Lux Aeterna

* * * * *

 

Chapter Two: The Visitor
 

Something strange was happening in Azkaban. Remus could feel it in his bones, smell it in the air, taste it on his tongue, the light, almost elusive energy that suffused the black construct, twining its searching tendrils about every rock face and crack, weakening and yet strengthening the molecules it embraced. It was an unsettling sensation, one that made his skin tingle with inexplicable heat and excitement, but it was by no means unfamiliar.

Unbidden, the image of a quarry, pale in the moonlight, presented itself before him, confirming the awful suspicion already formulating in his mind. This was just like that night, twenty-five years ago, when the wolf had claimed him. The stillness was just as poised, the silence just as calculating. Even the shadows cast by his lighted wand were familiar for their frenetic outlines and crushing dimensions.

On nights like this, werewolves are born.

Quickening his pace, Remus followed the pier to dry land, all the while watching the dim surroundings for any sign of danger. The others seemed unaware of the disturbing aura, but that was hardly surprising. They hadn't been touched by the Darkness as he had. Oblivious, they stood by the waterside, talking in low, concerned tones as they awaited the return of their companions

How long had it been? Remus inspected his watch and sighed. Over two hours, then, since Sirius had raced off down the beach on his broomstick, frantic with worry for his godson, and followed by at least a dozen of the Order's finest witches and wizards. He should have been back by now. Something must have gone wrong.

As if sensing his anxiety, Mira McGonagall approached him, a stern expression on her normally cheerful visage. "Something isn't right here, Remus."

Remus nodded, relieved to share his concerns. "You sense it too."

"No, but the Thestral does. He's very unsettled, and keeps whinying and jumping about. What do you sense?"

"It's hard to describe... It's like there's an electrical charge in the air. I feel edgy."

Mira twisted her hair around her finger, considering. "... Like the Thestral... It might just be this place."

"I don't think so," Remus said. "It only started about an hour ago. I think something must have happened."

"To Harry?" Mira asked, startled.

"Maybe... Or Voldemort. It's almost like something is moving through the air, and-"

"Good heavens!" Mira exclaimed, looking upward.

Like a wave crashing over them, the air was suddenly filled with the beating of innumerable wings passing overhead. There must have been thousands of birds up there, all disturbed from their cliffside perches by some sinister force. Remus could not see them, but the noise was deafening. For several minutes, he gazed up into the darkness, stealing the occasional, stunned glance at his companions, and waited.

Finally the flock headed out to sea, and once again, all was silent. Not even the waves lapping against the rocky shore made any sound. It was an unnatural stillness, one that did nothing to calm Remus' jolted nerves. Shakily, he voiced the one thought he felt sure they were all asking, "I wonder what disturbed them."

The others simply stared at him in dismay, unable to answer.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered with an almighty crack. Remus jumped and dropped his wand. His breath caught in his throat. He could feel the earth trembling beneath his feet and the Darkness rushing up at him. It charged into his body at a terrifying speed, tearing his atoms apart with excruciating pain. Speedily, the ground rose up to meet him, but he hardly noticed. The agony was all that mattered. It clawed at his soul with remorseless fury, leaving him writhing and pleading for mercy.

Through a haze, he saw the others running away against a backdrop of resounding explosions. The world was falling down around him, his ears were filled with crashing and banging. Of course! The dynamite... in the quarry...

The wolf was being born.

But that had happened already, hadn't it?

* * * * *

Eight months earlier

The realisation that he was awake came slowly and reluctantly. Shifting under the heavy blankets, Harry opened his mouth wide to release a dry, exhausted yawn before challenging his sleep-fogged brain to take stock of his surroundings. He could tell without opening his eyes that it was still dark, that he could not have been asleep very long, and that whatever had disturbed him had not prevented Ron from continuing to snore with his usual gusto.

