Vires Incomitatus

Chapter Two: Getting Settled In

The entrance hall was filled with people filing into the Grand Hall. Slowly Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way to the Gryffindor table and sat down beside Seamus, Dean, and Neville, who had all managed to get there before the madness broke out. Ron looked down wistfully at the gleaming golden plate before him, then sighed.

"Really, Ron," Hermione admonished. "It's our last Sorting. Look! They're coming in!"

Indeed they were. Lead by Professor McGonagall, a group of terrified children, not yet First Years, was ushered into the Hall. McGonagall turned to them, and spoke in a loud, clear voice.

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You are now about to be sorted into your Houses. During your stay this year, and for the next seven years of your life, your House will be your home and family away from home. You will all be a team, and the actions of one will, for good or ill, impact the well being of all. Now," she turned and placed a stool in the center of a clear patch of floor. On the stool she placed a rather beat-up looking hat. "When I call your name, you will approach the Sorting Hat, place it on your head, and see which house you end up in. But first," she paused, and the entire school looked at the Sorting Hat.

Slowly, a rip near the brim of the hat opened up, and the Hat began to sing.

"Many wizards great and small,

From north and east and west;

Come to Hogwarts witchy school

Where they can do their best.

These hallowed halls hold many mights

For those who wish to see;

If you can live through all those frights,

You'll prove where you should be.

We all are different, that we know,

Our heads range far and wide,

And here tonight I plan to show,

Just what there is inside.

A Gryffindor shows courage true,

And bravery and skill,

They stick together, through and through

And fight against the ill.

The Ravenclaws are smart, they say,

It's true beyond a doubt,

With knowledge they will find a way,

To search the question out.

A Hufflepuff is loyal most,

A worthy trait indeed,

If you've got troubles, this I toast,

They'll be the friend you need.

And Slytherin's a crafty bunch,

They show that they are sly,

With cunning, when there comes the crunch,

They'll sneak until you cry.

Each one its weakness dread,

And which House is for you, my dear,

Is locked inside your head.

So try me on, no need to fear,

There is no need for fright,

Just put me on from ear to ear,

With that the brim closed again, as the entire school burst into applause. Ron leaned over and whispered in Harry's ear.

"Not bad," he confided, "But last year's was better."

"It didn't have as much time to think, maybe," Harry replied. "Remember, they had to move it when the storage room caved in. For all we know it could have forgotten the first half and had to make it up."

"True," Ron replied.

Professor McGonagall had returned to the stool and now stood with a scroll in one hand. Slowly, she unrolled it. Then, clearly, she called out,

"Amerson, Freidric." A short boy with curly brown hair jolted sharply as she called his name. He swallowed visibly, then shakily stepped up to the stool, lifted up the hat, and sat down on the stool. Then, with grim determination, he crammed the hat onto his head.

Several looks crossed his face, and Harry wondered if he was arguing with the had the way he had when he was sorted. Then, the rip opened in the hat, and the booming voice called out,

"HUFFLEPUFF." Beaming, Freidric got off of the stool and made his way to the cheering Hufflepuff table, passing the hat to,

"Azley, Donna," as they passed. She became a Gryffindor, as did Mattew Rosler, Jenny Figg, Orlando Sneider, as well as many others. Finally, following,

"Zanders, Amelia," - a girl who looked quite familiar until Hermione nudged him and whispered, "Wasn't she at Fortescue's?" - became a Ravenclaw, the hat grew silent. Ron looked expectantly at the plates, however nothing appeared. Then, the Headmaster rose.

"Welcome, my new students," he greeted. "And patience to my old ones." Harry thought he saw Professor Dumbledore look straight at Ron. "I am pleased to tell you that soon we shall proceed to the Feast. However, before that begins, I have several announcements. First of all, Argus Filch has asked me to remind everyone to check the list of forbidden items posted beside his office, as he is in no way responsible if he is forced to confiscate on. It has, if I may say so, grown considerably since last year, so even our older students would do well to check it.

"Secondly, I have the pleasure of announcing that the Quidditch Cup will be functioning this year, except in the case of an extreme emergency, and that the House Cup will once again be won by the house with the most points, barring nothing." Dumbledore frowned suddenly.

"And this," he continued somewhat sadly, "leads me to my third announcement. As some of you have undoubtedly heard, He Who must Not be Named has arisen." He waited calmly for the cries of dismay to quiet, then continued. "The officials at the Ministry made it clear that they did not consider it wise for me to inform my students of this, fearing chaos, however I have full confidence in you and your abilities to think rationally, and you can hardly be expected to think clearly if you do not think at all. There is no need to fear for your safety while at Hogwarts, you are all completely safe within these grounds. However, I must remind everyone that the Forbidden Forest is strictly ... well ... forbidden, unless you are in the company of one of the teachers here. There will be no exceptions to this rule, and all those who violate it will be severely punished. There is also to be no venturing onto the grounds after dark, and none before classes unless it is for a Quidditch practice or something of that nature."

"Can he really protect us from You-Know-Who?" a voice across the table from Harry inquired, and he turned to Donna Azley.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Wow," was her answer, and then the headmaster continued.

"On a happier note," he smiled. "There is going to be a slight change here at Hogwarts this year. Everyone is aware, of course, that we are not the only Wizarding School in Europe, and certainly not the only one on the globe. There are certain Magical Academies in North America, though they are somewhat inferior to our European schools. It is because of this that I am honoured to welcome another group of new students. They come from Lorien School of Magics, specializing in elf-magics, and they will be spending their sixth and seventh years with us. I ask you all to be most welcoming to them. Now," he spread his hands. "In true Hogwarts tradition, they will be sorted into their Houses. Professor McGonagall?"

Everyone turned to the back of the Hall once more, where there stood a group of witches and wizards that no one had seen enter.

"You are all going into your sixth year at wizarding schools," McGonagall was saying to them. "I must inform you that life at Hogwarts takes some getting used to, but I'm sure you will all do admirably. Now, simply step up to the stool and place the Sorting Hat on your head."

