddenly. Harry knew his own face was flaming. He gave a dry croak and shrugged helplessly.

"The common room is not at all private, you know," Crabbe said in a stern tone. "That's why it's the common room."

Being lectured on language from a boy who barely used two syllable words was a bit more than Harry could take. "What are you doing out so late?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Astronomy tower. Full moon tonight."

"Good view?"

"Excellent view, despite the clouds. Heard something weird though."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, towards Hogsmeade. It was the most awful noise you ever heard. I think it was the Shrieking Shack."

"So it really is haunted," Harry commented. The Shack was reputed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain but had been silent for years.

"If it's not ghosts, I don't want to know," Crabbe said, shivering as he moved closer to the fire. "Gave me the willies from miles away."

"I've got to go to sleep," Blaise said, still not looking up.

"G'nite, Blaise. Enjoy your last night of peace."

"Crabbe, I'll kill you."

"Goyle will avenge me."

True to his word, Crabbe told the other lads, and Harry was soon the butt of every joke. Somehow the conversation always managed to work around to a punchline involving Harry, Blaise, and snogging.

Blaise grew more and more embarrassed about it and finally drew her wand on Crabbe in the common room one night. That only made things worse, and Harry wondered how he would possibly live it all down.

To make matters even worse, Harry's anti-dementor lessons were not going nearly as well as he had hoped. After several sessions, he was able to produce that same indistinct, silvery shadow every time the Boggart-dementor approached him, but his Patronus was too feeble to drive the dementor away. All it did was hover, like a semitransparent cloud, draining Harry of energy as he fought to keep it there. Harry felt angry with himself, guilty about his secret desire to hear his parents' voices again.

"You're expecting too much of yourself," said Professor Lupin sternly in their fourth week of practice. "For a thirteen-year-old wizard, even an indistinct Patronus is a huge achievement. You aren't passing out any more, are you?"

"I thought a Patronus would, I don't know, charge the dementors down or something," said Harry dispiritedly. "Make them disappear."

"The true Patronus does do that," said Lupin. "But you've achieved a great deal in a very short space of time. In fact, here -- you've earned a drink."

He pulled two bottles out of his briefcase.

"Butterbeer!" said Harry.

"Yes. Let's drink to a Gryffindor victory against Ravenclaw!"

"Since Slytherin only needs to play Hufflepuff as a formality, I suppose I can do that," Harry said, trying a small joke. "After all, we trounced Gryffindor."

Lupin chuckled. "Ah, Quidditch. I never played, but your father was the same way."

Harry felt funny talking about his dad given his guilty wish, so he didn't respond to that. They drank the butterbeer in silence, until Harry voiced something he'd been wondering for a while.

"Professor? What's under a dementor's hood?"

Professor Lupin lowered his bottle thoughtfully.

"The only people who really know are in no condition to tell us. You see, the dementor lowers its hood only to use its last and worst weapon."

"What's that?"

"They call it the Dementor's Kiss," said Lupin, with a slightly twisted smile. "It's what dementors do to those they wish to destroy utterly. There must be some kind of mouth under there, because they clamp their jaws upon the mouth of the victim and- and suck out his soul."

Harry accidentally spat out a bit of butterbeer.

"What? They kill him?"

"Oh no," said Lupin. "Much worse than that. You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you'll have no sense of self any more, no memory, no anything. There's no chance at all of recovery. You'll just exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever; lost."

Lupin drank a little more butterbeer, then said, "It's the fate that awaits Sirius Black. It was in the Daily Prophet this morning. The Ministry have given the dementors permission to perform it if they find him."

Harry sat stunned for a moment at the idea of someone having their soul sucked out through their mouth. But then he thought of Black.

"He deserves it," he said suddenly.

"You think so?" said Lupin lightly. "Do you really think anyone deserves that?"

"Yes," said Harry defiantly. "For some things, yes." Harry's only regret about that was that he wouldn't get to kill the traitor himself.

He finished his butterbeer, thanked Lupin for the treat, and left the History of Magic classroom.

Harry half wished that he hadn't asked what was under a dementor's hood, because the answer had been so horrible, and he was so lost in unpleasant thoughts of what it would feel like to have your soul sucked out of you that he walked headlong into a gaggle of Gryffindors halfway up the stairs.

"Potter," Weasley said distastefully. "What are you doing lurking about?"

He looked at Thomas and Finnigan as if this question had some sort of brilliant wit.

"Weasley," Harry replied, making it sound as though he'd stepped in something unpleasant. "Why don't you watch where I'm going?"

"Why don't you walk into the Forbidden Forest?"

"Why don't you go wash your hands?"

Weasley started to turn red. "You're not so clever, Potter."

"I'm more clever than you, and that's enough, isn't it? Looking forward to seeing your team lose to Ravenclaw? We tried to soften them up for you, not that it will help."

"Counting yourself with those gorillas you call Beaters?" Bole and Derrick had been in top form, causing numerous injuries to Ravenclaw's team.

"And the Chasers," Harry reminded him. "Don't forget about Slytherin's top notch Chasers, you boil-brained rats' bane." Harry couldn't bear to pass up a chance to use his latest alliteration.

