The Butterfly Effect

The Butterfly Effect

Chapter One: Twilight Falling

Harry Potter was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as the sun began to set outside. It was two or three weeks into August - Harry hadn't bothered to keep count. He had been too busy preparing to leave on the twenty-first, when his best friend Ronald Weasley would be dropping by to take him to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place - the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Harry's stomach squirmed unpleasantly at the thought of returning to Grimmauld Place, even for a week. Still, it was better than the Dursley's - at least in the Order, he had friends.

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, moving closer to the calendar tacked on the wall. He flipped the page (for it was still on July) and scanned the rows until he found August twenty-first. Wednesday. Ron would be coming four days from now.

Harry stood up and crossed his room to the door, opened it, and stepped into the hallway. He was in a restless mood; without bothering to say a word, he strode down the stairs, his hand halfway to the knob on the front door before Uncle Vernon rounded on him.

"Just where do you think you're going, boy?" he said.

"Outside," Harry replied, his hand now resting on the doorknob.

"And what makes you think you can leave without telling us where you're going?"

"Well," Harry began slowly, "I haven't written to anyone for at least four or five days. They haven't sent anyone along yet for the past year but if I write a letter telling them you won't even let me go outside, I'm sure someone will come along in a day or two."

Uncle Vernon's beady eyes contracted with fear at the prospect of people like his nephew showing up on his doorstep in two day's time.

Harry tried not to smile; as he watched Uncle Vernon, he could tell his uncle was debating with himself whether or not to let him go. If Uncle Vernon kept Harry inside, someone would come along soon enough to take him away several days ahead of schedule. But if he let Harry go, it would be making him happier than he was right now - Uncle Vernon was trapped in the same situation he had been in three years ago with the Quidditch World Cup.

"All right," he snarled, his mustache bristling, "you can go outside. But you had better be back here before Dudley. And the next time you write these-these people, you tell them we've been treating you right. If not, you'll see why we never took that flap out of your door. I don't want a bunch of freaks barging in here..." he muttered, stamping back into the living room.

"Okay." Harry grinned triumphantly as he opened the door and slammed it behind him, striding across the lawn onto the sidewalk.

He was almost to Magnolia Crescent when he suddenly stopped - now that he was outside, what was he supposed to do? He could go to the play park for what felt like the millionth time this summer, but he found that area rather boring now and a bit hard to see again, especially, he thought, since nearby was where he first saw Sirius right before the beginning of his third year.

He was suddenly filled with pain at the memory of his godfather. He had only known him for two years; it wasn't right for him to have died so abruptly, leaving Harry feeling quite alone.

Stop it, he commanded himself as he stayed rooted to the sidewalk. Just stop. His death was over a year ago, there's nothing you can do about it now.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his untidy black hair. He wanted to talk to someone; to have an actual face-to-face conversation. Ron and Hermione were out of the question, as were many of the people Harry had in mind; they were simply too far away. He most certainly couldn't talk to the Dursleys about how he was feeling; who else was there?

He thought hard for a moment, his speculations interrupted by a loud clanking of cans against cans; he looked up. "Mrs. Figg?" he said, peering down the sidewalk at an old lady.

Mrs. Figg trotted by, her bag swinging from side to side.

Harry snapped his fingers; he could talk to Mrs. Figg! "

Mrs. Figg!" he called out as she trotted past. When she slowed only slightly, Harry frowned, thinking things through. He had talked to this batty old lady only once since her announcement of being a Squib two years ago - would she know who he was talking about? Would she even know what had happened?

Fortunately, Mrs. Figg hadn't heard him - she had only slowed to turn and trot up the drive leading to her house.

Harry sighed once more; he was left to talk things through with his own self once again. He forced his legs to move, and they carried him to the play park he usually haunted. Dejectedly, he lowered himself onto a swing and picked up a handful of woodchips, one by one peeling them apart and flicking them away.

He wished Ron would come, or anyone from the Order. Well, almost anyone. He didn't want to see Snape and have his summer holiday ruined.