There were only about fifteen witches and wizards, spread almost evenly amongst the houses. Gryffindor received Amie Bradford, Robin McKenzie, Aaron Lillit, and Stephanie Brent. The other houses each collected four new students, except for Ravenclaw, which only gained three; Warren Wheatston, Kaitlin Ronne, and Kasha Davies.

When all of the new Sixth-Years had taken their places, Professor Dumbledore rose again. "I think enough has been said," he said gravely, then his eyes twinkled. "But I find I must say three more words to satisfy the troops. Therefore; shall we eat?"

Suddenly, the tables were laden with food. The American students were all stunned, and chatted excitedly with each other and the Hogwarts students nearest them. Harry turned to Ron to say something, and found his friend staring at Robin McKenzie, a rather pretty girl with shoulder-length brown hair and green eyes.

"Get your eyes in your head, Ron," he laughed, shaking him by the shoulder.

"Look at her ears," Ron replied. Harry rolled his eyes, but then he looked at the ears in question, and saw instantly what Ron had been staring at. They were pointed.

Robin appeared to sense that she was being watched, because she turned to them.

"Can ... I help you?" she asked, her accent making the words seem somewhat different. Harry laughed.

"My friend's a git," he replied. Don't notice the ears, he told himself. Ron, however, was still staring. Robin frowned, then seemed to understand, because she reached up and touched one. Then she laughed.

"Oooh," she exclaimed. "The Headmaster mentioned that my old school specialized in elf-magics ... well, they also specialize in elves."

"You're an elf?" Seamus squeaked from around a mouthful of potato. "A real live elf!"

"Steady on," Dean chuckled. "Don't faint on us."

"I'm not going to faint," Seamus replied indignantly, whatever else he was going to say cut off when he choked on his potato.

"So much better," Dean replied, slapping sharply on the back. Hermione looked horrified.

"Don't hit him, Dean!" she cried. "That could make it lodge in the back of his throat! Here, give him this." She poured a large glass of pumpkin juice, which Dean took and handed to his friend.

"Won't he choke on that?" Ron asked. Hermione gave him a look.

"The potato isn't very dense," she replied in all-knowing voice. "The liquid should break it up and make it separate."

"Oh," Ron buried himself in chicken.

"Thanks, 'Mione," Seamus replied after he had finished drinking, and she shrugged it off. "So," he turned back to Robin, expectantly.

"My mother was half-elf," she explained. "My dad was a wizard, so I inherited the ears." To their blank looks she explained, "A Muggle can't inherit elf-ears. It was made that way by a spell years ago, because the poor Muggle who got elf-ears was teased mercilessly. She couldn't do magic, or anything, just had ears like this." She gestured.

"I see," Seamus said cheerfully. "So you're a quarter elf." She nodded. "That's still wicked," he decided, and held his hand out across the table. "I'm Seamus Finnigan, nice to meet you."

Hermione was staring at Aaron Lillit, who was sitting across the table from her. He also had pointed ears, and Harry could see her studying him like a project. Finally, he looked up somewhat shyly and she got her chance.

"I've studied loads about elves," she declared. "Not just House Elves," Harry prayed that she wouldn't shoot off on this topic, and mercifully she didn't. "How does it affect your magical abilities?"

"Do I have other powers, you mean?" Aaron supplied. Hermione shrugged and nodded. "Elves are good with nature," Aaron told her. "So ... I don't know ... I can make things grow."

"Aaron can talk to trees," Amie Bradford added helpfully. "So can Robin."

"Can you?" Hermione demanded, but Amie shook her head, and Stephanie Brent answered glumly.

"Aaron's a full half elfish," she said. "Robin's a quarter, but Amie and I have it further back, so we can't do as much."

"Is everyone in your school elfish?" Harry asked, somewhat fascinated.

"Everyone has some elfish background in them," Amie agreed. "Not everyone has ears, and not everyone has any special connection to nature. Those people stayed back at Lorien."

"Why'd you come here?" Dean prompted.

"The British schools have N.E.W.T.S," Aaron supplied. "The schools in the States don't have them, so if you want to do something overseas you're really set back, because everyone who grew up here has them, and we don't."

"Ah."

The conversation changed over the course of the meal, and desert - trifle, crème caramel, cakes, tarts, and other delights - was quickly finished off. Then, Dumbledore rose again.

"I will now ask all of the senior Prefects if they would show the other students up to their Houses. Have a pleasant evening, all."

Harry saw Hermione rise, not surprised, and looked around the table for the male prefect. Then he saw Hermione staring pointedly at him. Finally, exasperated, she came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"You're the other prefect, you ninny," she exclaimed.

"What?"

"You're the other -"

"I heard you the first time," Harry cut her off. "Why didn't I know about this?" Hermione shrugged.

"Beats me," she replied. "I got a letter two weeks ago, with my badge. Oh, never mind," she sighed. "Just, come on, let's get the Gryffindors out of here, we'll sort it out upstairs. The password is jellybungle."

She then left him and gathered all of the female Gryffindors, heading out the door. Harry grumbled for a second, then stood and called out to his remaining Housemates.

"Well, if you'll just come with me, I'll show you up to the Gryffindor Tower." He started off, making sure that everyone was together. They had to wait on a stairway for a herd of Hufflepuffs to pass, and Harry used the time to lecture the new students on the moving stairways, and missing steps, feeling completely awkward and out of place as he did so. Finally they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"This is the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower," he told everyone in front of him. "She'll swing aside if you tell her the password." He checked around, but saw no one from any other house, and so added, "The password is jellybungle."

"Thank you, dear," the Fat Lady crooned, and swung open, managing to hit three Second-Years on the head. Harry herded everyone into the common room, then showed them the stairway leading to the Boys' Dorms.

"The first doors you come across are the First Year dorms. Up one more flight of stairs are the Second Year dorms, one more flight to the Third Year dorms, et cetera. Just make sure you don't go up that staircase." He gestured to a flight on the other side of the room. "That leads to the Girls' Dorms, and I assure you that whatever wonders lie there are not worth the shrieks and beating you will receive from attempting to climb those stairs."

There were knowing chuckles from the older boys, and whispers from the younger ones.