He had to wonder at his friend's ability to sleep through the deep, insistent hammering that could now be heard against the castle walls. The rain seemed to be pounding down in torrents, battering on the external stonework with the strength of a million tiny chisels, and not even the fierce northerly winds that came gusting down from the Highlands could contend with the deafening cacophany. Nevertheless, Ron slept on, oblivious.

Feeling heavy and sluggish, Harry's first intention was to follow suit, and simply turn over and go back to sleep. He had the gloomy impression that he had not been sleeping very well, just hovering on the edge of unconsciousness, where dreams flicker between fantasy and nightmare.

His instinctive caution refused to let him rest, however. Something had awakened him. Blearily, he pried open his sticky eyelids just a fraction and peered around. It was a halfhearted, almost drunken effort, which thankfully betrayed no hidden blurs, no intruders, against the black backdrop of the dormitory.

Satisfied, Harry let his eyes droop closed and settled deeper into the soft folds of the bedcovers. He was such a light sleeper these days that even the slightest sound could rouse him. Ron's snores were usually to blame. Tonight, it was probably just the rain.

A dazzling pulse of silver light across his shut eyelids soon dashed that assessment. Lightening, Harry realised with a jolt of excitement, and he sat up in bed, wide awake. Almost immediately the room was filled with a loud, gritty rumbling as the thunder followed its blinding counterpart. Harry leapt out of bed, grabbed his glasses, and ran to the window, ignoring the icy touch of the floorboards under his feet.

He had always delighted in thunderstorms. It probably stemmed back to the glorious night when he had managed to convince Dudley that if he carried a wire coat hanger out into a thunderstorm he would be able to unscramble the Movie Channel on his television for free. Unfortunately, Dudley hadn't been struck by lightening, but he hadn't got the Movie Channel either, so as far as Harry was concerned, it was a triumph. Listening to the rain splashing on the window ledge, he smiled at the happy memory.

Outside was black. It was an ebony, moonless night, and not even the raindrops on the window pane were distinguishable against the void. But there was no way Harry was leaving his vantage point. Tired as he was, thunderstorms were an exciting, rare event, and he didn't want to miss this one for the world. Wearily, he leaned against the wall and stared blindly at the window, waiting.

He almost jumped when a hand suddenly connected with the small of his back.

"Dean? Is that you?" a quiet voice inquired.

"Neville!" Harry gasped in recognition, still shivering at the unexpected sensation. "I didn't hear you coming."

"Harry?"

"Yeah, it's me. You gave me such a fright, creeping up like that."

"Sorry. What's going on?"

"Thunderstorm... "

There was a sudden intake of breath. "You'd better get back from the window, Harry. It's dangerous."

"Nah, I wouldn't miss this for anything. Listen to that rain!"

"Yeah... But I wouldn't stand there if I were you. My second cousin Florence got struck three times by lightening. Every Hallowe'en she'd barricade herself in the cellar. It's the fireworks, you see..."

Harry had to laugh as a ridiculous image of himself duelling with the Dark Lord, and screaming, "Run! Lightening!" at the first Avada Kedavera popped into his head.

"What?" Neville asked innocently.

"Nothing... I was just-"

They both jumped as lightening tore across the sky once more in a long, white fork, illuminating the Forbidden Forest and the small hut on its edge. For a moment, Harry thought he saw something very strange there, but when he blinked it was gone. The light vanished, and the darkness returned.

"Oh, I can't watch!" Neville gasped.

Harry ignored him and stared raptly at the darkened window. "Did you just see-"

The thunder cut him off, growling long and with increasing volume.

"Oh!" Neville cried, clapping his hands over his ears. Harry heard his feet shuffle back on the floorboards, away from the window. "I don't know how they can sleep through all of this... It must be really close."

Harry merely grunted in reply. Frowning slightly, he rubbed his dazed eyes. What was Hagrid doing out on a night like this?

"... Mind you, Ron and Seamus would sleep through anything. Remember the time Peeves brought that suit of armour up here?"

"What? Oh, yeah... That was hilarious."

"Yeah... For the first time in my life I actually felt sorry for Filch, " Neville said, chuckling through a long yawn. "Hey, I'm going back to bed, Harry. I can't stand this lightening."