Unexpectedly, he leapt up from the swing, threw it away from him, turned on his heel, and ran. He didn't know where to go - all he knew was that he wanted to get away from here, get away from himself...get away from being famous Harry Potter...

He turned onto Privet Drive, his pounding footfalls echoing behind him; just as abruptly as he had begun running, he stopped and looked up the street. How ironic that the one place he wasn't required to be famous Harry Potter was the place he loathed the most. Slowly, he made his way toward Number Four and pushed the door open; the glare of the sparkling clean house caused him to shield his eyes.

At the top of the stairs, Uncle Vernon came into the hallway. "Back so soon?" he snarled, checking his watch. "You weren't even gone for a full thirty minutes - a complete waste of effort..."

Harry rolled his eyes and went into his bedroom, slamming the door as loudly as he could. He heard Uncle Vernon give an indistinguishable roar of anger at having the door slammed and smiled to himself. His smile eventually faded though, and he was back on the edge of his bed, staring glumly at the floor.

What could he do to keep himself occupied for the next four days? He could always taunt Dudley with the use of magic - the Dursleys knew he couldn't use magic outside of Hogwarts, but he could threaten them with a special appearance made by his godfather, for he had conveniently forgotten to tell them that Sirius was dead.

No, there was no more enjoyment in taunting Dudley anymore in front of his friends; he had come out with the truth and simply told his gang that Harry was a wizard and though none of them believed him, they left Harry alone all the same.

Harry felt as though he was trapped in solitary confinement; he didn't mind being alone but things were starting to get out of hand - even Uncle Vernon had taken to ignoring him rather than yelling at him the usual five times a day. Dudley was hardly ever in the house nowadays and Aunt Petunia regarded him as the annoying family pet - a creature to be scolded and ignored. Okay, so she hadn't changed much but Harry was forced to admit that he would rather be glared at than feel so nonexistent.

Oh, he still loathed the Dursleys - who wouldn't? - but ever since Dumbledore's explanation two years ago of why he had to stay with them over the summer, he felt the slightest bit more grateful towards them, even if it was only a fraction of a fraction.

With a sigh, Harry got up and moved towards his desk, stroking Hedwig in her cage. He dragged a piece of parchment towards him, opened a bottle of ink, and dipped a dark blue quill into it. His hand was poised above the parchment, holding the quill as he contemplated what to write.

Ron -

It's all okay, here. I know you're coming in four days - this might not even get to you before then. I just needed something to do.

The Dursleys are ignoring me, which makes for quite a change, but you can tell everyone that they don't need to send anyone along. I'm doing alright.

Harry paused, trying to think of what to write next, when he heard Uncle Vernon bellow "Petunia!" He looked up from his letter.

"Petunia!" Uncle Vernon shouted again.

Harry quirked an eyebrow and, setting the quill on his desk, stood up and peered into the hallway. Aunt Petunia was scurrying from the kitchen into the living room; intrigued, Harry crept down the hall and stared at the scene unfolding before him from atop the stairs.

Uncle Vernon was frantically flapping his arms as he pointed out the window; Aunt Petunia uttered a soft scream and clamped a hand over her mouth, pulling the blinds closed. They exchanged horrified glances and stared up the stairway at Harry.

He looked at them questioningly. "What's going on?" He expected them to tell him it was none of his business, that he was being nosy, or to not even reply at all. But Aunt Petunia slowly lowered her hand and beckoned Harry toward the window; he hesitantly walked down the stairs. "What's happening?"

"There's - something out-out there," said Uncle Vernon jerkily.

Harry moved closer to the window and peered out of the glass; what he saw took him completely by surprise.

There was a black, shapeless form gliding down Privet Drive toward their house. Everything it passed, it engulfed in darkness. The street lamps couldn't even penetrate the absolute dark.

Uncle Vernon was glowering at Harry as though this were the coming of the apocalypse and his nephew was the cause of their soon destruction. Aunt Petunia glanced at Uncle Vernon.

"Vernon...What-what if Didders can't find his way home?" she said fearfully.

Uncle Vernon's face paled, his beady eyes still fixed on Harry. "This," he said, pointing out the window, "is madness...It's sent from that-that - "he lowered his voice to just below a whisper, so that Harry had to lean forward to hear "that magic world of yours."