"Trust me on that one," Harry told them conspiratorially. "Now, only five people to a dorm, everyone choose your beds and get settled down. Your trunks are by the fire, older boys will be happy to help you get them up the stairs."

Most of the older boys nodded, however a few sixth years hurriedly grabbed their belongings and rushed up to their dorms before they could be assailed. Harry himself spent half an hour floating various trunks and other assorted items up to various dorms before he could get himself into his own dormitory.

"Saved you a bed!" Ron called, his head emerging from one of the Seventh-Year dorms. Inside were Seamus, Dean, and Neville, as well as Ron, and there was a spare bed. Harry positioned his trunks at the foot, then fell onto the bed.

"I'm a prefect?" he demanded of the room and the empty air directly above him.

"Don't tell me you're surprised," Seamus sounded somewhat amazed. "Of course you're a prefect."

"Well, aren't they supposed to tell you, then?" Seamus shrugged.

"Percy got a letter when he was a prefect. His badge came too." Ron smiled wistfully, and Harry remembered the summer before their Third Year, and the fun surrounding Percy's badge, though it was a different badge on that occasion.

"Maybe you should ask Hermione," Neville pointed out sensibly. Harry nodded in agreement.

"I'll see you guys in a bit, then," he called out and made his way down the seven flights of stairs to the common room.

Hermione was sitting on a chair before the fire when he came down, and she smiled up at him. This time he noticed the shining gold badge on her robe.

"You honestly didn't know?" were the first words out of her mouth. Harry shook his head.

"You got a letter?" he asked back, and she nodded.

"Yes, it explained everything. I wonder why you didn't get one."

At that moment, the portrait hole opened, and in stepped Professor McGonagall. Harry leapt up and over to her.

"Professor -" he began, but was cut off when she held up a hand.

"You were unaware that you had been made a prefect?" she hazarded, and he nodded. "You did not receive your letter, then," she stated. "We weren't sure that it would get to you. You left the Dursleys' just after we sent it off, and didn't know how to inform it as to your change of location. We had hoped that it would get to you somehow, but I see that it did not. In that case," she extended one hand. Nestled in the centre of her palm lay a neat gold badge. "I see no need to explain to you the duties of a prefect ... I'm sure you know them quite well. Just make sure not to deduct too many points off of the Slytherin's, without just cause, of course." She smiled secretively, then nodded.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said gratefully.

"Don't mention it," she replied. "After all, I couldn't have my house exist without two fully functioning Prefects, now could I? It would give the houses, and one in particular, a significantly unfair advantage. Good evening." And with that she headed up yet another flight of stairs, presumably to her quarters.

"So," Harry asked curiously. "Who are the other prefects?"

"Hufflepuff has Justin Finch-Fletchley and Hannah Abbot, Lisa Turpin and Terry Boot are the Ravenclaw Prefects, and of course Slytherin has Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy's a prefect?" Harry demanded, outraged. Hermione's expression became pacifying.

"He is the ultimate Slytherin," she pointed out. "He's at the top of the class, he's crafty,"

"And he's an insufferable bloody git!" Harry interrupted.

"Precisely," Hermione smiled. Harry shrugged.

"Good point," he conceded. Laughing, they left the common room and retreated to their dorms.

"Got your badge?" Neville asked as he came through the door. Harry nodded.

"Who are the other prefects?" Dean asked. "I need to be able to avoid them." Harry related what Hermione had told him about the other prefects.

"Malfoy's a prefect?" Ron bellowed, unconsciously echoing Harry's explosion only minutes ago. Smiling, Harry calmly restated Hermione's points, and the rest of the dorm sighed and shrugged.

"Still," Seamus didn't sound satisfied. "He'll probably take points off of us just because he doesn't like the colour of our hair." His accent intensified with the emotion. "Bloody git."

"Come on, guys," Neville interrupted, and Harry saw that he had buried himself in his bedclothes. "We have to get up early tomorrow, and I want to get some sleep."

"You sure you're not the prefect?" Ron laughed, and Neville spluttered indignantly, as did Harry.

"I resent that," he declared. "I am not a prig."

"Neither am I," Neville shot out from under the blankets. "Come on, guys, I'm tired."

"Okay, okay," Dean seemed to take pity on his friend, "Let's let Neville get some sleep."

Harry quickly sorted out his trunks, pulled on his pyjamas, and threw himself behind the curtains of his new bed.

~

Harry had a good sleep, better than he had had in a long time, but was awakened rather abruptly by a pillow in the face. He sat up sharply and hurled the pillow out through the opening in his curtains. He was rewarded by a muffled squawk, and by the time he actually opened the drapes enough to see out, he saw Dean and Seamus looking at him guiltily.

"I was just trying to wake him up," Dean explained, gesturing to Ron.

He was about to say something when he was hit square in the side of the head by, surprisingly, Neville, who had quickly whipped the pillow and then hidden himself behind the bedpost.

"That's it," he growled, and flung it back, but hit the bedpost and not the boy. Utter pandemonium followed, until someone accidentally missed their intended target and managed to sail the pillow onto Ron's head.

"What is going on here?" He demanded. "It must be three in the bloody morning!"

"It's actually seven o'clock," Dean answered, looking at his watch. Harry gazed down at his own and realised that he was still wearing an old digital watch of Dudley's that he had rescued from the rubbish bin. He took it off and retrieved a mechanical one from his trunk, setting it to the right time.

"When's breakfast?" Seamus asked. Harry frowned, trying to remember.

"Eight o'clock," Neville supplied.

"I could be sleeping for another three quarters of an hour," Ron wailed. "Thanks to you lot I'll be sleeping through classes."

"Don't complain," Harry cuffed him on the head with a pillow. Ron sighed, picked up his own, and joined in the fight.

The entire school made it down to the Great Hall for breakfast at approximately eight o'clock, for the first and only formal breakfast of the school year. When everyone had assembled, Professor McGonagall stood.