"Okay. 'Night, then."

"G'night." Neville moved away, still yawning, his footsteps barely audible above the rain.

Harry continued to stare out of the window, struggling to recall the image that had presented itself before him for an instant. A large, bulky silhouette, almost like a tall person dressed in thick furs... Hagrid, he had immediately thought. But the other form...

Shaking his head in frustration, Harry sat down on the narrow sill and waited for the next bolt of lightening.

One after another, the flashes raced across the sky, filling him with ever-dwindling excitement until he was ready to return to bed. The cold wood had numbed his feet, and he yearned for the warmth of a soft mattress. Yawning, he felt his way back across the room to his four-poster and settled down beneath the covers. Ron was still snoring, reminding him of how tired he really was. Snuggling deeper into the blankets, Harry closed his eyes.

And opened them just as fast. What was he doing? Sleeping, being lazy, when his parents needed him. This could be the night when he learned how to save them.

In an instant, Harry was out of bed and rummaging through his chest for the Invisibility Cloak. He found it hidden beneath his Quidditch robes, its soft texture running through his fingers like sand and filling him with an all too familiar sense of adventure. Without hesitation, he wrapped it around himself and stole quietly across the dormitory.

He knew he needed to sleep, but this would just be for a little while. It could be days before he got another chance to check the Restricted Section, especially with the first Quidditch match of the season taking place in just four days. No, he had to do it now. Just an hour, he told himself, and then straight back to bed. No-one would ever know.

The stairs felt icy under his bare feet, but he couldn't risk going back for socks. The last thing he needed right now was an interrogation from his room-mates.

Across the empty common room, and out the portrait hole, Harry moved quickly, not daring to look back. The hammering of the rain diminished as he ran deeper and deeper into the heart of the castle. Lit torches hanging from the walls illuminated his path. Filch and Mrs. Norris were nowhere to be seen, fortunately, and Harry continued on, growing in confidence.

The occupants of the portraits were fast asleep. Even the Fat Lady, who was normally very observant, had failed to notice his escape. She had simply released an undignified snort and returned to her slumber, muttering something about not wanting any white chocolate, thank you very much. Lord Ashton on the first floor had been similarly engaged, creating a terrible din with his snores, but remained ignorant of the student prowling past his doorway. Only the black horse in the second floor landscape had appeared suspicious, but that had only been for a moment, and she was probably just scared of the rain.

Harry quickly arrived at the Library. Stopping outside for a moment to rub his feet, he listened to the sounds of the castle. The rain could be heard more clearly now, bashing against the library windows in tremendous gusts, but no other sounds invaded his sense of calm. Boldly, he strode into the large room and made for the tall, book-lined shelves to his left.

At intervals, lightening streaked past the window and bathed the room in startling white light, casting eerie shadows over the floor. Harry moved out of the glare into an aisle flanked on both sides by high shelves. These held just the innocent, open access texts he'd checked before, nothing very interesting or relevant. Without even glancing at them, Harry reached the end of the shelves, turned into the next aisle, the Restricted Section, and nearly walked straight into Draco Malfoy.

Harry blinked in astonishment. There, standing right before him, in the centre of the aisle, was a pyjama-clad Draco Malfoy. His blonde hair practically glowed with every bolt of lightening, and in his arms he held open a large, thick book, illuminated by a wand resting on the page. His cold eyes were fixed on the text, and a frown was forming just above them, betraying his anger and acute concentration. He had no idea he was being watched.

Standing less than two metres from the other boy, Harry didn't know what to do. On the one hand, he needed to examine the books in peace, but on the other hand, Malfoy was clearly up to something. If Harry created a disturbance now to frighten him into leaving, he might never find out what he was plotting, and Ron and Hermione would never forgive him.

