Exile?

Back into the Magical World

Staying with the Weasleys added a useful touch of normality to Harry's life. It was nice to be in a household where the major issues revolved around the kitchen. Lessons with Mrs Weasley helped ease him back into the idea of going back to school. Ron and Hermione could come to visit each weekend, and each time, they brought someone different from Gryffindor. Seamus came with Lavender, and he was more interested in getting Harry back to play Quidditch than anything else. One of the sixth years was acting as Gryffindor Seeker in Harry's place.

“And he's useless, so he is. Ninety points up against Ravenclaw, and he goes and loses the Snitch!”

Dean came with Parvati. Dean was more fascinated with the Burrow than with any stories Harry might have. Coming from a Muggle home, he found everything of the Weasleys endlessly fascinating. Mr Weasley found Dean equally fascinating.

A thought occurred to Harry as the Christmas holidays drew near. He had reconciled himself to returning to Hogwarts in January, although he was still dreading the thought. He put his idea to Ron and Hermione, who agreed to help. The day after term ended, Harry met them at Hagrid's cabin. He knew the castle would be almost empty with almost all the students at home now, and he could wander inside without being mobbed. Mrs Weasley wanted to know whether he'd informed Dumbledore, and he told her he hadn't.

“That's a little rude, dear.”

He knew she was right, but somehow couldn't bring himself to do it. His hate for Dumbledore, stoked up as it had been in Azkaban, had faded. He no longer knew quite what he felt about Dumbledore. They hadn't been in contact since the day when Harry had related his story to him. And then there was the prophecy. This was something else he'd stuffed to the back of his mind, something else he couldn't cope with at the moment.

He climbed out of the fireplace and said hello to Hagrid, who was relaxing in a large wicker chair which looked as if it were straining a little under his weight. Ron and Hermione were sitting at the table, clutching large mugs.

“Want some tea, Harry?”

“No, thanks,” he said hastily. “Just had some with Mrs Weasley.”

“Fair enough. Well then, if the three of you are going for a walk, you'd better get a move on. Going up to the castle, then?”

“That's right,” said Harry.

They said goodbye to Hagrid and set off, walking up the path to the castle in the damp winter sunshine. Harry's pace slowed as they grew nearer, but he kept going, knowing this was something he had to do. He strode into the entrance hall and stopped. It was the same – and it was different. He was used to seeing it empty, but somehow there was a different feel to it today. Then he saw some of the portraits whispering. News of his arrival would be all over the castle in minutes. He imagined Dumbledore would soon find out, too.

“Do you want to go up to the tower?” asked Ron, in a subdued tone.

“Okay.”

Just as they were making their way to the staircase, Peeves came whooping and swirling into the entrance hall. He'd obviously just heard the news.

“Potty Potter's back! Pottier than before,” he cackled, as he swooped around the ceiling.

Harry's reaction was instantaneous. He drew his wand, pointing it at the poltergeist, and snarled, “You can shut up!”

Peeves looked at him, opened his mouth, but then closed it again. He hovered, swaying uncertainly, near the top of the hall. The habitual smirk faded from his face.

“Never, ever, bother me again. Do you understand?”

Harry stood, shaking with anger, with his wand outstretched and pointing at the poltergeist.

There were several long moments of silence, before Peeves spoke again in a very different tone of voice. “Only Peevesie's joke, Mr Potter, sir.” Another long silence. “Only a joke,” the poltergeist repeated ingratiatingly.

“Never again. Understood?” Harry's tone was harsh and peremptory.

The poltergeist bobbed up and down in mid air, seemingly speechless, then turned and fled. Harry slowly lowered his wand, breathing hard. He turned to look at Ron and Hermione, who were looking at him in amazement.

“You can be just a little bit scary at times, you know that?” said Ron in an awed tone.

“Yeah.” He put his wand away. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “It's just that at times, well ...” He wasn't quite sure what he was trying to say.

“No need to apologise. I just hope I'm never on the receiving end when it happens again. And Peeves – the only time I've seen him like that is with the Bloody Baron.”

“Yeah, well, you can keep that comparison to yourself.”

Hermione was looking a little scared too, and Harry did his best to give her a smile.

“Come on – you said you were going to take me up to the tower.”

“You know the way, don't you, Harry?” Hermione asked.