"I have two related announcements to make before we commence with breakfast," she declared. "I regret that they could not be made last night, but arrangements had to be made. Now, if anyone cares to examine the Head Table, they will notice two unfamiliar faces." She paused to allow everyone to notice this fact, and when Harry looked he started abruptly. The two faces were not unfamiliar at all to him.

"I am pleased to announce the addition of Professor Arabella Figg and Professor Sirius Black to our staff. Professor Figg will be teaching Advanced Wards and Protections, as our dear Professor Salen has asked for leave to visit a relative, and Professor Black will be teaching Muggle Studies, of all levels, due to the unexplained absence of Professor Modicus."

"You get Sirius as a teacher," Harry whispered excitedly to Hermione, who nodded ecstatically.

"I wonder what qualifications he has?" she whispered back.

"Well," Harry replied, "He was living with Muggles these last two years, and probably during fourth year too, some of the time."

"So," Professor McGonagall continued, "I hope you make them both feel welcome here."

"Look at this, then," drawled a voice from the next table, just softly enough not to be heard by the Head Table. "A werewolf and a convicted criminal. I feel so safe, don't you?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry hissed. "Lupin is completely harmless, and you know that Sirius was cleared. It was all Wormtail's fault."

"So they tell you," Malfoy shot back.

"And now," Dumbledore stood. "Without further ado, breakfast."

Once again the plates - no longer golden - filled with sausages, eggs, muffins, and more. Everyone began piling food on their plates and dug in. Harry devoured half of his plate before turning to Ron.

"When's the first Quidditch match?" he demanded. Ron shoved another sausage into his mouth as he thought.

"It's in another few weeks," he mumbled. "First practice is ..." He paused. "Two days from now, I think. I'll have to check the schedule."

"What's the good of having your best friend as the Quidditch Captain if he can't even remember when practices are?" Harry grumbled, laughing.

"Well," Ron retorted. "If someone hadn't woken me up at some inordinately early hour this morning I might be able to think. Speaking of which," he looked up. "What's our schedule for today?"

Harry pulled a piece of parchment from inside his robes and looked at it. He groaned. "Double Potions with the Slytherins first, then charms, then lunch. After that it's double DADA, then I have Advanced Magics, you have Muggle Studies, and then Transfiguration."

"Morning from Hell," Ron said cheerfully. "Oh well, we get double DADA?" Harry nodded. "Wicked!"

"Yeah," Harry replied. Then, the owls came in, with a flurry of wings and feathers. He looked up, and saw a white body amongst the mass. Hedwig, letterless, landed on his arm for a moment to take a quick drink from his tumbler of pumpkin juice before affectionately nibbling his thumb and taking off for the owlery.

"Well," Hermione said with what seemed like satisfaction, "that answers one question."

~

Ron appeared to be right about the first period class when he used the term "Morning from Hell." They had all managed to make it into the classroom on time, and had just taken their seats when the door swept itself open and Professor Snape entered. He immediately went to the front of the class, crossed his arms, and stared at his students.

"You have all been here for six years now," he told them. "There is no need for me to coddle you any longer." Ron's face clearly said coddled; since when? but the professor either didn't notice or, more likely, didn't care. "You will now take out your cauldrons and follow the instructions on page fourteen of your texts to create a cross-species transformation potion. After forty minutes have passed, you will be given a mouse. You will identify which species the mouse will transform into, and feed it the potion at the front of the class, as a demonstration. Only two students may choose any given end result."

Everyone grabbed their textbooks and read page fourteen, which gave a list of all of the species a mouse could be assisted to turn into. Beside each new species was a page number. Harry quickly flipped through until he found one with a medium amount of work - ironically, the end result for this was a cat.

He raised his hand sharply, but by the time Snape had found time to ask him what his choice was, it appeared that the Cat Potion had already been claimed, by Dean Thomas and one Draco Malfoy.

Harry managed to claim a potion that would turn his mouse into a garden snake, sharing his choice with Seamus. Seamus smiled and waved slightly at him.

"Return to your work, Finnigan," Snape snapped sharply. Then his voice turned somewhat sickeningly sweet. "Since this is your first day, I will not deduct points from Gryffindor House. But this is the only time."

Actually, Potions didn't go all that badly for Harry in particular, however Neville seemed to be having a horrible time with his potion. He had taken so long to decide, that in the end he was stuck with the Armadillo, the most difficult of all of the potions. Somewhat fortunately, Hermione had also - voluntarily - ended up with the same potion and was able to help him along until Snape glared at her particularly viciously and she was forced to stop. The result was predictable, and poor Neville's cauldron exploded in a ball of flames.

"For Merlin's sake, Longbottom," Snape exclaimed, sweeping over. "Get that mess cleaned up instantly. Ten points off of Gryffindor. You may go last, but I expect your potion to turn out perfectly. And," he added, turning to Hermione. "If you receive even one more little hint from Granger, you will loose twenty points."

Hermione smiled confidently at Neville, and then the tests began. Blaise Zabini was the first person called to the front. She smiled winningly as she fed her mouse three drops of a bright blue solution, and almost beamed when it shrank into a housefly. Snape nodded his approval, and she sat down.

Ron was called up next, with the same potion. He had somewhat less success; his potion was slightly less shocking in colour, and the fly was - according to Snape - not a housefly but a deerfly. This lost Ron five points.

Dean and Malfoy both performed their cat-spells with accuracy, Malfoy's feline being pure white like his mouse, Deans a tabby, for some inexplicable reason. However, no matter how hard he tried, Snape could find no fault with the tabby, and so no points were lost.

Next were Parvati and Pansy Parkinson, with gleaming ferrets, and once again Snape took off no points.

"Mister Potter," the Professor drawled, and Harry shakily approached the front, holding a squirming mouse in one hand, a vial of deep red liquid in the other. He placed the stoppered vial on the table, held the mouse more firmly, then guided four drops of his potion down its throat. After that, he just prayed. Slowly, the mouse began to stop wriggling. Then, there was a mighty 'pop' and Harry found himself holding an unhappy garden snake.

"An acceptable job," Snape said sounding reluctant, "considering the simplicity of the potion required. Mister Finnigan, would you be so kind as to encore this performance?"