Aunt Petunia looked around the living room nervously; Harry rolled his eyes.

"I knew that. I just don't know what it is..." He trailed off, staring outside through the blinds. What was this thing?

It soon passed Number Four - everything in the house went dark; the lights flickered off and Aunt Petunia screamed softly.

Harry gripped the windowsill tightly and looked around the house, but couldn't see anything. After several minutes, he strained to hear a familiar sound, anything - but hearing the door creak open of its own accord was not at all comforting.

Harry squeezed his eyelids shut; he could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, echoing loudly in his ears. He couldn't ever recall being this frightened, even when facing Voldemort; at least he knew what Voldemort's goal was, but this - this was an unknown substance. He didn't know how to handle it.

The sound of something heavy being dragged through the open door made Harry's skin crawl; he gripped the windowsill even tighter and was sure that his knuckles were white.

Beside him, Aunt Petunia gave a genuine shriek of horror as she blindly stumbled toward the door, tripped over something, and landed with a thud some fifteen feet away. She made several odd choking noises before her cries faded out into nothing.

"Petunia!" shouted Uncle Vernon.

"No!" Harry blindly threw out an arm in the man's direction and caught him in the chest.

"Get away from me, boy!" Uncle Vernon growled.

"You don't know what it is," said Harry.

Uncle Vernon shoved him aside and shambled away in the inky blackness; the same fate that Aunt Petunia had come across lay in wait for Uncle Vernon. He tripped over the same thing Aunt Petunia had fallen over and fell with a thud; Harry knew the swishing sounds he heard were from his uncle attempting to use his fists against whatever it was. Uncle Vernon let out a strangled cry before sputtering incoherently and falling silent.

"Oh no," Harry whispered, though nobody could hear him. "No, someone help me, somebody please help me."

His eyes were so tightly closed and his fear was so great that he was near the verge of tears. Merlin, he was scared out of his wits. Suddenly, he sensed movement behind him and was pulled away from the window by an invisible source.

"No!" he screamed, clawing at the blinds. After a few moments, the force gave a sharp tug that caused Harry to rip the blinds out; they dropped to the floor with a clatter.

"No!" Harry's arms were lashing out blindly; he had been so preoccupied with fear that he hadn't even noticed his scar burning. "Augh!" He dropped to his knees, clutching his head as the pain surged throughout his body.

The mysterious force wrapped him in absolute darkness, suffocating him, pressing in upon his ears, his mouth, his entire face. And then he passed out.

"Oh, I hope he's okay."

"He'll be fine; he's been through worse before...Harry?"

Harry rubbed his eyes, blinked, and rubbed his eyes again. "Where am I?" he said hoarsely.

He heard someone sigh in relief. "Thank goodness you're okay. We thought you were gone for sure."

"Huh?" Harry blinked several more times; his vision cleared and he saw his two best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger sitting on the side of his bed, wearing anxious expressions on their faces.

"What's going on?"

"It's Thursday, Harry. Thursday, August twenty-second. You've been in this coma-like state since Saturday evening," said Hermione quietly. "You've had us all worried to death."

"What?" Harry spluttered, sitting bolt upright. "Sat-Saturday evening?"

Hermione looked at the floor; Ron nodded gravely.

"Well, where are we?" Harry asked.

"Headquarters of the Order," said Ron, looking slightly surprised. "I told you we would be bringing you here."

"I just...For a second, I thought I was at St. Mungo's," Harry muttered.

Hermione bit her lip. "So you remember what happened?"

"Not-not really," confessed Harry. "Just - black, darkness...screams, a-a door being opened without any help, and something being dragged inside..." He shuddered involuntarily.

Ron and Hermione exchanged highly significant looks. "Well," Hermione squeaked. "Harry, t-there's something you ought to know."

Harry looked at her quizzically; Ron bent over, picked up something off the floor, and tossed it onto the bed. Harry gingerly took it in his hands - it was a Muggle newspaper. He stared at the headline, horrified.

"W-what is this?" he said faintly.