Harry stared at her. “Course I do!”

“Lead on then.”

What Harry didn't know was the password. The Fat Lady was so excited, though, it hardly mattered. And Harry could see all the other faces crowded behind her.

Once inside, he looked around. So strange, and yet so familiar. But the room had that indefinable feeling of being empty. There were no books piled casually on windowsills, no bags, pencil cases, stray quills. None of the usual detritus that littered the common room. For the first time, Harry realised that it was not the room itself that was important, but the people – or their memories – themselves. There was no-one here apart from the three of them, and he could sense that without even looking round.

But he'd brought the others here to show that he was at ease with the castle once more. Deliberately, he went over to the fireplace and flopped down in an armchair. He looked up at the other two slightly defiantly, and then saw their expressions. They were still looking at him with that expression of slightly shocked awe, and then he realised why.

“What? It was just Peeves, you know.”

Hermione sat down in the chair opposite. “Ron was right – you really were scary there. And to have sent Peeves off like that – half the time, he doesn't even do what the teachers tell him.”

Harry stared at the empty fireplace. “I'm sorry. But I didn't even realise I was acting like that.”

“That's what makes it all the more scary. It probably was a good thing you didn't come back last term.”

He knew Hermione was right, but that didn't ease the slightly sick feeling in his stomach. Was he going to do this one day in school, when suddenly provoked? Was he going to end up a danger to his classmates if he suddenly flipped out of control for whatever reason?

He stood up, trying to shake off his gloom. “Come on. Let's take a wander.”

As they came back out of the portrait hole, Hermione turned to him. “Have you seen Professor McGonagall yet?”

“No.”

“She knows you're coming back?”

“Well – I haven't told her. Not yet.”

“Harry! You should have! It's rude, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” The truth was he wasn't sure whether he could face her yet. “I'll owl her.”

“It's not the same.”

“Well, we might bump into her. I can talk to her then.”

But it wasn't Professor McGonagall they met, but Professor Flitwick. To his relief, Flitwick made nothing of Harry's re-appearance, but instead greeted him as though he'd only been away for a week or so.

“Have you been keeping up with your work? We've covered a lot of ground in your absence, you know.”

Only Flitwick could have referred to it as 'your absence'.

“I've been having some tutoring from Mrs Weasley.”

Ron shot him a rather alarmed look.

“Excellent. Molly – she was Prewitt then, of course – was a first rate student. Always most conscientious.” Ron looked at his feet. “Working from Goshawk?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Good, good. Now I think about it, it was just as well we played you at Quidditch last term rather than next. Don't imagine we'd have won otherwise. Anyway, have a good holiday, all of you.”

“Thanks,” they chorused.

That wasn't so bad, thought Harry, as Flitwick disappeared round a corner. Mind you, it was Flitwick they'd met, and not Snape. Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that if he met Snape, he'd react as he had done with Peeves.

“Come on,” he said, “let's go down to the lake.”

Dressed as they were, this wasn't a brilliant idea, but at least it was the middle of the day, and the sun was giving some weak watery warmth. Harry looked back at the castle. Yeah, he'd come back next term. He turned to the other two.

“Look,” he said awkwardly, “if, next term, I start behaving funny again, just warn me. Please?”

Ron nodded. “No worries, mate. Unless it's Malfoy, of course. Then you can go ahead.”

Harry gave a weak smile. “Yeah. And – well, thanks for everything. I wouldn't have coped these last few weeks without you.”

Ron shuffled his feet. “Well, that's what friends are for, aren't they?”

“We did miss you, Harry,” said Hermione. “We really did.”

“Yeah. The thing is – I know I've told you this already, but in that place -” he still had difficulty saying 'Azkaban' to them “- you have to forget your friends. Everything, really. And all my muscles had started to sort of fade away, being locked up in a cell like that, and never being let out. So, after a while, I started to do some exercises. Well, tried to.” He gave a brief half smile. “By the time I got started, I had gone really weak, and so it really hurt – exercising, that is. But the pain was useful – because it kept the Dementors away. They don't come after you if you're feeling pain. So pain was good, if you take my meaning.”

He'd never talked about this before. The other two were looking at him, horrified. He knew they'd never fully understand – no one who hadn't been there could understand.