Unfortunately, Seamus perhaps wasn't paying enough attention, because he gave his mouse five drops instead of four. This time, the mouse did not simply elongate. It stretched and swelled into a magnificent being - a hooded cobra.

Seamus screamed and flung the creature - still stunned from the transformation - away from him. It looked at the class, then began to calmly eat a seed that was lying on the ground.

"We must be thankful, Mister Finnigan, that the transformation potion affects only the appearance, and not the temperament, of the creature in question." He was positively glowing as he whipped out his wand and transformed the snake into a mouse again. "Five points off of Gryffindor," he declared.

The rest of the class went on without anything seriously noteworthy, until all but two students had demonstrated the effects of their potion. The Gryffindor's held their collective breaths as Hermione fed her mouse two drops of a pale green liquid and watched as it agreeably turned into an armadillo. Then, Neville was called to the front.

"You can do it," Harry heard Dean whisper as Neville passed him. Egged on by his friend, Neville looked more confident as he approached the front of the class. He held his mouse and fed him two drops of a somewhat foggy green potion. Once again, the mouse grew quiet, and then ... vanished. The mouse disappeared completely and utterly into thin air.

"I don't know what you did," Snape said warningly, "but I will deduct ten points from Gryffindor. I will also confiscate your potion, Longbottom. Who knows what the effects are, and we could hardly have a student running around with a non-existor potion." He looked around him with a scowl. "All right, class dismissed. But if I see even the slightest trace of mess on any desk, the user of that desk will find himself in detention for a week!"

Harry hurriedly poured the rest of his potion into a larger vile, packed his supplies into his bag, and raced out of the classroom.

The rest of the day was comparatively uneventful. Charms was a review class with the Ravenclaws, in which they paired up - Harry with Dean - and cast cheering, floating, weightlessness (which was very hard to distinguish from floating), grounding, cleaning, and glowing charms on each other until the end of class. The only issue was to get everyone back to their present state again and Lisa Turpin, who ended up being Neville's partner, had to stay behind so that Professor Flitwick could remove her glow.

Defense against the Dark Arts was also a review class, and they discussed the upcoming year and projects that would be attempted. It was moderately more interesting than a standard review class would have been, due to the fact that it involved Slytherins, who appeared to be doing their best to be utterly and totally annoying.

Then came Advanced Magics. The real difference in that class was that it was not made up of any one or two Houses, but rather a spattering of students from each. It was a fairly small class, considering this, but still managed to include Malfoy. On the upside, there were a few other Gryffindors, including Seamus, Dean, Lavender Brown, and Parvati Patil. They all assumed their seats, and then Professor Dumbledore walked into the room.

Harry had been shocked at the beginning of his Sixth Year to find out that the Headmaster would actually be teaching a class, however he soon found him to be a wonderful teacher. There seemed to be agreement from all students, albeit reluctant from the Slytherins, and so all eyes fixed on him as he sat down behind a desk.

"Welcome back, all of you," he smiled. "As you know, this is a difficult class to be taking. I hope everyone enjoys themselves, however there will be accidents. I must therefore say, as I said at this time last year, that you must never, under any circumstances save that I expressly tell you to do so, cast any spell learned here on another student. Now," He stood up, seeming excited. "We will be beginning our year with no mean task. I expect the project to take considerable time, however it is dependant on the skill, effort, and desire of all of you."

"Sir?" Padma Patil raised a hand. "What exactly are you talking about?"

"Simply 'Professor' will do, Miss Patil," Dumbledore amended her. "Ah, but I was somewhat drifting, wasn't I? You are aware that a learned witch or wizard must not be content with assuming merely his or her own form. You must know, from having Professor McGonagall as a teacher if from nothing else, that it is possible for one to assume the form of an animal or other magical creature."

"You're going to teach us how to become Animagi?" Seamus blurted out, then clamped a hand over his mouth and turned red. Professor Dumbledore chuckled.

"As you so aptly put it, Mister Finnigan, yes. I am going to teach you how to become Animagi. There may be those of you who do not feel the need to possess this talent, however I am obligated by the guidelines of the course to teach you. Is there anyone who feels this way?" He did not seem surprised by the distinct lack of hands.

"Good," he rubbed his hands together. "Well, then. There is much to be said about becoming and Animagus, and a good part of it has already been written by a Master David Eddings. Therefore, if you will turn to page two hundred and nine of your books you will find a nice little passage on the process. It won't explain everything, but it show the origin of the process. You may read that now, and leave when you have finished ... we won't start on practical lessons until next class.

Harry smiled, opened his textbook, and read.

The origin of Animagi, by Master David Eddings

As long as there has been known magic, magicians of all sorts have been discontented to remain in their own forms. It was inevitable, therefore, that some day someone would find a way to surpass the barrier of our existing forms and step into other bodies. In fact, this was discovered approximately nine thousand years ago. The man credited with the discovery of this was named Beldin the Sorcerer, who appears to have been either fifth or sixth disciple of a mighty God. Texts have been found documenting his change of form, and it was described thusly; "Any idiot could have figured it out, blockhead. You just think of the picture in your mind, and cram yourself into it. But don't do it too quickly or you could end up the wrong way, or have left something out." As can be seen from this rather crude direction, it appears that initially a transformation could occur if the sorcerer, or in this case, wizard, simply created an image of the desired creature in his mind, and allowed himself to drift into it. The process was described by another, unnamed source, as "flowing, somewhat like honey". Over the eons, however, the process has become more complicated. It appears that the Egyptians, who abhorred disorder, came across this phenomenon and created a ritual of a sort in order to understand it. And, as with all Magic, once a ritual has been created, it is difficult to step away from it. This may stem from the fact that the witch or wizard does not believe the spell will work under other circumstances. See 'The Will, the Word, and the Wand' for further information. Modern wizards have broken down some of the barriers regarding the Animagus Ritual, however, convention has clearly laid down its guidelines, and so the procedure now is much more complicated than it was in the days of Beldin.

