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Author: Bring and Fly Story: And in that Sleep Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: WIP Reviews: 16 Words: 43,954
"Where's Scarhead this morning? Sulking somewhere out of sight?" Ron, Hermione and Ginny turned and glared at the pointed face of the Slytherin, sneering with his usual disdain upon them. "Bog off, Malfoy!" Ron snapped at the same moment that Hermione said sharply, "If you mean Harry, you can use his name properly!" Malfoy inclined the upper half of his body closer. "Why don't you admit it. It'll come out soon enough. Saint Potter is dead and that old duffer in the Headmaster’s chair-" He jerked his thumb at the Head Table, where only Professor Snape was currently sitting. "-has got someone taking Polyjuice in his place. That's why he keeps up this pretence of being 'tired' and avoiding everybody all the time because if he didn't, it would become blindingly obvious to even the slowest Dufferpuff that Potter isn't the genuine article." "What utter rubbish!" Hermione snapped. "As though anyone could pass themselves off as Harry!" Malfoy smirked down the table, to where the younger years were huddled in groups and whispering together as they watched this 'discussion' play out. "There's nothing special about him. He just got lucky once or twice – unlike the 'spares' that tag along with him," he said loudly. "There's no one else like Harry!" Ginny said vehemently. Malfoy turned his attention to her. "Careful what you say here," he retaliated silkily, "or we might start thinking you didn't mean it when you told the Mudblood you'd 'given up' on him two years ago. I bet he was relieved to hear that!" Ginny set her jaw. "Oh, keep talking, Malfoy, I need the sleep!" Across the table, Dean was more graphic. "Yeah! Save your breath to blow up your girlfriend tonight!" From the corner of her eye, Ginny saw Hermione blush at the fellow seventh year's retort, over which her brother made a quickly suppressed snort and wondered what Dean's phrase meant. Judging by Malfoy’s face, it was wasted on him. The Ravenclaws, at the table behind the Slytherin, were following everything intently and pantomiming gestures of inquiry as to whether they ought to hex him or not. Knowing that it would only lead to Professor Snape having a legitimate excuse to hand out multiple detentions and take points from both houses, Ginny yawned ostentatiously, fanning her hand over her mouth. "Get lost, Malfoy, you're depriving a village somewhere of its idiot!" The Ravenclaws looked very disappointed as she turned away. Immediately, Malfoy grabbed her shoulder and hauled her round to face him. "Don't turn your back on me when I'm talking, little Weasel!" he snapped. Ron jumped to his feet even as Hermione raised her wand but Ginny merely flicked her fingers. A muted and expectant 'Oo!' hung in the air. Ginny glared at the shaking hand on her shoulder, slowly raising her head to meet the Slytherin's sneering face and her eyes, as they skewered into his, were burning with anger and menace. "Take – that – hand – off – me – before – I – sever – it," she breathed, in a low but carrying voice. Around her, Ginny was unaware of Ron glaring, fists clenched, Hermione ready with several spells and the other senior Gryffindor boys standing up to add their support. They watched it dawn on Malfoy that he was out numbered. He moved his hand away and Dean growled when he wiped it on the hem of his robes. "Wouldn't want infecting with anything you've picked up from those second-hand rags anyway," he added and sauntered away. Ginny stared unblinkingly after him as he took his place at the Slytherin table and the Gryffindors re-seated themselves, exchanging various pithy comments with friends at the adjacent table on Malfoy's stupidity. Hermione was talking in a hushed whisper over Ron's ear while the redhead mangled a fork with his bare hands. Ginny thought she was praising him for his restraint. At the staff table, Professor Snape was watching them sourly; Ginny smiled brightly at him and had to look away quickly when the Potion master glowered back, or risk laughing in his face. That was when she finally becoming aware of the hand on her arm. "Sorry Neville?" "I said, you'd think he'd have learned by now not to pick on you, Ginny. D’you want the eggs again?" Ginny sent another of her slow, feral smiles in the direction of the Slytherin. He looks ill, she thought clinically. Nothing trivial, we hope, she added mentally, borrowing one of her twin brothers’ favourite expressions. "Malfoy thinks that the rules don't apply to him. He thinks Daddy's gold can buy him out of or into anything. I hope I'm there the day it all falls down round his ears!" She turned her back on Malfoy for the second time and found Neville was still offering her the platter of eggs. "Oh, no, thanks Neville. I'll have some bacon this morning. I'm feeling a bit carnivorous, for some reason." Neville grinned at her and helped himself liberally. Busy stopping the honey from dribbling off the edge of her toast, Hermione said, "Tell me again what Blaise said." Ginny snagged a few rashers from another dish and neatly sliced the rind off in one fluid movement of her knife. "He said Malfoy reckons he's seen Harry's ghost walking the castle at night." Ron huffed. "Ate too much cheese before bed more like it. What a load of boll-" He just managed to stop himself from completing the swear word. Seamus and Dean grinned over the table while Ron cleared his throat, glanced at Hermione, saw that she was deep in thought and crammed half a round of toast into his mouth instead and chewed industriously. "Why would he think we'd be bothered about that?" Neville demanded, slicing the rind off his own bacon and stabbing his eggs. "Because of the topics we've been covering in Charms and Transfiguration the last few weeks," Hermione said absently, stirring her coffee. Neville made a face that said, 'oh – of course – how stupid of me,' and looked to Ron to fill in the gaps that Hermione left. Ron bolted his mouthful. "We've been looking at the Fidelius Charm and somebody asked how the secret was concealed inside a living person-" "Harry," Neville whispered, starting to understand. Hermione looked across the table at Ginny, her fork arrested halfway between the table and her mouth. Ron nodded. "Not that he remembers, and so Flitwick explained that first you had to draw out your Gemina – Soul Double – and then use 'In nomine Amor', 'in the name of love' to write the secret on your heart. A lot of the theory is tied up with Patronuses. You should have seen the look on old Mackies face when she saw how many of us could do that Charm! It was bloody brilliant!" Ron spluttered enthusiastically and in collecting the eyes around the table, found Hermione watching him and wearing The Look. "Well, it was," he added lamely and did his best not to see Seamus making little scissoring motions with his fingers. Ron fidgeted; Dean was chuckling at this assessment too but Ginny pushed her half-eated plate away, as though revolted. Neville came to his dorm mate’s rescue. "Oh come on, Hermione, let him have one swear a day. Even Gran lets me do that now that I'm of age. He could be doing worse." "I suppose," Hermione agreed, turning back to her toast, and Ron made a mental note to cut his toenails and feed the clippings to that stinking Lavender bush on Harry's windowsill tonight, to keep Neville happy. "I'm going to be late," Ginny said abruptly and swung over the bench, snatching up her bookbag and scurrying away before anyone could stop her. Ron frowned when he noticed Dean's eyes following her but chose to say nothing. The last thing he wanted now was his sister giving him an earful. Shortly afterwards, the students dispersed to lessons; Ron and Hermione to the first Transfiguration lesson since Harry had turned their professor into a glass statue, Seamus and Dean trailing along behind them, while Neville headed for the library. Harry swung round the door into Professor McGonagall's class, mistimed it and banged into the doorjamb, spilling the scrolls that comprised his essay onto the floor. "Sorry I'm late, Professor McGonagall, but I-" "Mr Potter." The quiet voice, laced with amusement, was the very last one Harry expected to hear and he looked up in confusion, thinking he had wandered into the wrong classroom. "Sir?" He looked about wildly, as though the strict Scottish witch might be hiding behind her desk ready to jump out on him. "Where's Professor McGonagall?" Professor Dumbledore indicated an empty place nearby and solved Harry's dilemma by Summoning the scrolls to himself. "She will be feeling more like herself shortly, I am pleased to say. However, this means that you are 'stuck with me', I believe is the phrase, in the meantime." Settling quickly at his desk, Harry had a glance around and found that Hermione was not the only person in the room regarding the Headmaster with keen anticipation. Harry had seen, at the end of his fifth year and throughout his sixth, the kind of things that Professor Dumbledore was capable of, and he too straightened attentively. "Now then, where to start?" the Professor said and several people muted their groans as Hermione's hand shot straight into the air. "Miss Granger?" "Sir, Professor