“That's why – well, I had to forget all about you two and Hogwarts and Quidditch and everything else. They were happy thoughts, and that meant Dementors.” He stopped again for a moment or two. “So,” he said rather awkwardly, “thanks again for being such good friends and looking after me like this.”

He looked up and saw their faces, the expressions of shock.

Ron stepped forward and took his elbow. “Come on, mate, I think you've had enough for today. Let's head back to the Burrow. Coming, Hermione?”

Having Ron and Ginny at the Burrow made things seem a little more normal. Ron sat in on some of his mother's lessons, to help him out. Even Ginny was roped in, to her slight disgust.

“It won't hurt for you to learn some of this,” said her mother. “It'll mean you'll be that little bit further ahead of the others.”

Ginny did not see things quite like that.

Fred and George were out most of the time – Harry suspected that they were making use of the investment he'd given them after the tournament. They were usually back for supper, and one of the things Harry appreciated about them is that they didn't treat him as though he was a nut case or made of glass or whatever.

After a week of the holidays had gone by, Harry went back to Grimmauld Place. He took care to keep to the upper part of the house, and asked Sirius to warn him if members of the Order were about. He eventually summoned up the courage to write to Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore, saying he'd be back at the start of term in January. He did ask, though, if he could come a day early, and avoid taking the Hogwarts Express. Meeting everyone else again was going to be hard enough; he didn't think he could face the train yet.

One of the best Christmas presents he received was not for him at all. On Christmas Eve, Sirius received a letter from the Ministry offering a formal pardon for his conviction.

“About time too,” said Harry, when Sirius told him the news.

“At last I can come out of hiding now, and not be stuck in here all day long. By the way, there was a letter for you from the Ministry at the same time.”

“Oh?”

Sirius gave him the envelope, and he tore it open.

'Dear Mr Potter,

'Any further action concerning the charge on which you were convicted earlier this year has been dropped. You are free to resume your studies at Hogwarts.'

The letter was signed: 'Josiah Cartwright – Junior Assistant to the Minister'.

Harry nearly exploded. “Look at this,” he yelled, waving the letter at Sirius. “ 'Further action dropped'! Can't they admit they got it wrong?”

“Harry,” said Sirius quietly, “they can't. It's not in their nature. That would imply the Ministry made a mistake. And we can't have that.”

“I thought Madam Bones was supposed to be better than that.”

“She's a decent and honest woman. But that will have been written by some underling. That's the way they do it.”

“Josiah Cartwright – Junior Assistant ... hey, that was Percy's job.”

“You're right, Harry, it was.”

“What's happened to him?”

“Apparently, so I hear, he's working in the Department for the Regulation of Broomstick Manufacture.”

Harry looked at Sirius. “What does that mean?”

“That he's been shunted off into one of the most insignificant departments of the Ministry.”

“He should have been sacked!”

“From the Ministry's point of view, he's done nothing wrong. Nothing they'll admit to. And Percy would just maintain he was doing his job. Doing what he was told to do.”

“Yeah, he was – it was the way he was doing it that I didn't like.”

“Why do you think Fudge went for you?”

“Because I told him Voldemort was back?”

“Partly that. But also because, in some ways, you were an easy target. A schoolboy and an orphan. Who easier to silence? Who were your next of kin? A Muggle family. They're not going to raise a fuss.”

Harry thought about the Dursleys. “You're certainly right about that.” Harry looked at the piece of parchment for another moment or two, then scrunched it up into a very small ball. “I'm not going to be a schoolboy for much longer,” he said tightly.

“Something else, Harry.”

“What?”

“If you do want revenge, and if you do want to sort the Ministry out, the worst motivation of all is anger. First of all, it makes it look like a personal vendetta. Second thing is that it tends to blind you – bureaucrats are used to running rings round people with grudges. And lastly, if you do want to start a campaign, you need people on your side, and being angry doesn't help.”

Harry looked down at the little ball of parchment. “You're sounding like Dumbledore.”

“There're worse role models.”

“It was anger that drove you out of Azkaban.”

“And where did it get me? The reason I'm free is that they caught Pettigrew – and that was thanks to you.”

“I suppose.”

“You're not going to be the most cheerful guest at the party tonight, that's for sure.”

“Party?”