Harry put down his text and saw that a few of the others in the class had already left. He slowly packed up his books, waved goodbye to Professor Dumbledore, who nodded cheerfully, and left for the Gryffindor common room. On the way he passed a painting of a man beside a clock, which told him that he still had a half hour before Transfiguration, and he flopped onto a chair with some ease.

Imagine being able to perform magic simply by thinking it. Harry found the notion almost literally mind-boggling. It made him curious, though, and so he turned to the chesterfield opposite him. He focused on the pillow on it, wishing that it would sail across the room. However, it didn't. Harry shrugged and lay back.

He must have dozed off, because he was brought back sharply by a voice addressing him.

"Mister Potter," He looked up to see Professor McGonagall. "I can understand that you have been dismissed from the Headmaster's class early, however, I would appreciate it if that did not cause you to be late for mine."

"Of course not, Professor," Harry stammered, getting up quickly. She nodded, and left through the portrait hole.

~

Slowly, life began to fit into its pattern. Harry had his first class with Arabella, who was an amazing teacher, all things considered - actually there was really quite little to consider - and found that Advanced Wards and Protections would most likely be very interesting (curses, counter-curses, and arch enemies make for ... different classes). He soon discovered that there were only three classes he was taking that did not involve a Mister Draco Malfoy, and wondered what in Merlin's name had made them similar in this, the most annoying of all possible ways to be similar. He grew to enjoy his spares as a chance to get away from his rival, who appeared to have realized that this was the last time he could ever torment Harry and was doing so with vigor.

One thing made up for that, however, and that was, as it always was, Quidditch. So it was with relish that, early one Saturday morning Harry, along with Seamus, Ron, and Dean, made their way to the Quidditch pitch to practice.

The Gryffindor Team was made up of older players this year. It consisted of Harry as Seeker, Ron as Keeper, Dean and Colin Creevy as the Bashers, and Seamus, Amie Bradford, and Aaron Lillit as Chasers. The elves, it appeared, had been on their school team at Lorien, and filled the convenient gaps left by Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown after the girls discovered in their Sixth Year that Quidditch actually required hard work.

"All right," Ron addressed the team easily. His nervousness at being Quidditch Captain had quickly disappeared last year, right after the shock of having been chosen, due to the fact that he had only joined the team in his Fifth Year. Of course, Colin had nominated Harry as Captain, but it quickly became apparent to everyone - after Harry had pointed it out - that Ron was a tactical genius, whereas Harry was better at Seeking.

"This is our first practice this year," he continued, "and the first time for two of us working with this team. Just some simple drills, then. We can work with the quaffle and one bludger, Harry, you'll have to work without your snitch."

Harry smiled and nodded. "Golf balls, then?" he asked. Ron nodded.

"We'll try a few flight drills first, then Dean and Collin can work together, Amie, Aaron and Seamus with me, and Harry ... can make it up as he goes along."

Everyone laughed, and Harry shrugged defensively.

"Any questions?" Ron demanded. There were none, and so everyone mounted and took off.

For a moment, Harry just let himself revel in the feeling of flying again. The wind in his face, the feeling of nothing beneath him, of freedom, was one he could get nowhere else. Then he saw everyone grouping behind Ron and dived down to join them. What followed was a standard flight drill - a follow the leader, of sorts, as they practiced loops, figure eights, dives, and other useful techniques. Colin even provided everyone with a firsthand demonstration of how to completely wipe out on your broomstick while attempting a Wronski Feint and not kill yourself. He stood triumphantly, as everyone - or the people who were not attempting some death-defying drill, anyway - clapped.

After that, Ron broke them up into groups and began running practical drills. Harry just flew around the pitch for while, watching Colin and Dean hit the bludger to each other, and occasionally off in some unpredicted direction. The chasers were practicing scoring techniques while Ron tried, with varying degrees of success, to fend off their attempts. Soon Harry began to feel that he should be doing something, and spent the rest of practice throwing golf balls as hard as he could down the pitch and racing to catch them before they hit the ground, or another player. He was quite proud to be able to say that he only missed once.

All too soon practice was called to a close, or rather forced as the Slytherin team boldly stormed on and began to watch their strategies. Ron turned bright red and called the team down. After he had landed, Ron tossed his broom aside and began to storm towards Malfoy, his expression deadly. Hastily, Harry landed in front of him.

"What are you doing?" he hissed. Ron looked at him somewhat pleadingly.

"This is our time to practice, Harry," he replied. "Malfoy and his Slytherins have no right to barge out here and ... spy on us like that!"

"They have their brooms, Ron," Harry pointed out. "They've planned this. And Malfoy could take points off of Gryffindor if we try to interfere."

"But -" Ron sounded like a boy cheated out of his favorite toy.

"Are you going to stand there all day, Weasel?" a familiar drawl demanded. Harry looked up to see Malfoy leaning on his broomstick, watching.

"We had a double period booked today, Malfoy," he replied, making sure to keep his voice neutral.

"Ah yes," the Slytherin's voice mocked sounding regretful. "I managed to convince Madam Hooch that it was unfair of you to book the two best times for practice, Potter. It's our turn now, check the register if you must."

"Stupid git," Ron threw at him before collecting his broomstick and storming out. When they reached the Gryffindor dressing room he turned to Harry. "Could he really have deducted points if we didn't leave?" he demanded. Harry nodded. "Couldn't you have deducted points? For ... something? Anything?" Harry shook his head.

"They were fair, for once in their lives."

"They're Slytherins," Ron cried, exasperated. "They lie and cheat, and steal, and -"

"Not when they can get caught," Harry pointed out, tugging off his Quidditch robe and donning a pair of jeans and a red t-shirt. "Malfoy was practically daring us to check the register. He wouldn't risk his spoilt little neck on something like that."

"You know," Ron turned. "You're starting to sound like Hermione."

"I am not!" Harry retorted. "I just know Malfoy. He's not going to risk dirtying his precious reputation just to annoy a bunch of Gryffindors. It's not worth it to him." At Ron's pointed stare he shrugged defensively. "Hey, you don't have a guy hate your guts and try and make you look bad every minute of seven years without picking up a bit about him."

"True," Ron grinned. "Come on, we're the last people here."