McGonagall was explaining about the various layers of 'Soul protections' required for an effective Fidelius Charm from a Transfiguration point of view, and I was wondering--" Professor Dumbledore smiled and indicated that Hermione could lower her hand. "Yes indeed, Miss Granger, and a topic more designed to provoke heated scholarly debate I have rarely encountered. Perhaps…" His gaze, as it passed over them, reminded Harry of one of the images in the Book of the Dead known as 'the All-Seeing Eye', and he was reminded that, under the right conditions, the Headmaster could read minds. "Yes, why not," he murmured and then spoke to the class as a whole. "What is Transfiguration?" He was met with thirty-one faces expressing various degrees of astonishment and puzzlement. Hermione's hand was first up again and she answered the second the Headmaster looked at her. "Transfiguration is the study of the theory and practice of the alteration of the outer form or appearance," she said quickly. Professor Dumbledore nodded his assent and gazed around. "Would anyone else care to expand on this?" he asked. "It's more than the outer form – you change the nature of something into another thing." Susan Bones spoke so quietly that Harry could barely hear her and then Padma Patil expanded on what the Hufflepuff had offered. "Yes," the Indian witch said eagerly, "if you transfigure a cat into a chicken it lays eggs not kittens, so you have to have changed more than the outer form! Don't you, sir?" As Harry listened to the Headmaster's reply to this appeal and thought back over six and a bit years of magical education, he felt another explanation forming inside. "It's a bit like Alchemy, isn't it, sir? That's always thought of as being the search for the Philosopher's Stone, when really it's about examining the heart of matter and what makes up the world we live in. Transfiguration is the search to understand the world and ourselves; what we are and what we could become," he said quietly. Silence greeted this personal evaluation and when Harry finally raised his eyes from the graffiti on the desk, the Headmaster was smiling with unconcealed pride on him. In the desk to his left, Hermione's eyes could have rivalled Dobby's for roundness. "Indeed, as Mr Potter says, the study of Transfiguration was originally intended as an aide to understanding the universe and our place within it." The Professor strolled across to Professor McGonagall's usual seat; a plain straight-backed wooden chair made marginally more comfortable by a thin Tartan cushion, and transfigured it into a squashy, chintz armchair before seating himself and steepling his fingers. "Many of you are capable of producing a corporeal Patronus, and you are aware that this shield comes from your concentration upon a happy memory, but are you aware why this is so?" The seventh years leaned forward, their attitudes reflecting eachother; curiosity, wonder and interest. "Professor McGonagall has no doubt explained how the ancient Egyptian wizarding community discovered Patronuses, and, I am sure that the curious among you have dipped into some of the texts that have come down to us from those times. Unfortunately, because some of the texts were viewed as religious in nature, their wisdom is often disregarded or even dismissed by those who have differing views, but that is another matter," he said, with a sigh. "Briefly then, the ancient Egyptians held that the human constitution was composed of several 'bodies' that were located in a particular part of the physical body – the lungs, the liver, the intestine and the stomach – and that each had certain characteristics." "So that's why they removed them and preserved them specially," Hermione muttered and started at the small chorus of 'shh' around her. "Indeed, Miss Granger," the Headmaster said, looking at her over the tops of his half moon glasses with a little twinkle in his eye. "They were attempting to preserve all of the deceased's bodies. Interestingly, they named the 'double' that you bring forth during the Fidelius charm the Ka; the Desire body that resided in the small intestine and dictated the individual's way of thinking, character and ego… They believed that the Ka did its best to guide us long the right path and that the discomfort we felt when we chose otherwise was the result of this conflict of interests. To my mind, this has always provided an admirable explanation for that highly descriptive phrase, 'I got a sinking feeling in my tummy'." Harry nodded slowly, thinking back. The times when he'd got that feeling had been because he'd been arguing with himself. It felt odd to think that he’d been arguing with his own ‘desires’. He focussed back on Professor Dumbledore's voice. "They believed that the attainment of immortality depended upon these other bodies, these other selves, and that if the individual disregarded their growth and development in favour of mundane things, then at his death they would speak up against him at judgement-" “And he would suffer the 'Fate of the Second Death'," Harry murmured, thinking of an ancient stone archway hidden deep under Muggle London, its stones partially obscured by a fluttering, tattered curtain and the whispers he thought he had heard beyond. Every eye in the still classroom turned to him instantly but Harry was too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice. In his mind's eye he saw again a certain image… that of a tiny figure being weighed on tall, golden scales against a feather as the deceased awaited judgement. Had Sirius’s soul been judged favourably? He could feel Professor Dumbledore’s eyes on him and so he imagined a grey, rainy afternoon, knowing it would block attempts to read him. When Professor Dumbledore resumed speaking, he sounded tired. "As Mr Potter rightly intimates, the deceased would suffer the ‘Fate of the Second Death’, and his soul would be consumed by the devourer. As you may imagine, the ancients did not wish this particular event to occur and sought protections in various ways. They armed themselves with the sacred texts, which would act as a map. Placed in with the deceased at burial and studied during life, these texts would leading the soul from the realm of earth through the ‘Dwat’ –that is to say, the netherworld— and so to the realm of heaven.” The Headmaster cleared his throat; his voice was growing hoarse. “Your pardon,” he murmured and Harry saw his beard twitch when Blaise, at the other end of the front row, offered him the contents of a paper bag. “I don’t mind if I do, Mr Zabini. Thank you. A blackcurrant would be nice.” He popped the sweet into his mouth and after sucking appreciatively, continued speaking. “It was their belief that there was no possibility of entering the Afterlife if the soul was taken by the ashmiu-fiends, which are what we know as Dementors, and so the learned wizards of the time sought protection here too. It is said that the idea of the Patronus came in a dream…" The rest of Professor Dumbledore's explanation passed over the surface of his mind as Harry struggled to verbalise the ideas and thoughts that were bubbling away below the surface; he felt a sense of wonder, as though he was close to a breakthrough in his level of understanding. Immortality… after the loss and subsequent destruction of Nicholas Flamel's Philosopher's Stone, Voldemort had gone looking for another way to achieve everlasting life for his physical body. What had he sacrificed to achieve this? He was looking to live forever – rule the wizarding world forever – but in undergoing these dangerous magical transformations to cheat death, what had he done to the rest of him? ‘And he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…’ The phrase still haunted him. Ginny reckoned that the Malfoys' souls had run screaming after some of the things they'd done… Very few people in the wizarding world knew that Voldemort (Harry refused to call him Lord anything) used to be Tom Marvolo Riddle before he tampered with his heart, soul and spirit. What would inner selves, his soul say about him when the time came for his judgement? Voldemort had done whatever he pleased to attain his goal; murdered, tortured, and many other dark things that Harry had no desire to know about. He had the sudden urge to read more of the Book of the Dead – what had Ginny called it? The Chapters of Coming Forth by Day, or something like that. He was starting to think he could supply another interpretation for the rather creepy dream he'd had a few nights ago, of his empty outline staring back at him from a mirror. When the bell rang, Harry was the first out of the door as the rest of the class gathered their things and moved off in ones and twos, muttering in muted voices as they turned over what they had learned. He went straight to the Library and hunted across the Transfiguration stacks for the book he wanted. He was starting to think someone had beaten him to it when he saw it, pushed haphazardly in with the spine facing inmost and another, slimmer text shoved into the pages. He removed both books with care and found a quiet corner to review what he wanted to find. There was no helpful index and so Harry had to turn the pages, his eyes scanning over the pictogram writing and images and then the translation looking for anything that would tell