In that instant, Harry reached a decision. Stealthily, he crept up on the boy, trying hard to ignore the frantic beating of his own heart against his ribs, and moved around behind him. Looking over Malfoy's shoulder, he peered down at the half-lit text. It appeared to be a Charms book. A long, numbered list of charms, all unfamiliar to him, decorated the page, along with various diagrams of complicated-looking wand techniques.

Harry was a little disappointed. He had been expecting to discover something incriminating, but Malfoy just seemed to be putting in some timely work for the O.W.L.s. Come to think of it, Malfoy had been coming to the library a lot lately. That must be it, then, but it still didn't add up. Why would he study such an advanced book? These Charms looked far beyond the level of the O.W.L.s.

Malfoy began flicking through the pages, determination evident in the set of his shoulders. Harry leaned back on his heels, aching from the strain of leaning over the other boy's shoulders, and waited patiently.

Shivering under his cloak, he watched excitedly as a page was decided on. Malfoy was examining a section on another charm. Harry could just barely discern a large diagram of an intricate wand movement. Curious, he moved a little closer and raised himself onto tip-toes. There, he could see it now, some kind of Protection Charm, apparently. It looked somewhat familiar. Now that was interesting...

Damn, he was going to sneeze. Starting to panic, Harry raised a hand to his nose, but it was too late. No sooner had he dashed to the end of the aisle than the sneeze escaped him, sounding stark in the silent library. Horrified, he looked around.

Malfoy had snapped the book closed, and his eyes were darting around the room with all the alacrity of a trapped animal's. An expression of dawning comprehension was emerging on his pale features, and he raised his wand in suspicion. "Who's there?" he whispered.

Harry froze. To move now might betray himself.

"I know you're there," Malfoy continued in a low tone. He began to move slowly forward, wand outstretched like a sword, saying, "It's stupid to hide... I heard you." And then, more angrily, "Potter, you sneaking little coward, show yourself!"

Why do they always know it's me? Harry wondered, springing nimbly aside as Malfoy lunged at him.

Malfoy stopped in the spot where Harry had just sneezed, and smoothed down his rumpled clothing, somehow managing to look dignified even in his pyjamas. Wearily, he lowered his wand. "Think you can spy on me, do you, Potter. Think I have dark secrets you can go leak to your gang? Well let me tell you something. I know things about you that would scare you half to death, things that would show people what you really are. So just you go to your precious Dumbledore with stories about my being in the Restricted Section. I really could care less. Before you know it you'll be out on your ear, just like the little werewolf. Say nothing, and I say nothing. That's how it works. Got it?"

Harry stared at him in disbelief. What was he talking about?

"I'll take that as a yes," Malfoy drawled, tucking the book under his arm. "See you tomorrow, Potter." With that, he walked past Harry and exited the library, his black silk pyjamas shimmering as another bolt of lightening lit up the windows.

Harry watched him go, a feeling of dread building up in the pit of his stomach. He suddenly felt very tired indeed, and the thought of study made his head ache. Perhaps he would return to bed now. Yes, that would be best. Malfoy had given him a lot to think about, after all.

* * * * *

The next few days were among the most hectic Harry had ever known. Between training the new addition to the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Keeper Ian McDonnell, classes, his own research and avoiding Draco Malfoy, he barely had a moment to think. The heavy cold he had caught only made matters worse. Quite apart from the discomfort of having to sneeze through every class he attended, it left any thought of feigning ignorance of the library incident completely ridiculous. His guilt was pasted all over his runny nose, leaving Malfoy with a smug, threatening look that was quite unsettling.

Harry had been made Captain of the Quidditch team following a secret voting ceremony he had not been invited to. It was supposed to have been a compliment; inwardly, though, he regretted obtaining the position for the demands it made on his time. Fortunately, the new Keeper, a burly second-year student with a strong Scottish accent, had proven quite talented. McDonnell was no Oliver Wood, of course, but, given tme, Harry believed he would be a very valuable asset indeed.

Sitting in the Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom on Thursday morning and looking out at the trees being practically uprooted in the strong winds, the thought of the skilled new recruit was a small comfort. The match against Slytherin was scheduled to take place the following day, and the rivalry between the two houses was worse than ever. Nothing but a resounding victory would enable him to look his friends in the eye again.