"Rats? What do you know about rats?" Weasley demanded. "Wait, it was your owl that kidnapped Scabbers! I knew I recognized it!"

"What are you on about?"

"Don't play stupid, Potter! First night back, your owl attacked me and plucked Scabbers right out of my pocket! Then he flew away, and I couldn't catch it!"

"That's a tragic story. I think I might cry."

"I'll make you cry," Weasley threatened, clenching a fist.

Harry wasn't scared at all. Ever since Elan had given him a set of weights, he'd lifted every night before going to bed. It had turned into a ritual of sorts, for Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle all joined in. Tim had held himself aloof, but the four lads had taken to their nightly workout with a quickness. If Weasley wanted to brawl, Harry intended to thump him.

Before Harry could respond, a new voice barked out sharply, "Potter! What's going on here?"

Harry turned to see Professor Vector at the top of the stairs, leaning casually against the wall. She had her arms folded sternly across her chest as she glowered at the three Gryffindors.

"Nothing, Professor," Harry answered. "Just a little Quidditch talk."

"Still, it's approaching curfew. You three back to your tower at once."

With muttered acknowledgements, the Gryffindors slinkered off, glaring at Harry when they thought Professor Vector couldn't see. Her steely eye followed them until they left the stairwell.

"Were they bothering you, Mister Potter?"

Harry truthfully replied, "No, I could have handled them. Weasley's all talk."

Vector harrumphed. "Gryffindors! They're not brave enough to take my class! I never have more than a handful of them at any given time. Only the very intelligent and the ambitious survive Arithmancy, as well as the odd wizard who just doesn't quit."

"Survive?"

"Oh, some of them will start it, thinking it's a breeze, thinking that seven can teach them everything." Vector harrumphed again. "Once they find out it's more than lucky numbers, they rapidly become interested in unicorns or tea leaves! Good riddance, I say! I want only the most serious minds in my classroom. Speaking of, get you to bed. We've got a lot of work to do in the morning."

"Yes, Professor. Good night."

"Good night, Mister Potter."

* * *

On Friday evening, the boys ducked out of the common room casually, one by one. Harry carried the cage with Weasley's rat under his cloak and met his friends in the empty classroom they used for practising their spellwork.

"Are we ready?" he asked.

"I still don't understand why we didn't invite the girls," Crabbe said in a questioning tone.

"Because, fathead," Tim said scathingly, "girls are soft creatures who'll think it's mean to do what we're on about."

"Not Millie," Crabbe fired back. "She'd think this was great fun."

"But she'd tell the others."

"Not if we asked her not to, Nott."

"That's funny," Tim observed sourly. "Shut up."

"You shut up! My head's not fat!"

They had to avoid Filch as they crept up into the entrance hall and out the door. Harry took a deep breath of the night air and sighed with satisfaction. He'd been looking forward to tonight for weeks.

Perched on a branch in a tree a few steps from the gate, Regal and Arlette were waiting. Crabbe's pet owl, Marcus, that he'd just got at Christmas was also there. Onyx trotted along at Tim's feet.

They walked around the castle to a wall that didn't have many windows. Harry brought out the cage; the rat inside started squeaking pathetically.

"You're in for it now, little beastie," Crabbe said gleefully. "Bite me, will you?"

"Crabbe, would Marcus like the first chance?" Harry asked politely.

"Yeah!"

"Then ready, set, go!" Harry opened the cage and dumped the rat on the ground. It curled into a ball at Harry's feet and squeaked even more.

"That's pathetic," Draco said, nudging at the rat with his toe. "It's too scared to even run."

Marcus still perched on Crabbe's arm. Onyx, meanwhile, had flattened her ears and was stalking forward intently. The rat suddenly lifted its nose in the air, smelling the cat. Onyx pounced at the same moment the rat made a dash for freedom.

And the chase was on!

Three owls swooped in, trying to catch the rat in their talons. One cat prowled the ground, leaving the rat no safe place to run to. There were a lot of close calls. Harry and the others cheered at each near-kill.

The rat was surprisingly agile. It seemed to know just when to move to avoid the claws of cat or owl. If they were scoring on points, the rat won easily; fortunately, the rat only had to lose once.

Onyx ran after the rat as it made for one of the rocky out-croppings. She pounced again, missed, and scratched at the ground with a frustrated meow. Tim ran over and began swearing.

"It got away!"

"What?"

"There's a hole in the ground here! Bloody rat must've gone into it!"

"Well get it out!" Draco ordered imperiously.

"You get it out!"

"You're the great brain," Draco sneered. "What advanced magic do you know for getting rats out of small tunnels?"

Tim began to swear again, calling Draco all kinds of horrible names. He picked up Onyx, who was still pawing at the ground, and started back to the castle.

* * *

The next morning, Harry sat with his team at breakfast as they discussed who was likely to win the day's match. Gryffindor had an edge in experience over Ravenclaw's collection of relative rookies, but those rookies were very close friends, from what the team had observed. Gryffindor's star Chasers were a well-oiled machine, and Oliver Wood was a better Keeper than Biff Webster, but Cho Chang could fly circles around Lois Panning. It was going to be a heck of a match.