him what happened if the judgement went against the deceased. "I am the Ka, the dweller in my body, through the great spell of the words of my mouth, I rise up, but he who was coming after me hath fallen. I have fought. I have lightened the darkness. I have made an end to the darkness which hath become light indeed." Harry leaned back and regarded the book, his head whirling. "That's all very well, but how the hell do you 'lighten the darkness'?" He sat there, examining the text for more answers until the bell rang and it was time to head off to Charms, and another attempt to bring forth his 'double'. Only this time, Harry didn't try too hard, spending his time encouraging Ron and Blaise, who had again joined their group. Then it was time to head to the Greenhouses. His task today was simple enough; Professor Sprout wanted him to get in the pond at the very back of the Tropical Greenhouse and plant some bulbs for her. Harry stared at the slowly flowing water. "Er, wouldn't it be better if Neville did it? He knows more about this sort of thing than I do," he began lamely but the Herbology Professor wasn't accepting any excuses. "No, Mr Potter, it will have to be you. Mr Longbottom has some cuts on his hands and I won't allow him into the water. Come along, Mr Potter, it's only pond water! Kilt your robe and remove your shoes and socks! Quickly now! The sooner you start, the sooner you finish!" she told him bracingly in her 'no nonsense' voice. With a reluctant sigh, Harry toed off his trainers, pulled off his socks and stuffed them into his shoes. He had rolled his sleeves up as high as they would go by the time Neville appeared with the tray of fleshy bulbs. He cast a professional eye over Harry. "I'd take your jeans off as well, Harry, the water's deeper than you think." Harry gave him a stare filled with reluctance over the tops of his glasses. "You want me to take my jeans off in a glasshouse?" Neville smiled patiently, remembering how he'd felt the first time he'd had to do the same thing. "There's only you and me around, Harry. Professor Sprout will stay in with the other class." Telling himself that he was being stupid as he nervously looked round to be sure, Harry shucked his jeans off and used a Temporary Sticking Charm to keep his robes above his knees and then, with Neville's help, stepped gingerly into the pond. He shivered although the water was warm. "That's weird!" he muttered. "The silt between your toes?" Neville suggested with a grin, to which Harry responded with an uncertain smile of his own. "Yeah… give me these bulbs then and let's get it over with." Harry listened to Neville relay Professor Sprout's instructions on where and how deep the bulbs were to be planted, and all the other herbological directions that went with it, and was soon up to his knees in the warm water, obscured by stirred-up silt. Harry had only two of the fat bulbs left to bed into the unseen depths when he chanced to look up, and froze. Perched on the windowsill was the nimble fluffy-tailed creature he had chased through the corridors only – a few days ago? He couldn't be sure. He stared and the creature stared back through the square panes. Harry pushed his glasses back up his sweaty nose with his wrist for a better look. It looked like the same animal but how could he be sure? A mad idea formed in Harry's head and without taking his eyes off the creature, he waded carefully to the water's edge and climbed out. The neat head followed his progress until he was shielded by the huge flowers of the Trumpet Tree. A couple of the flowers trumpeted raucously as he caught them with his shoulder but Harry ignored it and slid round to the door, his wet, silty feet slipping on the wet flags in the Tropical Greenhouse. Professor Sprout's voice came clearly to him from the adjacent Greenhouse as she taught some first years the correct way to prune Flutterby bushes and a quick glance told him that Neville was bent over the potting bench. He opened the first set of doors with a little difficulty because his fingers were all wrinkly and wouldn’t grip properly. The draught of cooler air under his robe and across his wet skin reminded him that he was in the Scottish highlands and it was going into winter. As quietly as possible, he opened the outer doors and got his bearings; if he went to his right and turned the corner, the animal ought to be on the windowsill. Harry hurried round, wincing as his unprotected feet found the occasional sharp stone on the grass, but when he reached what he thought was the right window, the animal had disappeared. While he was still swearing and wishing he'd tried Stunning the thing instead of sneaking up on it, a loud wolf-whistle split the air. He whipped round and found the first group of the next class grinning and giggling as they stared at him across six feet of grass. "Cute knees Potter!" The girl who had whistled still had her fingers in her mouth and, horrified, Harry recognised one of the girls who had been badgering Ginny for her book on Animagi the other night. If she was here, then Ginny… They were all eyeing him up as though he was the latest broomstick on display in Quality Quidditch Supplies. Harry filled up red and bolted to the dubious safety of the Tropical Greenhouse and the two remaining bulbs. The girls' giggles and whistles chased after him enthusiastically and Harry vowed that he would never again, not for any reason, remove any of his garments outside the dormitory, no matter how much discomfort this brought him. Catching his breath as well as sight of his reflection in the glass, Harry saw that his arms and legs were streaked with mud from the pond. He even had splashes of it on his face and the top half of his robes, the hems of which were wet and swinging above his knobbly knees. Harry decided that girls were weird; why on earth would they be staring at him? Hearing Professor Sprout go to the door and rebuke them for the amount of noise they were making, Harry snatched up the remaining bulbs and jammed them haphazardly under the water, wishing he'd skipped the class and stayed in the Room of Requirement. Neville appeared while he was still swearing under his breath and pulling his jeans back on under cover of his robes. "Bell's about to go… What's up?" Harry shrugged. "Nothing. It's my own fault. I saw that bloody animal and went outside and…" He couldn't finish. His face was on fire. Surely Neville could hear the enthusiastic giggling outside the doors? To his credit, Neville understood with any further explanation and looked sympathetic. "Oh. I bet that was, um…" "Just a bit," Harry muttered, shoving his still-damp feet back into his trainers. "Thank Merlin Ginny wasn't with them!" "Mmm," Neville said, turning away so that Harry wouldn't see him smile, but at that moment, the bell rang. "Come on, I'll let you out the back way. Just don't tell Professor Sprout ‘cause no one is supposed to know about it." Harry's shoulders rounded down. "Cheers Nev!" he said, thankful for his friend's understanding and followed through the humid growth to a small wooden door hidden behind an ancient trailing vine that had pink flowers dotted over it. A quick spell and Harry was squeezing through and out into the grounds on the other side of the wall that sheltered the glasshouses. He used every short cut he had learned over the years but by the time he had reached his dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, his skin was itching from the dried mud and Harry was forced to have a quick shower or spend the rest of the day scratching. He wished it was as simple to quash the giggly whispers that started following him whenever the Gryffindor girls passed him in the corridors but he did his best to ignore it. They’d find something else to giggle over in a couple of days and his knees would be forgotten. That night, tossing his muddy – and now pond-smelly clothes – into the washing pile for the house-elves, Harry was surprised when a scrunched cloth package tumbled out of his jeans pocket. When he picked it up, he recalled that Bill had given it to him, but not why. With a shrug, he dropped it onto the other stuff cluttering his bedside table and didn't give it another thought. Settling into his four poster, Harry was mentally reviewing the day's Transfiguration lesson and wondering what had happened to Professor McGonagall when the sudden pain in his scar made him blank his mind. He sat up and did his best not to get angry at the intrusion and the fact that it looked as though he wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight and imagined rain falling. It was a long night. As was the next, and the one after that. Harry stopped bothering about the girls giggling over his knees and tried to nap when he could. At the conclusion of Friday's Potion lesson, Professor Snape waited until Harry was at the dungeon door before calling him back to his desk. Pulling his shoulders back, Harry saw his essay unscrolled there and refused to look Snape in the eye. "Potter." "Professor." When the silence had stretched out the tension between them, one of the Potion master's long fingers tapped on the parchment. "Tell me, Potter. Is this your work?" Harry frowned. What game was the man playing now? "Yes… Sir." "You wrote this yourself?" Harry's conscience prickled. He