“Don't you think I've something to celebrate?”

Harry was stricken. “Sorry, Sirius.”

“Not at all. I can understand what you're feeling. Just keep it on ice for the next twelve hours, okay?”

“Sure.”

The party was, in one way, useful for Harry, as a way of learning again how to mix with people, how to hold a normal conversation. At least he was with people he knew and trusted, which made things a lot easier. Remus was there, all the Weasleys came, as well as a variety of other witches and wizards.

He was less happy about seeing strangers, who tended to stare at him intently, then, when they saw he'd noticed, look away again quickly. Fortunately Sirius was in a particularly boisterous mood – not surprisingly – which took the spotlight away from Harry.

Fred and George were less ebullient than usual – unless they had already been forewarned by Mrs Weasley or Ron. Lupin was his usual slightly reserved self, and didn't refer to the last few months at all, but instead talked to Harry about Quidditch. Harry was sure Remus had no interest in Quidditch at all, but went along with the chat.

Harry spent most of the time sitting in the corner with Ron and Hermione. Tonks, however, wasn't someone to hold back.

“Wotcha, Harry,” as she bounced up. She pulled up a chair, flopped into it, then pulled a face. “What a day!”

“Busy?”

“Well, there was that. No, I had to go out to Azkaban.”

She said the name in a quite matter of fact tone.

“What for?” asked Ron.

She screwed up her face. “Interviews. Some of that lot we captured the other night, thanks to Harry here – we're only allowed to interview them on the island.”

“Is that warden's place protected against the Dementors?” Harry asked quietly.

“Yeah, up to a point. But you've still got to get there, and fetch them, and so on.”

“The whole place should be closed down!” Harry suddenly burst out.

Kingsley had been standing nearby, listening, staring into his glass. He suddenly looked directly at Harry.

“What do you do with the Death Eaters?”

“What do you mean?”

“Put them anywhere else, and they'd be sure to break out.”

“Death Eaters are one thing, but they put anyone who's done anything there. I mean, they took Hagrid away at the end of our second year, and he hadn't even done a thing.”

Kingsley nodded. “I take your point. But things don't change overnight.”

He paused for a moment, then went on: “What you did in the Ministry that night was extraordinary. I can't think of anyone would could pull off a stunt like that.” Harry gave a small embarrassed smile. “It's given us a huge boost – Fudge gone, You Know Who out in the open, half the Death Eaters rounded up ... you've no idea.

“If things were different, then we could build on it to get the sort of reforms all of us want. But we've got another problem at the moment.”

He didn't need to spell it out. Harry was silent – he and Dumbledore were the only ones who knew what that prophecy had said.

“But that doesn't mean we can't try,” said Hermione rather timidly.

“No, it doesn't,” Kingsley told her. “But which is the more important at the moment? And we can't afford diversions – afterwards, maybe.”

“Azkaban isn't a diversion,” said Harry thickly.

“You're right,” said Kingsley. “But take it from me – people out there are too frightened to think about things like Azkaban. And they've good reason to be frightened.”

“Suppose,” muttered Harry.

“I'm sorry I started this,” said Tonks. “This is supposed to be a celebration, right?”

Harry did his best to summon a smile. “Sorry.”

“Don't be, Harry,” said Kingsley. “After what you've been through. And I agree with you wholeheartedly. But let's deal with You Know Who first.”

Harry digested this, and knew, although he hated to admit it, that Kingsley was right. For the first time in his life, he bit down onto the acid realisation that politics did not always lead to justice. And then something else fell into place.

“Politics and justice, eh? Well, I found out about that, didn't I? Last August.”

Hermione looked at him, horrified. “Kingsley didn't mean it like that, Harry.”

“Harry's right, though,” said Kingsley in his deep, slow voice. “He didn't get justice – that was pure politics. But it was also corrupt politics, and it usually catches up with people in the end. Even if you hadn't have created that ruckus in the Ministry, the story would have leaked out sooner or later.”

“Too late for me,” said Harry bitterly.

“True. You get always politics, occasionally you get justice.”

“There was a Muggle once, a politician,” said Hermione, “who said that 'politics was the art of the possible'.”