It was a lot of pressure that Harry really could have done without. He felt exhausted, in body and mind, and had simply too many worries to catalogue. The Restricted Section had not proven as fruitful as he had expected; the books were far too complicated for him to even know what to look for. Ron had yet to congratulate him on his new position as Captain, Sirius still hadn't written to apologise for his immature behaviour, Malfoy supposedly had some pretty damning information about him, the O.W.L.s were getting closer, he was still getting that strange compulsion to go out to the Forbidden Forest, his scar had been hurting...

It just went on and on.

Absently, Harry rubbed his eyes and yawned, earning a disapproving glance from Hermione. He knew she was right, and that he should have been paying attention. His studies were not up to their usual standard this year. Sighing, he looked up at the old woman near the blackboard, and tried to figure out what she had been talking about.

Once again, Dumbledore had lived up to his reputation for making eccentric choices where the teaching staff was concerned. The Defence job had gone to Mira McGonagall, the elder sister of Hogwarts's Deputy Headmistress, but they might have been completely unrelated for all their dissimilarities. A tiny, ancient lady, with vibrant red hair, the new teacher had spent most of the evening of the Great Feast prodding Snape with the end of her wand and demanding he stop hogging the pitcher of lemonade. Smiling broadly, Dumbledore had pointed out that there were five more pitchers, and that she could have one to herself if she wanted, but that did not dissuade her from her task. Harry had taken an instant liking to her.

This lesson appeared to have something to do with vampires. Harry had some vague recollection of taking down notes about garlic recently, so it seemed to make sense. In truth, though, he had no clear memory of any of his recent classes. There were more important things to worry about now.

Like his parents. Tomorrow night, after the match, whatever the outcome, Harry decided he would go up to the library and get some real, uninterrupted study done. There had to be something in the Restricted Section to help him; it was just a question of finding it.

The lesson ended and Harry and Ron made their way to Divination, while Hermione attended her Arithmancy class. Harry found he was grateful for the warmth of Professor Trelawney's cosy attic classroom. He and Ron went to their small table near the back of the room and sat down.

"I wonder what type of death she'll predict for you today," Ron said, grinning.

"Probably decapitation, or something gruesome like that," Harry said, and sneezed. Wearily, he pulled out a pile of soggy tissues from his pocket.

Ron grimaced at the yellow, congealed mass. "Nah, not gruesome enough... Hey, maybe your nose will fall off and you'll die of the infection. How about that?"

"Wouldn't surprise me."

At the front of the classroom Professor Trelawney tapped her teacup with a spoon, asking for quiet. "Yes, thank you, class," she began in her usual dreamy tones, "No doubt you have all sensed the powerful clairvoyant vibrations around us-"

"Uh, no," Ron said, a little too loudly.

Professor Trelawney eyed him closely over the rim of her spectacles. "Have you not, dear?" she asked mildly. "Have you not felt the hairs standing up on your arms as you moved through the corridors? The feeling of being watched? Perhaps you are not sufficiently attuned to the subtle harmonies. I myself have been quite overcome these last few days, not only in my own mystical abode, but about the castle in general. The spirits, it would seem, have chosen me for their anchor, and we must encourage their continued presence with our silence. Therefore I will ask you all to remain mute during the lesson and to listen only to me."

Ron raised his eyes to the ceiling, muttering, "Yeah, right," under his breath.

"Now... if you are all quite ready, I shall invoke the spirits. I will need a volunteer-"

Harry groaned, knowing what was coming.

"-Yes, Harry Potter. Come up here."

Stuffing the soggy tissues up the sleeve of his robes, Harry rose and joined Professor Trelawney at the head of the classroom. Draco Malfoy sniggered at him, making rude gestures with his hand, which Harry chose to ignore. He sat down on a small leather poof in front of the teacher.