had written everything, except the last few lines. Ginny had dictated from his book but he wasn't about to tell Snape that. "Yes, Sir. Did I get it wrong?" The Professor regarded Harry with distaste. "I have made it perfectly plain upon many occasions that – look at me!" he demanded. Harry stared at his ear. Did Snape think he had learned nothing? "I have made it perfectly clear that I will not tolerate direct repetition from the original source! If I want to know what Aesculapius has to say on this subject, then I will read the text in the original Greek! Have you written this yourself?" he demanded, glaring at Harry. "Well, it's my handwriting," Harry muttered, pushing his luck. "Sir." Professor Snape tapped irritably on the desktop. "And you cling to this stubborn asseveration of truthfulness, do you, Potter?" Not really sure what 'asseveration' meant, Harry hedged. "I am telling the truth," he repeated from between gritted teeth. Snape leaned back in his chair and regarded Harry with thinly veiled scepticism. "Potter, you wouldn't recognise the truth if it leaped up and hexed you nine times over! I happen to know that you are lying on this occasion, so I ask you again... Is all of this- " He flicked Harry's essay. "-your work?" "Sir," Harry repeated and tried to make it sound neutral. Snape leaped to his feet, his pallid hands quivering on his desk such was his fury as he hissed at the wizard facing him, "It can not be! The volume from which you have lifted this information belongs to me, Potter!" That admission startled Harry so much that he inadvertently met the Potion master's glittering stare. "Yes… It has been handed down through my maternal line. You could not have found it anywhere else. Not even in the Restricted Section. Do I take this admission as a confession that you have –yet again— raided my personal stores?" They glared at the other. Harry could feel his temper fraying faster than a rope tethering an angry Hippogriff. "Madame Pince gave me The Book of Thoth from the Restricted Section. I was allowed it for twenty-four hours. I took my reference from there." Harry said from between clenched teeth. His hands were balled into shaking fists, the nails biting into his palms painfully hard. He would not rise. He would not lose his temper. An image of Ginny with a casual wand in Malfoy's face came to him and he forced taut muscles to relax. Snape leaned back away from Harry, folding his arms and watching him with fathomless eyes. "You are a glib and inveterate liar, like your father before you. Detention, Potter." Somehow, Harry had known it was coming and so it wasn't a surprise. A few hours of the kind of hard labour that Snape was likely to inflict on him might exhaust him sufficiently that he would sleep when he eventually crawled into bed. "Here. Seven o'clock tomorrow night. Get out of my sight." Harry snatched up his work and walked very quickly to the door. He pulled it shut, catching it before it slammed and took the steps two at a time until his legs were trembling and he was gasping for breath. Leaning against the wall on the fourth floor near the Charms classrooms, Harry slid to the floor and sucked the air into his burning lungs. He swore luridly and with emphasis while the suits of armour listened with an air of polite interest. The glass in the closest windows crazed madly. Harry looked up at the sharp cracks. "Reparo!" he muttered, fixing his attention on the panes and not even bothering to check they flowed back together. Never again would he doubt that he had it in him to kill somebody. He was trying his hardest to treat Snape with something other than loathing, doing his level best to respect the learning and knowledge his greasy black head contained but the Potions master wouldn't even give him an inch. Harry swore one last time and dismissed the surly on/off Death Eater from his mind. He had something else to fathom. Now that he had his breath back, he straightened the parchment and peered at the last inch, the piece that Ginny had dictated. "Dunsinane wood is also the principle ingredient in 'Beothaich'. (pronounced beo-ich) This is a very ancient potion, the discovery of which is accredited to King Duncan of Scotland, although there is a suggestion that it was his wife, the Lady Severa, who was instrumental in this discovery. A notable Muggle writer mentions the moving groves of Dunsinane wood in one of his plays in a possible reference to its occlusive properties. 'Beothaich' is the potion taken under supervision by those wishing to become an Animagus. The name means 'quicken' or 'reanimate' and has to be brewed by the potential Animagus in person. The Dunsinane wood acts to bind the portion of their blood to the other ingredients essential to the metamorphic process and is essential for ensuring a smooth first transformation." Harry considered. Snape had claimed this information came from something unique in his possession, at least that was how he had understood it. He needed to check the text from the Restricted Section, just briefly, to be sure. Could he persuade Madame Pince to let him see it once more, despite his lack of a signed note of permission? He had to try. Pushing to his feet, Harry headed across to the Library. Madame Pince stared mistrustfully at him over her glasses. "Again? Why, Potter?" Schooling his face into a neutral expression, Harry tried to pretend it didn't really matter whether he got to see the book again or not. The Librarian could be very fickle some days. "Professor Snape said I didn't quote my reference accurately, so if I could just check-" Her eyes were concealed by the light shining across her spectacles but Harry could still feel her disbelieving stare. "I'm afraid that text has been requested elsewhere so it's not possible for you to do that, Potter," Madame Pince said. Her eyes followed a couple of second years that had entered the Library right after Harry and were lurking about in a suspicious manner near the Restricted Section entrance. And with that, Harry had to be content. There was no point even asking who had the text now, as Madame Pince would not divulge that information. He decided he would have to get Ginny to spill the beans about where she had got the information. Rubbing his stinging eyes, he made his way back to the common room where he sat in front of the fire. The flickering flames became Ginny's hair, dancing in the wind as she flew and Harry dozed off. A voice was talking in his head and although Harry wanted to ignore it and slide into deeper sleep, there was some quality about it that encouraged him to listen. As soon as he made this decision, the voice came more clearly to his ears. "Now, I can cause my own transformations. I carry the light of my awareness on my forehead. Now, for those who rise up against me with evil, the power of darkness within them will destroy them." In his dream, the dim glow of a flickering lamp illuminated patches of a wall, plastered and painted. It passed over neat columns of odd little drawings and settled at the top right-hand corner. Harry had just enough time to see the image of a cat using a golden knife to sever a snake's head as it thrashed about under a tree before the light dimmed and the voice spoke again, seemingly right over his ear. "D'you see what it means? You are protected more by your innocence than by being clever. The snake of darkness will lose his head and good will overcome." His dream concluded with sounds, as though he was dreaming of falling asleep, which seemed bizarre to Harry. He could hear water rippling, a gentle rhythmical splashing and soft but tuneful humming close by. There was also the feeling of a small hand curled in his that gave warm certainty to his chest and the only word he come up with to describe the feeling was 'contentment'. When Ron woke him with a napkin full of sandwiches, Harry again had the disconcerting feeling that he had forgotten something, that it was important and connected to Ginny but try as he might, he could not persuade his memory to supply the missing information. As a consequence of his friends allowing him to sleep the afternoon away, Harry found himself watching enviously as the others yawned a few hours after dinner, put their books away and made their sleepy way up the stairs. He had no choice but to continue working on his Charms essay. The Tower and the common room became still, the silence heavy, and more than once, Harry twitched, thinking he'd caught movement from the corner of his eye in the deep shadows as the fire died down. "Come on, Potter," he urged himself, "quit messing and get on with it! You're getting as twitchy as old 'Mad-Eye'." He yawned and repeated what Professor Dumbledore had explained to them about 'Doubles'. Harry worked on until his fingers were inky and it was only when he laid his quill down that he noticed the scratching noise that he had taken to be his quill continued. Drawing his wand, he got to his feet and tried to look as casual as possible. From the corner of his eye, he saw a dark and woolly object jerk along the floor, once, twice, and concluded that there had to be someone on the other end. He made his way round the back of the chairs and found it was the little animal again; it was trying to drag a pullover but it either wasn't strong enough or the jumper