The headline read: Mysterious Deaths in Little Whinging

Harry's eyes grew wide as he read parts of the article aloud. "...Family of three found dead in their home of Number Four, Privet Drive late Saturday evening...Vernon Dursley, Petunia Dursley, and their seventeen-year-old son Dudley Dursley...Police officers and investigators say they do not know what caused the mysterious deaths..."

Harry stared at the color photograph of Number Four, cut off from the rest of Privet Drive with bright yellow caution tape. "How did this happen?" he whispered.

"No one knows, mate. It was also in the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet, since you were somewhat involved...It's much more gruesome, though, concerning you." Ron reached under the bed and fished out a four-day-old newspaper titled The Daily Prophet; he tossed the Sunday edition to Harry, who caught it in his hands.

His green eyes scanned the article and his jaw dropped. "They're accusing me of killing the Dursleys?" he said incredulously.

This time it was Ron who averted his gaze.

"You two don't honestly think I did it!" said Harry.

"We know you didn't, Harry. They just wanted to make you out to be some sick weirdo, to find some story that allows them to build up the lies about you. It's just...Oh, everyone at Hogwarts will be so unbearable with this rumor flying around. You know the lot of them will believe any rubbish the Daily Prophet prints off," Hermione said.

Harry sighed. It had all happened so quickly; he wanted it all to be a dream, a horrible nightmare. He fell back upon the pillows and stared at the ceiling, his eyes stinging. Ron and Hermione stood up and left the room, leaving Harry to himself. He soon fell asleep; when he awoke several hours later, he found that it was not a dream at all.

He was living in a nightmare.

Chapter Two

Return

The days until September first passed rather quickly and uneventfully, unless Mrs. Weasley going to Diagon Alley to purchase new school supplies counted toward the exciting.

The last Friday before school started, Harry and Ron were playing a particularly violent game of Wizard's Chess when Hermione burst into the room; neither Harry nor Ron seemed to have noticed her entrance.

"Take him, come on, take him, you dolt!" Ron was saying, exasperated.

Harry was pointing at Ron and openly laughing as Ron's bishop refused to make a move. Hermione rolled her eyes and tossed her letter onto the chessboard; Harry's king viciously attacked it and it was Ron's turn to laugh.

"Hah! Your king moved out of turn!"

"That's not fair!" Harry protested. He snatched up the letter and handed it to Hermione without a glance at it.

Hermione sighed and waved her letter around; Ron caught a glimpse of the seal on the back. "Hogwarts?" he said. "What, you got your book list a bit late and have decided to picket about it?"

"No, Ron." Hermione gave him the envelope; he took out the letter and began to read.

"Miss Hermione Granger, blah, blah, blah...Pleased to inform you that you have been made this year's Head Girl. Well, that's a surprise," he said sarcastically. He looked up at his friend across the board.

Harry shrugged. "We knew you were bound to get it so excuse us if we're not overenthusiastic," he said.

Hermione pulled up a chair and sat down. "Is that all you two can say?" she said, looking slightly crestfallen at their reactions.

"Do you want us to fall at your feet and worship your invincible intelligence?" asked Harry as one of his pawns made a move.

Ron snorted. Hermione rolled her eyes, frowning.

"I wonder who the Head Boy is..."

"Neither of us, that's for sure," Ron replied. After several seconds, he added, "If it's Malfoy, drive him insane for us, would you? As a little gift worth six years of taunting? Push him over the edge and see if he actually goes, you know?" He made a hand gesture that neither Harry nor Hermione could quite make out.

It was Hermione's turn to snort; she leaned over and ruffled up Ron's hair. "You're so weird, Ron."

Ron nodded absentmindedly, prodding his knight forward. When it turned around looking at him menacingly, he drew back his hand and sighed. "Stupid things," he muttered. "This set used to belong to Fred and George - I've played with it loads of times and the pieces still don't listen to me. So...anyone up for a game of Exploding Snap?"

"Nah. I'm a bit hungry though," said Harry.

Ron glanced at his watch. "It's ten after one. We've been playing this for forever!" he exclaimed, getting up from the chair. Harry stood up also and Hermione followed; they left the room and began to head down the stairs.