Upon reaching the Common Room, Ron immediately went to a desk and began to draw up a strategy to annihilate the Slytherins. He didn't listen when Hermione, sensibly, reminded him that the first game was against Hufflepuff, and Slytherin was not until after that, merely replying that he would die if they lost to ... his language rapidly deteriorated from that point.

Harry sat himself down in front of the roaring fire with the book Hermione had given him for his birthday. However, he had just begun to read when a shift of the material alerted him to another presence on the couch. He looked up to see Aaron looking at him.

"Hey," he greeted. The demi-elf nodded. He seemed nervous, but that was in no way unusual, from what Harry had seen.

"What's up?" he ventured, trying to get some sort of conversation going. Suddenly he was fixed by an intense grey stare.

"You're Harry Potter?" Harry stifled a groan.

"Yeah," he agreed cautiously.

"So ... you lived through the killing curse ... and ..."

"Yeah," Harry interrupted.

"Oh." Aaron smiled. "Okay, just wanted to make sure." Harry frowned, puzzled. "Well," the Sixth-Year explained, "It said in my text for History of Magic that Harry Potter was the only person to survive Avada Kedavra, and was at Hogwarts. I never knew your last name ... I just wanted to know if it was you."

"Uh ... right," Harry nodded, unsure of what else to do. Suddenly, the look in Aaron's eyes changed.

"Is it always that ... exhilarating?" he demanded.

"Which?" Harry asked, and was rewarded by an embarrassed grin.

"Oh. Quidditch."

"That depends on who you are, I guess," Harry shrugged. "I definitely think so, though." Then a thought struck him. "Are you just finding this out now? I thought you played on your school team."

Aaron made a face. "Elves are creatures of the ground, for the most part. The Quidditch teams were more just a way to force people up."

"You're pretty good, considering that."

"Oh, no." The younger boy brushed the compliment aside. "Not compared to you, or Ron, or Seamus," Harry had the distinct impression that he would continue to name the entire Gryffindor team, so he put a halt to that abruptly.

"Well," he interrupted. "You're certainly an asset to the team. Now, I hope you don't mind but I think that practice did something to me. I'm famished!" Aaron laughed and declined an offer to accompany him. Harry got off of the couch and went to the portrait hole. Then, on an afterthought, he turned around.

"Anyone want to come for breakfast?" he asked. Ron declined, busy with his tactics, but Dean and Seamus instantly looked up from their game of Snap, which promptly exploded, and Colin and his friends also agreed.

The Great Hall was startlingly empty, though that seemed less unusual when Dean pointed out that it was still only eight o'clock on a Saturday.

"Finally a meal without Slytherins," Seamus cheered, earning himself a glare from the few Slytherin Third-Years actually eating at their table.

"Silver lining to every cloud," Dean agreed. Everyone stopped and looked at him. "Muggle expression," he clarified. That, of course, explained everything, and normal conversation resumed.

Harry had just piled eggs and hash browns onto his plate when he heard an awkward cough behind him. He turned to see Sirius standing behind him.

"Professor," Colin cheered, and the man nodded to him.

"Harry," he said, sounding nervous. "Could I ... talk with you in my office after you've done with breakfast?"

"Um ... sure," Harry replied, uncertain as to whether or not to add 'Professor' to the end of his statement.

"Great," Sirius smiled and strode off.

"What'd you do?" Seamus demanded after he finished a sausage.

"I have no idea," Harry replied. Quickly, he polished off his breakfast, said goodbye to his Housemates, and set off to find Sirius's office.

This proved to be more difficult that it appeared. Finally, he reached into his robe and pulled out what appeared to be a piece of parchment.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he recited, tapping the parchment with his wand. Quickly a diagram of the school appeared on it. Harry muttered, "Sirius Black," and watched as one of the many dots swelled slightly and the familiar spidery writing underneath showed those words. From that point he simply followed the dot that indicated his godfather until he came up to a wooden door marked "Muggle Studies Office." He was about to knock when the door opened and Sirius smiled at him.

"Made some use out of that?" he asked, indicating the map, and Harry grinned, muttered "Mischief Managed," and shoved it into a pocket again.

"Why did you want to see me?" Harry asked. Sirius gestured to a chair and Harry sat down.

"Ack, Harry," Sirius threw up his hands. "Don't go formal on me! Everyone's going formal on me." Harry grinned. "It's not funny," Sirius complained. "'Treat the ex-convict nicely' my foot!" Harry got the impression he wanted to use a different exclamation, but realised who he was talking to.

"Okay, so ... um ... why did you want to see me, Sirius?" he tried again. Sirius laughed.

"Well," he began, and then appeared to lose some of his confidence. "Um ... the thing is, now that I'm officially cleared and whatnot ... it just occurred to me that I'm able to formally adopt you ... if ... you want," he spluttered off.

"Isn't it a little late for that?" Harry demanded. "After this school year I'll be able to leave the Dursley's anyway -" he broke off at the crestfallen look on Sirius's face. "Of course I want you to adopt me," he exclaimed, and Sirius beamed, got up, and hugged him. Then he seemed to realise what he was doing, because he jumped back quickly. Harry laughed. "Why did you even think you had to ask?"

Sirius shrugged. "I don't know. Three years is a long time ... you might have changed your mind ... or ..."

"I might," Harry agreed, "but I didn't."

Sirius smiled again. "Well, I should let you get back to your friends, but," he opened the door. "I'll talk to you again soon."

"Great," Harry replied, then stopped, half way out the door. "Wait, will I have to call you 'Dad' or something?"

"Of course not," Sirius laughed.

"Okay, good. Bye, Sirius. I mean, Professor." Sirius shook his fist as Harry walked away, and then relaxed against the doorframe. He had actually agreed! Of course, Sirius hadn't actually thought Harry would turn down his offer, but ... he had agreed! He wanted to do something akin to his actions when he was a student, but brought himself down sharply. One glance at the clock on his desk told him that he had more important places to be.

Quickly, Sirius hurried down the hallways until he reached the stone gargoyle. "Pepper Imps," he told it, and it sprang away to reveal the staircase. As he went up he heard Dumbledore's voice.