was snagged up somehow. Harry reached down to grab it by the scruff of the neck in the same way he took the Snitch and missed by inches when the creature squeaked and leaped to the side, disappearing under the closest chair, reappearing on the other side. Harry pounced again and growled when he missed. "You're a quick little thing, aren't you?" The animal scooted quickly under the chair legs, weaving with an agility that left Harry dizzy as he tried to follow it with his eyes. It was heading round the back of the armchair and Harry suddenly realised that it was trying to get back to the woollen garment he'd seen it dragging when it had first attracted his attention. He circled round the chair the other way, confident it would now run right into him and frowned when it seemed to have disappeared. A "Tchk, tchk," sound from above made him look up and Harry found the animal was balanced on the back of the armchair. The way its teeth were bared suggested a grin. "Oh, you think it's funny do you?" Harry said sarcastically to the furry face. "I'll have you know I was the youngest Seeker in a century-" A cheeky little peep expressed this creature's feelings about Harry's claim to fame. "-And no one is quicker than me!" When Harry jumped up to snatch it from its perch, it ducked him and made an unbelievable leap to an adjacent armchair. "Bugger!" Harry breathed reverently, looking between the chairbacks and assessing the distance. It had to be at least six feet. While he was still considering this achievement, another little 'peep' reminded him of this mysterious visitor. It was looking back at him over its furry shoulder and showing all its teeth again. Harry began to get the idea that it was so confident in its ability to evade capture, that it was, in fact, playing with him. He sharpened his wits and had a quick glance around that part of the room and a sweeping gesture of his wand hand sent the next closest chair sliding away. "Let's see you jump that then," Harry said smugly, closing in on the animal. It bunched as he approached. With a grin, Harry feinted rapidly left then right and the animal responded instantly before spreading its front paws, and dropping low. It was watching him beadily, its back arching even higher into an angry cat posture until it seemed almost on tiptoe. A second later, Harry lunged, certain he couldn't miss this time. His astonishment and aggravation reached new heights when his hands caught thin air. The animal had leaped high into the air, and to add insult to injury, had used him as a springboard; he had felt its claws dig in as it scrabbled down his back and clattered to the floor to seek another place of concealment. Puffing a bit, Harry decided to try being tricky himself. "Ah!" he cried dramatically, pressing both hands to his back and twisting as though in pain. "Ah! My back! Those bloody claws are like knives!" Holding one hand to his back, he attempted an artistic stagger towards a chair – the kind of thing Malfoy put on when he was younger. He twisted his face into what he hoped was a grimace of pain and snatched little glimpses around the common room between rolling his eyes and making pained noises. Come on, Harry thought. Where the hell are you? "Ah! Oh! I hope I make it to the hospital wing," he added faintly, "before I bleed to death. No idea how I'm going to explain this one to Madame Pomfrey… Ah!" He grasped the wing of the closest chair and dropped to one knee, careful to keep his other foot under him to provide some leverage when it came time to spring. He caught movement in the shadows and barely managed to restrain his grin, turning it into a pained snarl instead at the last second. His ruse was working; the animal took another cautious step closer, one paw still raised and looking up as though it expected an attack from the ceiling. It made a kind of chirruping noise that Harry interpreted as a question for his well-being. Harry decided to pile on the agony a bit more and bring it closer. He arched his back as though hit with muscle spasms. "Ah! Ah!" he cried, quite proud of this new-found acting ability and adding a drawn out groan for good measure. He dropped his head onto his forearm and listened hard. Soft noises indicated a stealthy, cautious approach. Harry decided he would wait until it was on top of him before making his move this time. His knee was starting to hurt from prolonged contact with the stone floor and the toes of the foot poised under him had gone to sleep. Harry envied them. Come on... just a bit nearer... time for another groan maybe? "Ohhh." Harry let loose a good approximation of Malfoy's whimpering after he'd thumped him back in fifth year. "Harry! What's the matter?" Harry's head came up faster than one of the twin's rockets. Parvati Patil was dropping to her knees beside him and if Harry had ever felt more stupid, he couldn't remember when it was. "Nothing," he said quickly, ducking her hands, aware his face was burning. "It's nothing, I-I slipped." "Oh Harry, it didn't sound like nothing. You don't have to pretend. I could hear you in pain all the way upstairs. Where does it hurt?" she asked solicitously, advancing on him and clearly intent on 'comforting' him. She shuffled closer, hitching her dressing gown above her knees to make it easier for her to move. At least, that was what Harry assumed she was doing. Darting glances around and wondering where the little creature had slunk off to, Harry backed away. "Nowhere. I'm not in any pain. Did you see an animal as you came in, Parvati?" Just for a second, Parvati regarded him uncertainly and then seemed to reach a decision. "Oh that," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "It's gone, Harry." Harry's reaction was not what she expected. He leaped forward and crashed headlong into the wooden frame of the armchair. "Argh!" This time the cry was genuine; the sharp pain in the centre of his forehead was blinding. He lashed out with his fist and hit the worn cushions. "Bloody hell!" he snarled. "Harry?" Parvati's voice was full of apprehension but he didn't care. "You let it get away?" he demanded, unsure whether he was more irate that she would do so or simply incredulous that she had seen the animal. He jumped up and swayed on his feet while his head throbbed and his sight greyed over alarmingly for a few seconds. "Bloody brilliant! I nearly had it! I nearly caught the bloody thing and you had to come trotting down here and scare it off!" Parvati was looking stricken as she backed away from him, her eyes wide. "Harry?" interposed a new voice, Ron; sounding sleepy and disgruntled. "It's one o'clock in the morning, what’re you yelling about?" Harry whirled to face Ron and took a few quick strides over the common room. Ron's jaw was dropping as he noticed Parvati for the first time. "It was in here!" Harry said quickly and shook Ron's arm to get his attention. "Uh?" Ron was still gaping so Harry jiggled his arm impatiently again. "That animal," he said meaningfully, wondering why Ron was wearing a face like a freshly landed haddock. "What?" Ron mumbled, unable to drag his eyes off the middle of the room. "What on earth is going on? Who's doing all the shouting?" More feet could be heard descending the staircase rapidly and Hermione was the next to join them in the common room. She was nipping the belt of her thick dressing gown snugly around her waist and her hair was escaping its plait. She stopped dead as she took in the scene and then staggered forward as Ginny and Lavender Brown arrived precipitately behind her. Lavender smirked and her giggle was very loud in the night-time quiet. Ginny bit her lip as she saw her brother's face and when she looked at Hermione, found her watching him a little sadly. "I came down for my jumper," Ginny announced loudly and added a shiver. "It's cold enough to freeze the paws off a polar bear in our dormitory. Harry, was it you shouting?" Harry turned at the sound of her voice and saw his two friends wrapped up in big dressing gowns that made the third Gryffindor girl seem positively under-dressed in her low-cut nightdress and open wrap, and yet Ginny's question brought back the reason he had started shouting in the first place. "I saw that animal again and I was trying to catch it but it ran down my back and then Parvati turned up and scared it off when I could have caught it and proved I'm not seeing things!" Harry followed Ginny's progress around the room as she searched for her pullover and it suddenly clicked. "It's over there, behind the armchair." He pointed. "The animal was trying to make off with it." The Weasley pullover in her hands, Ginny met his gaze. "What?" she yelped. "If some damned animal has chewed a hole in my favourite jumper, I'll help you catch it, Harry!" "Why?" Harry asked, watching Ginny check the pullover for holes. "So I can wear it of course! A fur collar." She shivered. "Lovely! Night all," she added brightly and trotted off up the girls’ stairs, leaving Harry with three girls and a gaping, red-eared Ron. Lavender was watching them and trying not to laugh, Hermione’s right hand was twitching as she glared at the floor. Parvati was adjusting one of the straps of her nightdress. Not wanting to prolong this situation, Harry bid everyone a hasty goodnight and practically shoved Ron back up to the