Kingsley looked at her. “Not a bad definition, that. Still, there's one thing, Harry – we've used this business to move a lot of people out of the way. The Ministry's not perfect, but it's getting better.”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” said Harry. He stood up. “Look, I'm sorry. It's just that – well, I'm not in a party mood.”

“What you need is another Butterbeer,” said Tonks practically.

“Probably.”

“Then you can run for Minister when this is all over,” said Kingsley.

Harry gave him a thin smile. Would he still be around 'when this was all over'? But that wasn't something he could share with the others.

Dumbledore arrived just in time to propose a toast to Sirius's health. Harry used the opportunity to waylay him a little later.

“I'm coming back to Hogwarts next term, Professor.”

“So I gathered from your letter.”

“Has anything more been heard about Voldemort?”

“Very little. I suspect he's lying low at the moment. You did, after all, frustrate his plans very considerably. Any more visions?”

Harry shook his head. “None.”

“Ah. I think he has realised that his connection to you has become a double edged sword. And your scar? Does it still hurt?”

Harry shook his head again. “A little bit. Occasionally. But not like it used to.”

“No doubt you are grateful for that.”

“That's certainly true.” Then: “Professor?”

“Harry?”

“Next term,” he said awkwardly, “I might find things a little – well, difficult.”

“I suspected that might be the case. I have warned your teachers.”

“Thanks. It's not just that – Ron and Hermione ... they say I can be a little scary at times.” He gave an apologetic shrug. “That's what they call it.”

“I asked them how they thought you were coming along. They told me about this.” Harry could feel a slight stab of resentment. “They are friends of yours,” Dumbledore went on gently, “and they want to help.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“One of the more unfortunate aspects of that place you have been is that it tends to shut you off from other people. It is not easy to re-integrate. That has been your problem. As to you being 'scary', as your friend Ronald puts it – I know he has promised to help as much as he can. So, I am sure, will all the other Gryffindors. But I know that being a teenager is a burden enough in itself, without adding this.”

Harry smiled weakly. “And -” he hesitated “- and I'm sorry if what I did caused trouble. Smashing the prophecy like that.”

“I believe it was actually Bellatrix Lestrange that allowed it to break. And that is no bad thing. Lord Voldemort will be very displeased with her. But as to the prophecy itself ... well, it was only a copy. We know the contents. And Voldemort does not, and he so desperately desired to do so. I would not have done things your way, but then I am not you. I can understand why you did it in the way you did. It was certainly foolhardy, but to your credit, it did work. It got the results you wanted. And it did not greatly disturb any plans I might have had.”

Harry was more relieved than he could have imagined. “Well, sorry for the fuss, anyway, Professor.”

“That is one of my jobs, Harry – clearing up after my pupils.”

There wasn't a lot else Harry could say to that.

There was one thing more Harry had to do before term began. He had to go back to Docklands to close down that Muggle flat. Not that there was much in there – some of Sirius' books, some clothes, and that was about it. Ron and Hermione came along – for the day out, they said – and for once, Harry believed them.

Ron was fascinated by the flat and the area, and went on about it at great length, until Hermione shut him up by saying, “Honestly, Ron, you're getting just like your father.” Hermione also turned out to be very useful with the estate agent. Harry knew he had to give a month's notice, and reluctantly the man agreed to refund the third month's rent. He then started quibbling about the deposit until Hermione waded in. She took him through the deductions line by line, and at the end of it, Harry thought she'd probably saved him a few hundred pounds. By the expression on the man's face, he didn't quite know what had hit him. Ron was in awe.

“Remind me to bring you along the next time I want things sorted.”

“He was just trying to take advantage of Harry, that's all,” sniffed Hermione.

They cleared out the flat – which didn't take long. All Harry really wanted were the books, which went into one bag, and his clothes, which went into another, and that was about it. They had lunch in a Muggle cafe before going back to Grimmauld Place. The others were right – it had been a good day out. In fact, it had probably been the first relaxed, carefree day since that night back in July, back in that alleyway in Little Whinging – but he preferred not to think about Dementors if he could help it.

But the beginning of term was approaching fast now, and he had to face up to going back to Hogwarts. He knew he wasn't yet up to taking the train. There would be too many people about, too many questions. To avoid that, Ron and Hermione had volunteered to go back with him a day early – he wasn't sure if he wanted that either, but agreed eventually.