Three-quarters of the way down, Ron jumped the last few steps and landed on the floor with a loud thump; he paused and cupped a hand around his ear. "D'you hear that?"

Hermione stared at him, puzzled. "I don't hear anything."

"Neither do I," said Harry.

"Exactly," said Ron with a triumphant grin. "Exactly. No more foul portraits screeching madcap phrases down the hall...Can you believe we only just took down that portrait of Sirius' mum right before - "

His question was cut short as he saw Hermione fervently shaking her head, glancing nervously at Harry. Harry put a hand on her shoulder.

"It's fine, Hermione. It was more than a year ago. I'm over it," he lied.

Hermione bit her lip uncertainly; she appeared to be on the verge of making some remark before she convinced herself not to and took Ron's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Let's go have some lunch," she said.

Ron gave Harry a meaningful glance before he slipped an arm around Hermione's waist and was led into the kitchen.

Harry hung back, staring at the swinging door. It was only the day after he had regained consciousness that the pair of them revealed the fact they were now dating; he tried not to think about it.

Seeing couples only reminded him of Cho Chang (who was no longer attending Hogwarts), and the memory of Cho only dredged up the horrible feeling Harry felt in his gut whenever he remembered Cedric Diggory, lying spread-eagle in the grass beside him, his eyes wide and blank.

Harry shivered and rubbed his arms; it wasn't right being back in this house. There was no life to the ancient House of Black if Sirius was no longer there. Harry shivered again and stared around the hallway. Each awful memory brought another one with it, and his brain was going into overload with all the bizarre connections he was making.

He pressed his hands to the sides of his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

Just go away, he thought. Leave me alone. He crouched down, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Stop it; I don't want to remember these! Go away...

It was as though the invisible barrier protecting his mind had been broken; memories rushed into his head of terrible things; he couldn't stop them from bearing down upon him.

There was a green light shining through the keyhole and the soft click of a door being opened; frenzied shouts and scurried footsteps - it sounded like a person running up a flight of stairs...another door flew open, Harry could see this one...he saw flashed of color from downstairs before he heard an incomprehensible yell, followed by a scream, and then it fell silent...more footsteps this time, approaching the now open door...

Harry was covered in a cold sweat; he couldn't recall this ever happening. What was going on? And then, as clearly as if someone had whispered the answer in his ear, it came: His parents. He was remembering how his parents had died. But...how? He had only been one year of age when it happened.

There was the blast of a spell shooting through the air; another spell sped toward...his mother, Lily. She screamed before it reached her, a green jet of light taking her life. She fell to the ground, dead.

Harry stared, horrified, as in his memory Voldemort approached him to murder him as an infant.

How did it happen? he thought. How did I survive? How is it that Voldemort didn't die?

But before Voldemort had uttered those words, Harry rubbed his palms against his scar, which had given a particularly painful twinge, yelling in pain.

"No!" he shouted; he forced his eyes open and fell back against the wall, breathing heavily.

There was a soft creak and Harry looked around, alarmed, but Ron had only poked his head out of the kitchen door.

"Blimey Harry, are you okay? You sounded like you were screaming bloody murder," he said.

"I'm fine," said Harry shakily. "Just - a bad memory..."

"Of what?" Ron fully emerged from the kitchen and sat down beside his best friend, his expression anxious.

Harry shook his head, his scar prickling uncomfortably. "It was weird...I didn't know that I could - remember that," he muttered.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "It might help if you filled me in here, mate."

"I...I saw my mum dying, and I heard my dad screaming before he was killed," Harry murmured. "I couldn't tell what he was saying...Something like "Lily, go save Harry!". And...and then he screamed horribly..."

Ron was looking at Harry as though he was infected with a contagious germ. He cast his eyes around the hallway before getting to his feet.

"Well," he said in a strained voice, "that certainly is...odd. Uh..." He jammed his hands into his pockets. "I'm going to help 'Mione finish making the sandwiches. You're welcome to help, to take your mind off things...if you don't want to, that's understandable." He smiled feebly before trooping back into the kitchen.