"Now, dear," she said, "Do not fear the spirits. They join us for a reason, perhaps to warn us of future events, or to right a terrible wrong. When they enter the temple of my body, you must speak to them. Ask simple questions, who they are, what they want... I shall be in complete control, and when they have said all that is necessary, they will leave. Do you understand?"

"Um, okay."

"You see that we are sitting inside a circle-"

Harry looked down at the floor and saw a large circle drawn there, about nine feet in diameter, with various lines and markings he did not understand.

"-This is to protect us from evil spirits. Nobody else should enter the circle once we begin, and we must not leave until the spirit has left."

Harry swallowed nervously. "Is this safe?"

"Perfectly, I assure you. Now, we shall begin. Please be silent, everyone, while I achieve psychic synchronization with the next world..." Professor Trelawney closed her eyes and started breathing deeply. Minutes passed.

Feeling completely ridiculous, Harry looked up at Ron, who merely shrugged. Lavender and Parvati had their eyes closed, deep in concentration. Malfoy was grinning at Crabbe and Goyle. Harry just fidgeted in his leather seat. Hermione was right. This is mental.

As the time lengthened, Harry began to miss his comfortable armchair in the corner. He was starting to shiver with the draught, and could feel another sneeze coming on. He felt tired and missed having the support at his back.

Professor Trelawney still hadn't moved. She sat perfectly still, with her eyes closed and her hands extended, palm up.

Harry looked at his watch. Still fifteen minutes until lunch. The sneeze came, but it didn't disturb the woman sitting opposite him. Shaking, Harry attempted to rub some heat back into his stiff arms.

He was distracted by a gasp just behind him. Parvati and Lavender had their gaze fixed on Professor Trelawney. She had opened her eyes and was looking at Harry with deep interest.

Harry remembered his role in the spell. "Um, Professor Trelawney? Is that you?"

Trelawney grinned. "It's me, silly!" she replied, laughing.

Harry blinked. "Oh, em, I guess it didn't work, then."

"What didn't work?"

"Well, the, er, invoking the spirits thing..."

Trelawney burst out laughing. "Invoking the spirits! Oh, no, what did he give you to drink this time? Honestly, I'm going to kill that Sirius Black!"

The whole room inhaled sharply. Parvati clapped her hand to her mouth, squeaked and jumped back.

Harry was too stunned to speak. He felt really dizzy and cold.

The expression on Professor Trelawney's face changed to one of deep concern. Instantly, she reached out and took Harry's trembling hand. "James, love, what is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Mum?" Harry whispered, feeling his head falling forward, but unable to stop it. "Mum, how do I...? I-I cant figure it out, I've tried..." He trailed off, no longer able to focus on the words. Black spots were dancing and coalescing before his eyes, and he was confused by all the movement around him. Someone was pulling him up off the floor, and a woman was crying, "James! James!" but it all seemed very distant. His eyes closed, and he saw no more.

* * * * *

The voices woke him up. Familiar, but long absent, they flowed over his throbbing head like silk, dragging him up from the depths of unconsciousness in the gentlest, most comforting manner possible. It took Harry several minutes to identify the speakers, but when he did, he sat bolt upright, knocking off one of the blankets and causing his migraine to swell painfully. Joy turned to agony as he rubbed fretfully at his pounding head.

Gradually the pain dissipated, and the Hospital Wing materialised around him, with its pannelled oak walls and cast iron Victorian bedsteads. A mound of blankets had been heaped over him, and there, smiling cautiously at him from the doorway, were his godparents and Albus Dumbledore. Arabella hurried over to him and picked up the fallen eiderdown.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, tucking the cover around him.

"Fine," Harry said automatically, and then stopped. Oh my God. "Professor Trelawney!" he exclaimed, amazed his memory had taken so long to return. "She... she..."

"It's all right, Harry-"

"No! She... My Mum was in her body, or something... She thought I was-"

Arabella pushed him down onto the mattress. "Shhh. It's all right. She shouldn't have upset you like that."