Hagrid was happy with their using his fireplace once again. Mr Weasley had organised for their trunks to go on the train without them, so they needed only their robes and an overnight bag. Hagrid was waiting for them, sitting in his gigantic armchair and nursing a cup of tea, as they emerged one by one from his fire.

“Right then, a new term. I've got some new creatures for you. Going to be a grand term, this one.”

Harry smiled weakly, wondering just what sort of creatures Hagrid would describe as 'grand'.

“We'll all grateful to you for one thing, anyway, Harry.”

“Oh? What's that?”

“That Umbridge woman. Well, you never met her, so you won't know what I mean. But them in the Ministry – they started passing all sorts of decrees so she could do what she wanted. Power mad, she was. Course, once Fudge had gone ...”

Harry glanced across to Ron. “Don't think you were the only one glad to see the back of her.”

“You're not kidding!” Ron exclaimed.

“Well, she's gone, and that's that. Now then, I'll walk up to the castle with you – I've got to see Professor Sprout, as a matter of fact, so it's no trouble.”

Harry wondered this was true or not, but decided it didn't make any difference. They waited for Hagrid to put a coat on - January had begun cold and wet, and had stayed that way – before setting out. They were all soaked by the time they reached the castle, which meant Hermione had to perform a Warming Charm on them all.

“See you three tomorrow,” said Hagrid, wandering off in the direction of the greenhouses.

They made their way up the familiar stone staircases to the portrait hole. Fortunately last term's password was still in operation.

“You're back early,” remarked the Fat Lady, surveying the three of them.

“Work to do,” mumbled Harry, not very convincingly. The Fat Lady sniffed, but let them in.

An empty common room wasn't that welcoming. Harry looked at the other two, who shrugged.

“Might as well take our things up,” said Hermione practically.

Harry followed Ron up to the dormitories. He looked round at the familiar room, then walked over to his bed. Well, he was back now. Too late for second thoughts. He dumped his case onto the bed. What now? Struck with a sudden idea, he turned to Ron.

“How about a spin on our broomsticks?”

“What about Hermione? Can't see her wanting to go flying on a day like this.”

“She'll have a book to read.”

Which she did – although sitting under an umbrella on a damp January day was not much fun. After a quarter of an hour, she left the boys to it – not that they noticed – and went indoors to be warmer.

Supper that evening was the next test. Quite a few staff were at the top table, including Professor McGonagall, who he hadn't seen since the previous summer. He'd have to go and talk to her later. Dumbledore was also there, and acknowledged Harry with a slight nod of his head. Fortunately Snape was absent.

There were no other fifth years there, although there was a smattering of youngsters, and someone Harry vaguely recognised as a Hufflepuff seventh year. Harry's arrival created something of a stir, which he resolutely ignored. It was just as well none of them knew him well enough to come up and talk to him.

He'd forgotten how good Hogwarts' food could be. He'd been fed well enough by Mrs Weasley over the past week or two, but it seemed the kitchens had surpassed themselves that evening.

As he tucked in, Harry caught Hermione looking at him covertly. “What?”

“You've filled out,” she said quietly. “When we saw you first, you were really thin and, well, gaunt. You're looking better now.”

Harry looked down at his plate, then back at Hermione. “Do I still look angry?”

“A bit. At times.”

Harry nodded. There were times when anger seemed to fill him for no reason at all, but they'd become fewer recently.

It was getting into his fourposter that made him feel that he was really back, and part of the school once more. Feeling more relaxed than he had for a long time, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

The trouble with returning early was that there wasn't much to do. Halfway through the next morning, Hermione sat them down in the common room, and got out her Charms book.

“What?” moaned Ron.

“It's useful revision for next term,” Hermione said primly.

“Suppose so,” muttered Ron.

“And Harry's going to need this if he's to catch up.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It felt strange at first, going through the book doing exercises. But Hermione was right – he was a long way behind. He found some of the work hard going, and Hermione had to go over many of the charms several times before Harry got the hang of them. His only comfort was that once or twice Ron didn't seem to have much more of a clue than he did. They broke off for lunch, then went back upstairs to carry on.

They worked so late that the coaches had begun to arrive before they had finished. Hurriedly, they put their books away, and went down to the entrance hall. People were milling around, gossiping to each other, and Harry was able to slip into the crowd before too many people noticed him. But as he was making his way to the Great Hall, he heard a familiar sneering voice behind him.