dormitory. "What the hell was she wearing?" Ron muttered, falling up the last stairs. "Dunno, I wasn't looking," Harry replied tersely. There was no way he was going back down to the common room now. He would have to hope he got chance to finish his essay in the morning. After another night of interrupted sleep, he forgot. By the end of the week, during which Harry had earned detentions from Professor Snape and from Professor Sprout, he was a mumbling wreck. He had averaged about four hours broken sleep each night and would no longer look anyone in the eye in an attempt to avoid the sympathetic faces. He had caught further glimpses of the furry animal in the corridor and still had not remembered to get Ginny's opinion on whether he was hallucinating or not. His latest detention from Professor Snape was the result of adding finely powdered Asplenium instead of finely powdered Asphodel to his shredded Wormwood and thus ensuring the entire class became manic as a result of inhaling the fumes. Snape did not like high spirits in his dungeon any more than he liked Harry it seemed. During Herbology, despite Neville's valiant attempts to keep him awake, Harry had found the dry warmth of Greenhouse Six too much temptation. He had dozed off, allowing the Creeping Vampire Fig the opportunity to bloat on its preferred meal of blood stolen from his hand. Harry's loud Anglo-Saxonism on wakening to find the plant enthusiastically suckling from his fingers had caused the Herbology Professor to drop a whole tray of Fanged Geranium seedlings, which did not survive the experience. After two hours of helping shift potion supplies last evening and an hour of shovelling dragon dung into sacks tonight, Harry had been past caring where he 'lay down to die', as he put it. Ron had sharply told him that he didn't find that at all funny and hefted Harry's weary body easily enough. Harry had no idea how long ago it was since Ron had carried him upstairs in a fireman's lift and dumped him on his bed. He vaguely remembered a flash of light and a huge glass cat wearing glasses… or was he hallucinating again? The muscles in his legs were twitching and the only way to get it to stop was to move them. He would never get to sleep this way. The room was quiet except for the soft crooning of the three Mimbulus mimbletonia on Neville's bedside table. And that hard rolling sound… Harry flipped onto his belly and shoved his head under the pillow in order to block it out. The sound was closer. He sharpened his attention. It was coming from under the bed. Drawing his wand, Harry dragged himself to the edge of the mattress and peered cautiously beneath it. He had some recollection of nearly having his nose bitten off the last time he did something like this. An egg rolled elliptically towards him followed by a small furry animal. It gave a squeak that Harry translated as frustration. It sat back on its tail and hind legs rather like a reddish kangaroo before pouncing on the egg again and giving a sharp "rikk-tchk-tchk" when it again failed to break. Fascinated, Harry watched the neat head tip from side to side. The little noises coming from the throat raised the corner of Harry's mouth. If this small streak of fur could speak it would surely be saying, 'just bloody break!' It pounced again, captured the egg neatly and skidded it towards the wall and Harry heard the crack as it impacted. Starting to feel sick and dizzy from his upside-down position, Harry shoved back and lay still, letting his blood pressure even out. A moment later he heard another burst of furious animalistic noises and the smell of old fart told him the egg was off, as did the sneeze. The next thing he knew, the animal was up beside him wiping its nose on his robes before sniffing his hair, trotting over his chest and indulging in more intrusive snuffling. "Oh, it's you again, is it? You're getting bolder, aren't you! Here." Harry retrieved a Bertie Botts Every Flavour bean from his shirt pocket. "That should be egg and bacon. Try that." The sweet was accepted in two five-clawed paws, sniffed, licked and gnawed until it splintered and the pieces could be noisily crunched up. It then sat on its tail and back legs again, looking at Harry expectantly. "What?" The creature chittered. "No, sweets are bad for you." The soft brown eyes hardened and the animal climbed over him, sniffing at it went. Its paws pressed hard between his ribs and Harry could feel the sharpness of the claws even through his robes. Still it climbed up his chest, nuzzling and sniffing, the touch delicate on his chin. Harry experienced a frisson that flooded every nerve with unexpected heat and his eyes closed by themselves. The fur was ticklish but felt very pleasant against his neck. The cold nose touched his ear and took several quick, vigorous sniffs. Harry flinched, letting out a yelp. "Hey you! Quit that! You won't find any beans in there," he said sharply, yet with laughter in his voice. The snuffling continued and Harry felt the little claws scrape over his throat; they were as sharp as he had imagined. Next, the nose poked under his opened collar. With a shove from the powerful shoulders, the head disappeared. Whoa! That's different! The flaming thing was only trying to burrow down his shirt! Harry caught it and hauled it back. "Oh no! None of that!" The coat was as silky as his Invisibility Cloak. He smoothed the disarranged fur and set it down beside him, trying to ignore the alteration in his circulation. "Sit there and if you can behave yourself, I'll see if I can find something for you." The sleek head angled to one side and gave him a look that said its owner would rather find that something for itself. Feeling a little hot under the collar (and other places!) for no reason he could fathom, Harry reached inside his school robe and produced the two other Bertie Botts beans. "Little pest! You can explain to Ginny Weasley how you got my stash of her favourite beans." He watched the animal seize the first one and crunch it up. "I like to keep a few to cheer her up. She seems to be struggling this year." The animal looked up enquiringly. "I worry about her. She seems so… what's the word? Pre-something." He struggled with his vocabulary but got nowhere. He shrugged. "She's one of my best friends. She has thick glossy fur too. Hair – I mean glossy hair," he amended hastily wondering why he should feel stupid over the slip. The animal was only his hallucination so it didn't matter what he said or did. He watched it sit back on its haunches and fix beady eyes on the hand where he was concealing the last sweet. Harry's mouth turned up into a lazy smirk. He held the bean between finger and thumb and taunted the animal with it. "You're a greedy one, aren't you? Where did you get this unhealthy addiction for sugar?" He waved the bean in an unhurried figure-of-eight path, chuckling as the creature followed it intently. The furry body began to sway; the head remaining fixed on its target. It rolled forward onto all fours, the eyes growing red and hot. Watching it, Harry could not doubt that whatever else this animal was, it was a predator. The whole body language yelled it. In a moment's madness, Harry wondered who had the faster reflexes. He emulated the Snitch he so frequently cursed and made a sudden jinking movement. In an unbelievable act of agility, the creature sprang up and landed on the back of Harry's hand and forearm, forcing it down to the bed under the sudden weight of its body. Before Harry was really aware what was happening, he heard the last sweet being crushed up by the powerful jaws. The animal regarded him almost smugly over its shoulder as though to say, 'have to be quicker than that!' as tiny splinters of boiled sugar fell onto the bedcovers. "What are you? Why are you here?" Harry asked, grateful that this thing didn't play Seeker or he would be sitting on the reserve's bench. The animal danced back up the bed, nudged under his arm and rubbed the side of its face over his cheek and then curled comfortably with its nose close to his ear. It started to croon a series of low thrumming notes that Harry found curiously soothing and hypnotic. If this was an hallucination, then Harry wished he could have a few more like it! His eyelids were so heavy, it was easier to let them close… the room was peaceful, the animal was warm where it lay across his chest… it felt like he was being sung to sleep. Harry let his body sink into the mattress and gave in to the siren song murmuring in his ear. He was supposed to blank his mind before he went to sleep… this felt better. Friendly, calming…. Caring…. "My mouth feels like a ferret died in there while chewing a mint," Harry grumbled at the Gryffindor table at breakfast the following morning. Brushing his teeth for three minutes had not alleviated the horrible taste in his mouth. It hadn’t helped that he’d woken up in his robes on top of the bed either. Ginny snorted into her scrambled eggs. "You're obsessed with ferrets, Harry. Is there something you'd like to get off your chest?" Despite several hours sleep, Harry was still slow on the uptake it seemed. "I keep seeing something," he said tersely. He moved his plate as the post owls landed nearby. Sitting at his side, Ginny froze. "Something?" she repeated cautiously. "Yeah, it's a furry little