Harry sighed; he had been experiencing too many odd things in the past two weeks. What was going on?

Platform 9 ¾ was as crowded as ever, and hardly anyone seemed to take any notice of the four teenagers scurrying toward the Hogwarts Express, pushing their heavily-laden carts before them.

"Sorry!" Ron yelled over his shoulder as, for the fifth time, he trod on someone's foot.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Honestly, can't you even go one day without stepping on someone?"

Ron grinned rather guiltily and continued wheeling his cart toward the scarlet train, Hermione and Ginny behind him.

Ginny glanced at the watch on her wrist, "Harry, it's about to - "

But her cries were cut short as the Hogwarts Express emitted a loud, shrill whistle and slowly began to chug forward.

"No - stop!" shouted Harry, frantically waving an arm in the air to attract the conductor's attention.

The Express was steadily gaining speed; Harry broke into a run and sped to the other side of the station. "Stop! Stop!"

But it seemed as though they would be left behind. His arm fell limply to his side and he ran his fingers through his hair. "Now what do we do?" he said as Ron and Ginny ran up beside him (Hermione had fallen behind).

Ron sighed, "I don't know."

Seconds later, Hermione caught up to the other three and, panting slightly, tapped Harry on the shoulder and pointed to the Express. "Look, it's slowing down," she said.

Indeed, the scarlet train had rolled to a stop thirty meters down the track; the conductor poked his head out the window and nodded to the train, indicating that the four of them could board. Parents (of first years, Harry supposed) had stopped waving their tear-stained handkerchiefs in the air after their children as they puzzled over why the Hogwarts Express had stopped moving.

Relieved that they would not be left behind, Harry threw open the nearest door and got on board; Ron, Ginny, and Hermione trooped on after him and once the door was closed and secured, they exchanged looks.

"Er...Well, I've got to go sit up front...Head Girl, you know...I just have to tell the prefects what to do and then patrol the corridors every so often," said Hermione.

"Oh...right." Harry, Ron, and Ginny nodded; as Hermione began marching in the other direction, Ron yelled, "Don't forget to find out who the Head Boy is and tell us!"

Hermione waved to show she had heard him and disappeared into a compartment near the front.

"So...Shall we go find somewhere to go sit?" Ginny suggested.

"Yeah." Harry dragged his trunk down the corridor with one hand, Hedwig in her cage under his other arm. Ginny and Ron did the same, Ron keeping a firm grip on the handle of Pig's cage; the small owl hooted happily, zooming around its cage. Ron glared at it.

"Stupid feathery git," he muttered.

Harry peered into all the compartments as he passed; each of them seemed to be occupied, though, as to be expected, Neville Longbottom was on his own, reading a book that Harry only supposed must be about plants. He slid open the glass door.

"Hi Neville. Mind if we join you?"

"Oh - hi Harry. No, go ahead," Neville replied. He waved a cheerful hello to Ron and Ginny as they filed into the compartment after Harry.

Ron took the seat beside Neville and leaned over to get a better view of the book. "What's that you're reading?" he asked.

"One-Thousand and One Magical Herbs and Fungi," Neville answered.

Ron scrunched up his freckled nose. "I thought you had already read that."

"Oh, not this one - it's the revised edition," said Neville excitedly. "Not only does it give a description of each magical herb and fungi, it gives you the name of who discovered it, when it was found, and what it was originally used for," he explained.

Harry grinned; Herbology was the one subject Neville excelled at.

Ron, however, hadn't taken this into account and nodded slowly as though he understood every word Neville had spoken. "Uh-huh...Hey Harry, did you hear about Wales? They were crushed in their match against Transylvania!" he said enthusiastically.

Harry looked as though he had suddenly sprung to life - he loved Quidditch more than anything else in the Wizarding world. "Really? You know I never hear anything about Quidditch over the summer. How am I supposed to, being at the Dursleys?"

Neville marked his page and closed the book. "I heard about it," he said.

"Yeah, they were slaughtered! Oh - and did you hear? Oliver Wood left Puddlemere United! He said something about the Captain not using him to his fullest abilities or whatever - so now he's playing for England!" Ron exclaimed.