“Ah, the jailbird's back!”

That anger surged up again, deep inside him, hot and bright, and he whipped round. Malfoy was standing a few feet away, gazing at him with his usual sneering expression. Without a moment for thought, he strode up and seized Malfoy by the lapels, pushing him back, and pinning him against the wall. He could see the look of surprise, then fright, on the thin, pale face. Crabbe and Goyle were standing openmouthed, taken aback by the sudden attack.

“Something you wanted to say to me, Malfoy?”

The thin face was even paler now. Malfoy stuttered something. Harry tightened his grip.

“Care to say it again, Malfoy?”

Malfoy's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Just then Harry felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Harry, mate ...”

It was Ron's voice. Slowly the red mist subsided a little.

“It's your father who's the jailbird now, Malfoy. As for you – well, you're not worth getting into trouble for.”

He slackened his grip, but Malfoy remained rooted to the spot. Suddenly, he was aware that everyone around him had gone completely still and silent. He released Malfoy's lapels, and turned, striding off towards the Hall with jerky steps. He was not aware of the crowd parting silently before him, nor of Ron and Hermione jogging to keep up.

By the time he'd got to the Gryffindor table, he had recovered somewhat, despite the deep breaths of air he was gulping down into his lungs. He turned to the other two.

“Sorry,” he said eventually, now rather shamefaced.

“You were really scary again,” said Ron, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well.” He sat down, trying to make things normal again. Ron sat next to him, Hermione on the opposite side of the table.

“I enjoyed that.”

“What?”

Neville had taken the seat the other side of him.

“I enjoyed that,” repeated Neville, in a matter of fact tone of voice. “About time someone sorted that creep out.”

Harry gave him an uncertain smile, but then Seamus sat down opposite.

“Brilliant! Don't mess with Potter, eh?”

“Look, drop it, will you?”

“Drop it? I haven't seen Malfoy looking as sick as that ever before. He didn't know what had hit him. And as for those two goons of his ...”

But whatever Seamus had been going to say was interrupted by the tapping of a glass, and Dumbledore standing up to welcome them back.

“Tuck in!”

And they did. But Harry was glad that the sight of the food in front of them had made them forget his outburst.

Professor McGonagall came across the Gryffindor table at breakfast the next morning, and, slightly formally, addressed Harry.

“Your time table, Mr Potter.”

Harry took the parchment from her slightly guiltily, knowing he hadn't really spoken to her properly yet.

“Thank you, Professor.” As she turned away, he scanned the parchment to see what was in store for him that day. “Do I read this right? Double Potions first thing?”

“Yeah. What a way to start the term.” Ron stirred the porridge with his spoon. “Harry?”

“What?”

“Promise me.”

“Promise you what?”

“You won't lose it with Snape.”

Harry gave a small smile. “It'd be tempting, but I want to last more than just one day back at school.”

Ron said nothing, but spooned porridge from plate to mouth.

They gathered their books – Harry's was still pristine, unlike the thumbed copies of the others - and made their way down to the dungeons. Harry gave a small inward smile as he noticed the other Gryffindors clustered around him, obviously making sure he didn't get near Malfoy again.

Snape swept up the dark corridor, gown billowing, and without looking at them, snapped, “In!”

Harry followed the others into the dungeon, then swung himself up onto his usual stool and looked round. Nothing had changed – the room was as dismal as he had remembered it, the shelves filled with bottles of unmentionable liquid, the battered cupboards with their mysterious ingredients. Snape strode up to the front and surveyed the class. His eye caught Harry's.

“Welcome back, Mr Potter.”

Harry could feel Ron tensing up. “Professor,” he said, perfectly neutrally.

They locked gazes. Harry wasn't actually certain what he would do if Snape gave one of his sarcastic remarks, or began asking impossible questions. The silence stretched out as the two of them stared at each other. Harry didn't blink.

Then Snape looked away. “Page 404.”

There was an almost audible sigh of relief from the Gryffindors. Harry picked his book up and opened it.

“Today ...” Snape began.

Things were almost back to normal. But, somehow, Harry knew that Snape would be a good deal less likely to challenge him ever again.

THE END