thing. You know, I told you about it." But Ginny was shaking her head. "You didn't tell me you were seeing things, Harry. I'd have remembered that." Harry frowned as he tried to remember. "I could have sworn…." "Go on, tell me anyway." Ginny leaned closer to catch Harry's tired words. "It's brown and furry. A bit cat-like and it seems to hang around Gryffindor Tower." Ginny was hanging on his every word, her head slightly cocked and her bright eyes fixed beadily upon him. From the look in her eyes, Harry read astonishment at the front of Ginny's thoughts and something else that was gone too quickly for him to quantify before he noticed that she was wringing her hands in that childlike way she used to have. "Harry, I-" "Dear God!" Parvati, sitting opposite Harry drew all eyes with her shocked exclamation. Harry saw she had dropped a letter and was fleeing to the Ravenclaw table where her sister sat as one petrified. With a quick bite of her lip, Hermione twitched the discarded post and scanned it with the ease of one much practised in skim reading. Harry had the sinking feeling he knew what was coming as Hermione's face tightened. He only saw that expression when she was trying to hide something painful from him. "Is it both their parents?" he asked. Lavender left the table to go the twins as the shrill keening wail started up. Harry turned too, the noise burning holes in his eardrums. He wasn't the only one staring. Plenty of other students were craning their heads to see and two Slytherins were leaving their house table. Harry identified them as Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. They joined Ernie McMillan and their discussion appeared solemn. Padma, the Ravenclaw, was fighting off three classmates in her fervour to get free. Professor Flitwick arrived on the spot much faster than his size would have indicated. At the Head table, Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall were also standing and gravely attentive as they left the head table to make their way down the Great Hall. Hermione went to meet their Head of House and show her the letter that Parvati had received. "Miss Patil, please. Allow me." The little Charms Professor worked a Calming Charm on her but still she struggled with her friends. Her face was wild as she thrashed about. With a sudden hard tug backwards, Padma broke free and ran the short distance to where Harry was sitting, half twisted on the bench. To his horror, she threw herself on her knees in front of him and, grabbing his wrists painfully hard stuttered through her tears, "H-Harry! Promise m-me something! Promise me!" Her grip was so tight that his hands were turning numb and it didn't help when she pressed them to her heart. Harry had to clear his throat to speak. "What, Padma?" "That you'll let us come too when you take V-Voldemort down for good!" Her tormented teary eyes cut into him and his first instinct was to refuse. From the corner of his eye he saw Ginny nodding. "Erm… okay," he croaked. Padma pressed her quivering lips together and stunned him without a spell when she pushed into his face and planted a hard kiss beside his mouth. She got to her feet, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her robe. "As if you could do anything else, Harry. I'd better get back to ‘Vati, she needs me now." Some clear portion of Harry's mind heard Hermione say that Padma could sleep in their dorm tonight if she wanted as Professor Dumbledore addressed the school but it barely registered. Harry was mentally adding two more names to the list in his head. A list of names in whose memory he, Harry James Potter, would destroy Tom Marvolo Riddle, even if it was the last thing that he did on this orbiting ball of dirt. Then he felt guilty for shouting at Parvati the other night. Later that night, long after most of the subdued common room had headed up to their dormitories to find what consolation and sleep they could, Harry found himself alone with Ginny. Well, he amended, almost alone. Ron was slumped down in a battered armchair with his feet on the hearth. His palatal snoring beat a regular measure through Harry's gloomy thoughts and Ginny's comments of what she was reading. She made an explosive breathy sound and drew Harry's attention. "Yes, I just bet you did!" she said and then, "And why does that not surprise me!" She sounded exasperated. Harry realised that what Ron had told him years ago was true. Ginny never did shut up. She commented on everything, even when she was reading. He leaned back and indulged his weary senses in watching her because it was preferable to examining the guilt for having got somebody else killed. He laid his Charms book on the armchair; his eyes had only been wandering over the pages anyway. What he had been doing could not be described as reading. She was curled round in her armchair in that peculiarly feminine way with both legs twisted under her and the book on her lap. The ruddy firelight made her hair glow as though it were a living thing. She sat very still, not fiddling with her hair or the neck of her robes as Harry had seen other girls doing. Except for the running commentary, she could have been a statue. "Ginny?" he called across quietly. "Hm mm?" she said without looking up. "Have you got a minute?" Now was his chance to see what Ginny made of this animal running round Hogwarts. No one was around to disturb them – okay – Ron was around but the only interruption he would be capable of was an extra loud snore. Ginny looked up. "Just the one?" Harry frowned. Why did he always have to pick the worst moments? "Yeah, it'll only take me a minute." Ginny's expression changed into something Harry was sure he had seen before. "Only a minute? You disappoint me, Harry." Her liquid tone unleashed something Harry had never experienced before; something primal. Engaged in a severe internal battle with his baser instincts and nobler side, Harry leaned forward into the four feet of space between them. "I would hate to do that, Ginny…" Was that really his voice sounding older and confidently mature? She met his gaze and as before, it was Harry who looked away first. He cleared his throat, wishing he could clear the memory of that look in her eyes as easily. "You, er, you remember me saying before that I was seeing something? Some animal?" Ginny leaned back in her chair, watching his face. It was clear she did remember. "And you're sure it's not a ferret?" Harry looked across at her. Her face was straight enough. But he could never be sure with Ginny; she kept him off balance. "It's not an 'amazing bouncing ferret', if that's what you mean." He rubbed his face, stiff from frowning at crabbed and faded uncial text for too long without a break. "The coat is dark, kind of a reddish brown and very thick. It's lovely and soft when you stroke it." There was a long silence. "Harry? I know I have six brothers but d'you really think this is the sort of conversation you should be having with me?" Thinking about something else entirely, it was a minute before Harry suspected another meaning behind Ginny's quiet words. He felt his skin heat up and he tossed the handful of 'Bertie Botts' Beans straight at her. Ginny giggled and ducked most of them easily, choosing one from those around her to pop in her mouth. "Mmm, egg and bacon. You've been holding out on me, Harry." Harry kept speech and eye contact to a minimum. "Oh?" "You know I like these ones. And by the way." He risked looking at her, painted many shades of glowing warmth in the ruddy firelight. "Yes?" "Stick to Seeking…'cos as a Chaser, you're rubbish." Harry smiled at the floor. "I hit you, didn't I?" "Pure dumb luck!" The silence lay uneasily between them. "So, this animal then. Tell me what you know." Ginny opened her book again and studied the diagrams. Harry lolled back on the rug and stretched out on the floor. "It's about so long," He held his hands about fourteen inches apart. "And that doesn't include its tail. Reddish brown thick fur and bloody sharp claws. It's quick and agile. It likes eggs and looks sort-of like a cross between a cat and a ferret." Harry watched Ginny curl up in the chair, looking very cat-like herself, but she was absorbed in her reading. "Ginny?" She looked up, casually Summoning one of the spilled sweets to her. "What? I'm listening. Mmm… spicy punch!" she announced, after a quick sniff and lick. "Isn't that your favourite?" Harry swallowed; how did Ginny know that? "Yes... Can I have it then?" he asked when she continued rolling it between her thumb and forefinger and showing no sign of passing it to him. Ginny's head came up from her text and she regarded him rebelliously. "Only if you come and get it." Harry frowned. "Toss it over then…And what's that supposed to mean? As a Chaser I'm… rubbish?" Distracted by Ginny waving the sweet out at arm's length, Harry's Seeker instincts snapped in and he watched the sweet as though it was a Snitch. "Exactly what I said." There was suppressed laughter in Ginny's warm voice but Harry was fixated on the travelling bean. It sounded as though Ginny had tossed him a challenge in lieu of the sweet and Harry could not resist. He plotted the regular path, its time cycle and both high points. He allowed another cycle to pass, to check his results and then shot his hand out to pluck it from