"I must thank you for agreeing, Severus, however I can hardly condone your provocation. You must apologise to Remus. I am aware that Sirius's 'secret' was not particularly secret, however his wishes should have been requested."

"Yes, Headmaster," he heard Snape reply. This evidently satisfied Dumbledore, because he continued. Sirius paused at a bend in the staircase to listen.

"Now, I trust that nothing occurred on the train?"

"Nothing," Snape confirmed. "As I had said earlier, there was really little point in having security on the train."

"Probably not," Albus Dumbledore continued, "however it is not protected by the enchantments which lie on this place, and I felt it necessary to station those I trust as a means of ensuring the safety of the students should anything have happened to befall the train. If this is not cleared up by the end of the year, I would ask that you also accompany the students down to Kings Cross station."

Severus Snape seemed stunned for the first time that Sirius could recall. "Those you trust," he repeated, and Sirius was also stunned by the implication.

"Yes, those I trust. Unless," Dumbledore added, "unless know of something that I do not which would indicate that my trust is misplaced?" Sirius could almost hear the Headmaster's raised eyebrow.

"No," Snape replied. "No."

"I thought not," Dumbledore agreed with pleased finality. "Now, Sirius, you may come up here any time you wish, though if you would rather remain where you are I certainly have no objections."

Somewhat sheepishly Sirius mounted the remaining stairs and entered the office.

"How long have you been spying on us, Black?" Snape demanded coldly.

"Now, Severus," Dumbledore admonished. "You two must set aside your differences for the time being. We have much more important things to worry about." He turned to look at Sirius. "I trust Harry had no objections to your offer?"

Sirius shook his head and tried to prevent himself from beaming. "None at all."

"Good. I would feel much more confident about his safety if he was under the supervision of a wizard as highly skilled as you. We must speak with Arabella about security around the Dursley residence."

"You mean we can finally drop the wards in the Muggle neighbourhood?" Snape demanded. Dumbledore looked at him somewhat quizzically and nodded.

"I know you disapproved of the wards in such a place, but you can hardly question the need for security."

"Of course not," Snape hastened to agree.

"Excuse me," Sirius put in. "Why did you ask to see me?"

"Ah yes," Dumbledore's look grew serious. "I'm simply waiting for one other person, ah, Remus."

Sirius looked behind him and saw the tall, golden-eyed Professor standing in the doorway.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he apologized, sitting down in a chair.

"Quite all right," Dumbledore replied easily. "The three of you are here for a reason. First, however, I would like you all to see this."

He handed a paper to Remus, who took it. To the untrained eye it appeared that he simply glanced at the title and a bit of the body, however Sirius glared at his friend, ever jealous of his speed-reading abilities. The werewolf frowned suddenly, and passed the page over to Sirius.

It turned out to be an article from the Daily Prophet entitled; Will we ever win?

Last night there was another attack by the Death Eaters. The target, this time, was a large pub on the outskirts of Dublin. Ministry officials were alerted to the tragedy by the telltale mark hovering in the air above the building, and a team was sent for the purposes of Muggle-Control. However, it appears that things are finally turning in favour of the good guys. Despite the incompetence of the Ministry team, lead by one Arthur Weasley, a capture was made. Four Death Eaters were caught on their way from the location, and two have now been taken into custody. The other two apparently foresaw this, because by the time they were reached each had performed an unknown curse on herself and was dead. The two convicts captured were Mr. Wayard Renhen and Ms. Angella Vorelli. The casualties have been identified as a Mrs. Susan Blake, and Miss Ebony Starling.

With trepidation Sirius handed the page to Snape, who read it and returned it to the Headmaster without comment. In fact, the only indication that he had even read it was the tightening around his lips, and the fact that his left hand was clenched so tightly that it must have hurt.

"I presume you all know the significance of this article," Dumbledore said softly. Only then did Snape move.

"Ebony ... I always told her she'd get herself in trouble one day."

"I'm sorry," Remus said gently, always kind, but Snape brushed it away with a gesture.

"This is the perfect opportunity," he declared. "We needed a reason for me to turn traitor, and here it is."

"What!" Sirius jumped out of his seat.

"I'm going back to the Dark Lord," Snape said calmly. "We need a spy on the inside, and there is no need to subject someone else to His terror."

"Of course," Remus remarked quietly, then started when he realised that the other three men were looking at him. "Never mind," he trailed off. "Continue?"

"This is where you two come in," Dumbledore began. "As you, Remus, are undoubtedly aware, one week next Sunday falls on a full moon. It is on next Sunday that Severus will return to his former master, and I ask you both to accompany him. Discreetly, of course," he hastened when Snape glared at him with enough force to, in any other person, send the recipient shaking in his or her boots. "Severus, I quite frankly refuse to send you off without an escort as far as possible."

"Headmaster," Snape objected, "If I'm seen with a werewolf and a dog ... they may be Death Eaters, but they're not stupid."

"Severus," Dumbledore's voice was reasonable. "How many people can tell a werewolf from an ordinary wolf at any distance?"

"Few," Snape granted.

"And you must admit that Sirius chose wisely in his other form; at night, and knowing that wolves are not uncommon in these parts, he could easily be mistaken for a black wolf."

"All right." Snape appeared to realise that he had no hope of wining this argument. He turned his glare to Remus. "If I end up slaughtered by a mad beast," he began.

Uncharacteristically, Remus interrupted him. "If I end up a mad beast," he said coolly, "It will be a result of the potion you gave me."

"Gentlemen," Dumbledore interrupted. "If you have arguments, please take them elsewhere. I will talk with you all later; I've kept you from your classes long enough, I think."

Sirius, Remus, and Snape all nodded, and attempted to leave the Headmaster's office. This resulted in Remus and Snape both attempting to go through the door at the same time. Both withdrew sharply.

"Well," Snape demanded. "Go on."

"After you," Remus stepped back. The two men stared at each other, aggressively on Snape's part, passively on Remus's, until Sirius threw up hands.

"I'll go!" he declared, and walked down the stairs.