It was even a gorgeous day, clear and cool with a light breeze. The pitch sparkled dazzlingly in the winter sunshine. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

The stands were awash in red/gold and blue/bronze. Slytherins were bedecked in Ravenclaw's colours today, because they'd collectively prefer defenestration over wearing red. Hufflepuff, as it usually did, sided with Gryffindor.

The match was exciting from the starting whistle. The actions of the Chasers were dizzying, and the play rose far above the pitch into the realms where Seekers sometimes played. Madam Hooch called numerous penalties for boundary violations.

Then suddenly Chang dove. Harry couldn't see the Snitch, and then halfway down the pitch and right in front of Harry, Panning made a dive as well. Great Merlin, had Chang fallen for snow gleam again?

She had.

"I did it!" Panning squeaked, scarcely sounding as though she believed it herself. "I caught the Snitch!"

And Gryffindor went bananas.

As they slowly made their way back up to the dungeons, the Slytherins were stopped at the stone steps by Professor Snape. His face was gravely serious.

"You are all to report to the Great Hall," he said firmly. "There's been a security breach. It appears that during the Quidditch match, Black waylaid young Mister Nolan and tortured him until he gave up the password. We are searching the dungeons as we speak, and I must go now to supervise."

"What about Theo?" Laine Slater asked. Her friend Sarrah was older sister to the first year, Harry recalled.

"A bit shaken up, but no worse for wear."

"But tortured?"

"A mere turn of phrase, Miss Slater. Now off with you."

The search of the dungeons turned up no trace of Black. Nor was he found in any other part of the castle. When they were finally allowed to return to the common room, the boys found that their dormitory had been utterly trashed. Black must have gotten so frustrated at not finding Harry that he'd taken out his rage on the innocent furniture.

Security around the castle was tightened even further as Gryffindor's Fat Lady, restored by Filch, was rehung on the wall. She was now protected by two burly trolls, whose odour permeated the halls of Hogwarts.

"It's ridiculous, isn't it?" Draco said to Harry. "I mean, what's the point of having a secret entrance if you're just going to let everyone know where it is?"

"It's not like they're any great secret," Pansy said with a sniff. "Ours only stays secret because we don't proclaim the entrance."

"That's exactly my point, Pansy."

"You mean we agree?"

"Apparently."

"I may have to throw up."

"On Tim, if you please."

"Gladly."

As part of the new security procedures, curfew was also moved to an earlier time. Students were now required to remain in their common rooms after dinner. Prefect patrols were increased, and even the Hogsmeade visits were cancelled.

"Cancelled!" Pansy shrieked when Percy Weasley made the announcement in the common room.

"Yes," the Head Boy said firmly. "With Sirius Black out there, the dangers have been deemed too great for students to leave the castle."

"It's malarkey!" bellowed Derrick. "They can't cancel Hogsmeade! I've got a date with Bole's sister!"

"Liar!" Amanda Bole shouted.

"Dead man!" Ivan Bole echoed.

His announcement made, Percy didn't try to argue any further with the rest of the Slytherins. He sat back down at the table with his friends and began flipping through the pages of a book.

The third years looked around at each other in dismay. No Hogsmeade?

"Well, what will we do tomorrow?" Millie asked. From her tone, she didn't have any ideas. "There's still too much snow on the ground to do anything outside, and you can only go down that hill so many times."

"Speak for yourself," Crabbe interjected. "I could do that all day."

As the others began throwing out ideas, Pansy leaned in close to Harry and whispered, "Harry, could I have a word with you?"

Harry stood up and walked into the hallway that led to the dormitories. Pansy stepped around the corner and stopped. She peeked back behind her to make sure they hadn't been followed.

"Blaise told me everything," she said bluntly. "Well done, Harry."

Harry didn't know what to say.

"But it's made a little problem. I was supposed to be first. I'm always first. And I can't stand for this. I want to kiss someone, and I want to do it now."

Harry broke into a cold sweat. Surely she didn't mean-

"So tell me, Harry. Which of you boys fancies me?"

He offered up a grateful thanks to whomever happened to be listening. "I can't tell you that," he said, relieved that she wasn't going to try kissing him too.

"Yes, you can. You can tell me anything. Please, Harry?" She batted her eyelashes at him. "I suppose I could just pick one of you, but I think it would be better if the boy likes me in return. So who is it?"

Harry thought hard for a long moment. Then an idea struck him, and a smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth. It was perfect.

"Well," he began casually, "I do know that Draco has been rather put out that none of you girls seems interested in snogging with him."

"How do you know that-"

"And when we do talk about it, which is not often, mind, but he has bandied your name about a bit."

Pansy appeared startled. "Draco?" she wondered. "Really?"

"Yeah. Aren't you two supposed to be engaged?"

"It was arranged, yes," Pansy said absently, now nibbling on her lower lip, "but I've never suspected-" She broke off her thought and smiled up at Harry.

"Harry, thank you for telling me. And I am glad it's Draco. I certainly wouldn't want to mash with Crabbe or Goyle, and Tim is obviously out of the question."

"Obviously. You're welcome."

to be continued...