the air. He couldn't believe it when he missed. Ginny had tossed it to her other hand and she was giggling silently. "See what I mean?" she asked. "Standard Chaser tactic – misdirection. Gets the opposition every time." With his Seeking abilities called into question, Harry rolled to his knees and shuffled across the floor to where Ginny was sitting back on her feet in the armchair. "Let's try that again!" he said firmly. He gestured with his left hand for her to wave the sweet once more and after a little shrug, Ginny complied. Harry blinked when three other sweets joined the carbohydrate dance. "There you go, Harry. A Quaffle and two Bludgers to avoid as well." Harry decided he was going to wipe the grin off this girl's face and salvage what remained of his pride. The new sweets were now shooting around them under their own Locomotion charms but Ginny was still moving the 'Snitch'. Harry braced his knees against Ginny's armchair, his Snitch hand weaving slightly as it tracked the sweet through the twists and turns. Harry leaned closer subconsciously, as he did when closing with the Snitch. He ducked the black bean doing duty as a Bludger, keeping his attention on the 'Snitch' in Ginny's hand and ignored the red bean she had set dancing back and forth across his vision, knowing it was intended as a distraction. He chased the bean with his eyes and it was as though he was out on the pitch, leaning into the wind with his Firebolt responding to his thoughts… He was so close… He reached out and his hand closed over his target and he was elated. It was only the warmth of Ginny's struggling fingers under his own, and not the chilly wings of the Snitch, that brought him back to the common room. Ginny was staring at him, right into his eyes, her own eyes huge in the dim light and her quick breaths fluttering over his cheek. Harry became aware that she was pressed back over the arm of the chair as far as she could go and that he was leaning over her, so close that he could practically count each eyelash. "So can I have it now?" he asked hoarsely. It was probably as well that Ginny gave him a mysterious smile in answer, because his blood was swishing so loudly through his ears that Harry was convinced that he wouldn't have heard a word she said anyway. "Ginny?" he mumbled, and words failed him as she straightened up, pushing him back and maintaining their close contact. She didn't say a word, she simply carried on smiling at him. Her hand hovered near his mouth and he had no idea why. "D'you want it now or keep it for later?" she whispered clearly. "Save it for later," Harry breathed, fascinated. Ginny's eyes crinkled up at the corners and danced with mischief. "I was hoping you'd say that." Harry swallowed hard. "Yeah?" He found his ability to string two words together had gone on holiday. "Yes Harry. Don't forget Quidditch practice tomorrow night." And before Harry could move, Ginny reached up and her lips touched his cheek, perilously close to his mouth. "Night, Harry," she murmured and smiled at him again. "Sweet dreams." Harry got the feeling that he had seen this expression on Ginny's face before, but couldn't remember where and it was suddenly very important to him that he should remember. He watched her until her shadow disappeared from the girls' staircase and found she had pressed the sticky bean into his hand at some point. Drifting back up the stairs to his dormitory, and completely forgetting that Ron was asleep in the chair, Harry finally remembered where he had seen Ginny's expression before. On his Aunt's dining room wall. Ginny had worn the enigmatic smile of the 'Mona Lisa'. Changing into his pyjamas, he wondered what Ginny would have done if he’d pushed his luck and kissed her after he’d caught the ‘Snitch’… That made it twice she had kissed him now… Harry curled up with the memory and his sleep did, as Ginny had suggested, have sweet dreams to begin with. ~*~ The next day at break, Professor McGonagall called Harry across to the staff table as he followed the waving flag of Ginny's loose hair to the Gryffindor table. Blinking, Harry faced his Head of House and waited. "Mr Potter, I wish to speak with you. Eight o'clock in my office this evening, if you please… You may go now," she added crisply when Harry continued to stand there. Harry was distracted all through the day and unable to concentrate properly on what he was supposed to be doing as he wondered why Professor McGonagall wanted to see him in her office. It normally meant he was in trouble and yet he couldn't think what he was supposed to have done. For once, Hermione appeared to have no ideas on the subject and contented herself with saying, "I suppose you'll find out at eight o'clock tonight." Five to eight found Harry checking over his appearance outside his Head of House's first floor office and he hoped that she wouldn't ask him why he was early. He knocked. "Enter!" After taking and exhaling a deep breath, Harry did. "You wanted to see me, Professor?" The Transfiguration Professor was seated bolt upright behind her desk. Harry thought she looked troubled as she indicated that he might be seated. "Mr Potter, this conversation may be somewhat difficult for you…" Harry insides plummeted. "Who is it?" he demanded quickly, leaning nearer. "Just tell me." Professor McGonagall looked taken-aback for a few seconds and then it looked as though she realised how her opening words must have sounded. Her reassuring smile did little to put Harry at ease. "As far as I am aware, all Order members are well. No… the purpose of this discussion concerns something that happened to you in your second year." Second year? Harry thought. "Ginny?" He had no idea he'd said her name aloud until Professor McGonagall sighed forbearingly and with, maybe, the slightest tinge of amusement. "No, Mr Potter, I am referring to your ability to speak Parseltongue. Do you still have this ability?" Harry gaped. "Well, Mr Potter?" His Transfiguration professor was watching him closely. Harry gathered his scattered wits and wriggled on the hard seat. "Um, I'd need a snake to know for sure." Professor McGonagall rose from behind her desk and, raising her wand, spoke a spell Harry hadn't heard since Lockhart's ill-fated Duelling club in his second year. "Serpensortia!" A massive dark and shiny snake reared up, its flat eyes level with Harry's own. Its tongue flickered out to taste the air, giving Harry time to notice it had three prongs instead of the more usual double forks before winding sideways and swaying hypnotically from side to side. Harry kept still. "Mr Potter!" Harry heard whispered behind him. "I should warn you that this species can spit venom over six feet!" "Leave her," Harry commanded and as before, heard only his voice speaking and had no idea whether it was Parseltongue or English. "Leave her!" he repeated firmly. The trifurcated tongue flickered again. "Did you hear me?" The snake nodded its head in a manner that reminded Harry strongly of Malfoy's casual arrogance. "Then obey," Harry ordered. The snake oscillated once more, eyed him with those curiously lifeless eyes and then coiled itself into a neat circular pyramid. When Harry turned to ask his professor if that was enough or whether she’d like him to get the snake to do anything else, he found she was taking great breaths and eyeing the snake with loathing. Harry flicked his wand as he had observed Bill do. “Evanesco!” he said and the snake disappeared. Professor McGonagall’s hand went to her chest and she took more swooping breaths as she edged round her desk to sink into her chair. She regarded him severely when he would have asked if he should fetch Madam Pomfrey. “This is to go no further, Mr Potter, but I have a great distaste for those legless reptiles.” She shuddered and Harry realised that his teacher had just confessed to a weakness, and also that she was trusting him to keep it to himself. The next minute, Harry thought he’d imagined it. Professor McGonagall reached for a homework scroll and her quill. “Thank you, Mr Potter, that will be all. You may go now.” Harry took his quiet confusion back to Gryffindor Tower and shrugged when Hermione asked what their Head of House had wanted. “Where’s Ginny?” he asked, roving his eyes over the occupants of the common room. He felt the need for some of her quiet common sense rather than one of Hermione’s meticulous dissections. Ron didn’t take his attention off the chessboard. “Detention. Apparently, getting your potion spot-on is a punishable offence. Snape’s got it in for her, git,” he added under his breath. Harry sat on the floor and imagined soft curtains of grey rain falling again rather than give Voldemort the least idea of what he was thinking. Author’s Note: My continuing thanks to Aggiebell and Katieay, my Beta, for sharing their time and opinions with me so selflessly. They make it easier for me to follow the Muse. :D A lot of the information that Professor Dumbledore relates to his students comes from my favourite translation of the 'Book of the Dead’, by Dr Ramses Seleem. I found his commentary as fascinating as the text itself. Well, the rest of this fic is finished but will have to wait awhile. See y’all on the flipside! Baffy, crossing fingers and toes for the 16th!
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