"What? Oliver's playing for England?" repeated Harry incredulously.

"Yeah, he's their new Keeper. I heard about it from Fred and George over the summer; Angelina is still in contact with Oliver and, well, you know how she and Fred are dating..." Ron trailed off, then dived straight back into the subject of Quidditch, which kept the three boys and even Ginny occupied until Hermione stomped into their compartment forty minutes later, looking very disgruntled. They abruptly halted the discussion and looked up.

"Malfoy," said Hermione angrily. "The Head Boy is Malfoy."

Everyone gaped at her.

"You poor thing," said Ginny after several silent minutes.

Hermione sighed heavily and plopped down next to Ron, who gave her a comforting hug. "I can't believe I have to put up with that prat all year," she muttered. "But, on the plus side, I get to stay in Gryffindor Tower - we don't have to share anything but duties," she added gratefully.

Harry noted how Ron visibly relaxed upon hearing this piece of information. He shook his head - Ron could get so overprotective at times - and began to steer the subject away from dangerous waters by bringing up the N.E.W.T.s, which he, Ron, Hermione, and Neville would be taking next June.

"So what subjects are you tested on?" asked Ginny, getting very involved in the conversation although she was only entering her sixth year.

"The core subjects, like Transfiguration, Charms, History of Magic, Care of Magical Creatures, and possibly Potions, if anyone else is taking Advanced Potions with Snape, but I don't know what else," Hermione replied.

Ron feigned a look of shock. "Hark, did I just hear you say the phrase "I don't know what else"? Quick, somebody get out some parchment and record the date and time of this moment!"

Hermione slapped him gently on the arm and everyone laughed. Their good spirits continued on through the rest of the train ride (for Malfoy hadn't even stopped by as usual to poke fun and dampen their spirits) and that evening as the Hogwarts Express rolled into Hogsmeade Station, Harry's mood was considerably lighter than it had been at the beginning of the day.

"Firs' years over here! Over here; follow me, firs' years!" Hagrid's familiar voice boomed above the crowd; Harry and Ron exchanged reminiscent grins as a group of timid-looking first years huddled around Hagrid, looking up at the half-giant with a mixture of awe and fear.

Hagrid spotted the five familiar faces of Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville and beamed at them. "How are yeh, Harry?" he said over everyone's heads.

"Fine," Harry replied with a grin.

Hagrid nodded. "Tha's good." He returned his attention to the mass of first years around him. "Now, all of yeh'll follow me ter the lake, alrigh'? Get inter groups of four or five and we'll take the boats across," he said.

The young eleven-year-olds looked at each other fearfully and obediently divided themselves into groups of four and five.

Harry nudged Hermione in the ribs and muttered, "Were we ever that small? I don't remember being so close to the ground."

Ron snorted with laughter on his other side; Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Yes Harry," she said. "You were that short once, believe it or not."

"Hey, I said 'we'!" said Harry indignantly.

Ginny giggled and Neville chuckled. As the five of them walked past the first years (who were gathered in their boat groups and determinedly not making any conversation), several of them saw Harry as he passed them by; one of them poked his neighbor in the back, pointed at Harry, and whispered, "It's him! That one guy my mum told me the Daily Prophet said was mad!"

Having heard this, Harry's grin quickly slid off his face; he sidled into a carriage and was oddly quiet as the thestrals began the short journey up to Hogwarts. Neville glanced at him.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Hmm? Oh...yeah. I just heard one of the first years calling me mad because that's apparently what the Daily Prophet has been saying about me," said Harry bitterly.

His light mood took an abrupt turnaround; he suddenly felt very angry. He stared out the window, deciding not to look at anyone else in the carriage.

The castle of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry loomed out of the darkness ahead of them; squares of soft yellow light dotted the turrets, and the windows of the Great Hall were easily visible. Inside the gates to the grounds, the carriages came to a halt.

Everyone poured onto the grounds and as Harry stepped on the grass, he couldn't help but smile only slightly as he made his way toward the familiar castle. He was home once again.