"But-"

"Just rest easy, Harry. Sirius and I will deal with Trelawney. You have to rest. Madam Pomfrey says you're very run-down."

Harry groaned. The last thing he needed right now was to be mothered. "I'm fine," he said, but it was a weak protest.

"Sure you are," Arabella said, "But look on the bright side. You had Sirius worried sick. He'll probably give you that apology now." Winking conspiratorially, she sat down on the edge of his bed.

"He's not still mad about that, then?"

"At the moment, he's too relieved to be mad about anything."

Harry glanced doubtfully over at Sirius. He looked pretty angry.

Arabella followed his line of vision and shrugged. "He's mad at Trelawney, not you."

Sighing, Harry looked up at Arabella. "What really happened up there?"

His godmother shifted uncomfortably. "Nothing happened, Harry. You know what Trelawney's like; she just has an over-active imagination. But this is unpardonable."

"Are you saying it was all an act?" Harry cried out, enraged. His voice sounded hoarse in his ears.

Sirius and Professor Dumbledore stopped speaking and approached the bed.

"It was no act, Harry," the headmaster explained quietly.

"Albus, I thought we agreed-" Sirius interjected, an annoyed expression on his face. Arabella nodded emphatically.

"Nothing will be gained by clouding the truth," Dumbledore said. Nodding apologetically at Sirius and Arabella he moved closer to the bedside. "Harry, when people have lived in a place to which they attach great emotion, it is not unusual for a small part of them to be left behind. We all leave our imprint on the environment, as did Lily. And Professor Trelawney, innocently I must point out, tapped into a small, residual facet of your mother's spirit, the part of herself she left here as a student. It was not done to harm you, and I assure you, she greatly regrets the incident."

"Incident!" Sirius scoffed. "Albus, really! The woman is deluded, and if she is endangering the students..."

"Harry was in no danger, Sirius. Professor Trelawney is an able Diviner."

Sirius huffed and glared at Arabella, looking for support.

She squeezed his arm tenderly. "Just let it go, love, there was no harm done."

"Of course there was harm done. Harry spent the night in here from shock and exhaustion. Like he hasn't suffered enough-"

Without warning, Harry released an undignified yelp and jumped up. "Did you say I'd spent the night here?"

The three adults nodded slowly in confusion.

"Are you all right?" Sirius asked.

Harry looked around the room, searching for answers that weren't there. "What time is it?" he said weakly.

"Well, it's just after two p.m." Sirius replied, watching curiously as Harry started to push fretfully at the blankets. "Whoa! Where do you think you're going?"

Harry knocked his hand away and struggled to extricate himself from the tangled sheets. "Quidditch," was all he said. Finally, his feet came free and he stepped onto the cool floor, wincing slightly.

Dumbledore laughed. "Ah, the resilience of youth!"

Sirius glared at him. "Surely you're not going to allow this!"

"It seems I can't stop disagreeing with you today, Sirius! Yes, I will allow it, provided Harry has a good night's sleep tonight and keeps his library visits to a minimum, at least until his cold has cleared up."

Harry started. Had Dumbledore said what he thought he'd said? The old man was directing that unreadable, cryptic expression at him again. But gradually the smile returned and his eyes twinkled. It was hard to worry under that kindly gaze, and Harry found himself relaxing for what seemed like the first time in ages.

"Who're you playing?" Sirius asked, glumly.

"Slytherin."

"Then Gryffindor will need their Seeker," Dumbledore said. "Clothed if possible," he added quietly.

"Huh? Oh." Harry blushed as he realised he was dressed in nothing but a rather revealing hospital gown. "Um, where are my-"

"Here," Arabella said, handing him his clothes. "We'll let you get dressed now."

"Thanks."

Sirius, Arabella and Dumbledore stood and headed for the door. Before they left, however, Harry called out, "Sirius? You will stay for the match, won't you?"

Sirius smiled back at him. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Harry... But make sure you don't disgrace the House."

"I wouldn't dare," Harry replied, chuckling.

* * * * *

Pleiades (September 9th, 2001)