Being the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was not an easy job. Neither was leading the Order of the Phoenix during the first war against Voldemort. But both jobs entailed fewer headaches than being the sole person aware of the entire Prophecy.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ...

It seemed rather simple at first; at least after the tragedy in Godric’s Hollow. The Potters were betrayed, but baby Harry struck down Voldemort at the height of his powers. Their betrayer was soon locked away at Azkaban and Wizarding society began its slow, halting ascent from the dark times.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sat in his office, trying to enjoy a lemon sherbet, trying to ignore his growing headache. "A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma," a Muggle Prime Minister had once said. It was a singularly apt description of one Harry James Potter.

The boy was hiding something. That much was clear. He had the strongest Occlumency the headmaster had ever encountered, yet he seemed to be unaware of Legilimency. While ‘naturally occluded’ minds were not unheard of, they were quite rare. On the other hand, his painful reaction to repeated probing was in line with the handful of case histories he’d researched since that meeting.

Severus was openly suspicious of the boy, but the potion master’s objectivity toward anyone named Potter was questionable. His behaviour toward the boy and others had been deplorable on more than one occasion.

Nevertheless, his theory regarding possession by Voldemort was technically possible, even within a loose interpretation of the Prophecy. However, the Sorting Hat had never been wrong before. After that meeting, he’d even donned it himself — just to confirm that they could converse, no matter how he engaged his own Occlumency.

The hat declared that there was nothing inside the boy’s head but his own mind. It had also sorted him into Gryffindor. While at least one Gryffindor later became a betrayer, the boy had only been sorted a year ago. Was it possible to deceive the Hat in any significant way?

Academically, the boy’s performance was stellar. He and Miss Granger regularly duelled for the top honours in most of their classes. Mr. Potter had also lucked into becoming the youngest Quidditch player in over a century. His knowledge and drive to succeed reminded him of another young boy from so long ago.

Tom Riddle.

Like Riddle, Harry had surrounded himself with a coterie of other young students. They seemed just as loyal as the group that later became the first Death Eaters. That this group also included the Longbottom boy, who was, coincidentally the other possible child of the Prophecy, was also a concern. Miss Granger’s intellect was formidable, as Severus reported she was starting to deduce his use of Legilimency from a startlingly small number of clues. Of course, the way he described it was somewhat different in tone. Mister Weasley started the year as an average student, but under the influence of the others his academic performance had risen dramatically.

Harry’s association with the Weasleys was also troubling. He’d known Arthur since the Weasley patriarch was eleven years old, and the man had been a staunch ally through the darkest days of the war. But after coming into contact with young Harry, he’d been like a different person.

Harry’s obvious anger and distrust were understandable, if what he said happened in his aunt’s house was true. The possibilities were disturbing either way. Of course he was dismayed to discover the boy had been injured. But there was something else going on there as well. He wasn’t proud of the subtle hints he’d implanted in Vernon Dursley’s mind, but in the absence of gross provocation or other meddling, the boy should have been safe. When that had not proven sufficient, he was more than willing to take more drastic measures, but Arthur’s mind was already made up.

He didn’t really understand why the Weasleys were so adamant about taking care of Harry, but the boy had shown signs of being adept at manipulating people. He’d never seen Severus Snape so enraged by a first-year student before. Not to the point of jeopardizing his tenure at Hogwarts. Minerva was also exceedingly sympathetic toward the boy. Few Gryffindors had sufficient restraint and maturity to make that kind of impression on their head of house.

The boy clearly impressed Amelia Bones, and that was no simple task. After there was some sort of difficulty with their advocate, the boy utilized a loop-hole to speak directly to the triumvirate on behalf of the Weasleys application for guardianship. While he was reportedly polite in his speech, he was also very firm in his convictions, and presented a very strong case for his preferred guardians.

The headmaster had asked Amos to apply as a personal favour, though the prestige of raising Harry Potter would no doubt further his career. Due to his work for the Ministry, the Diggory’s’ home in Ottery Saint Catchpole was extremely secure, and it would be much easier to keep tabs on the boy’s activities there.

Of course, it would have been an utter disaster if Lucius Malfoy had gotten his hooks into the boy. It was doubtful that he’d have ever returned to Hogwarts at that point. Nonetheless it was disturbing how the boy had still managed to get his way, despite the concerns of older and wiser adults.

It was a little suspicious how much the boy knew about things that were not part of his class work, especially considering how he was raised. On the other hand, young Harry could hardly be found without a book in his hand, a habit he shared with Miss Granger. Minerva also confided in him that Harry was a chronic insomniac, and spent much of the night with book and quill. Of course, it wouldn’t be too unusual for someone who survived the killing curse to suffer long term effects. The boy’s fragmented memories of that awful night seemed sufficient cause.

That was another troubling revelation. The boy claimed to have memories of the night his parents were killed. It would be very unusual for someone to remember something from that age, even worse for it to be the sounds of their parents being murdered. At first he’d been sceptical of the implications. While Sirius Black had never received a formal trial, the evidence against him was overwhelming. The Ministry was not interested in re-opening the case against Black, not with all the bad press that could create. The alleged capture of Peter Pettigrew was stirring things up though. It was an unlikely coincidence that the fugitive Animagus just happened to be hiding out at The Burrow, but Albus managed to talk to Auror Shacklebolt before he’d been shuffled off to Italy.

Kingsley reported that Arthur recognized Peter from Black’s description of the boy’s Animagus form and contacted the Auror for assistance in capturing the rat. The Aurors on duty in Azkaban also confirmed the facts of that conversation. It was all just a fortuitous coincidence, it seems. Of course the Ministry was still dragging its feet in admitting their terrible blunder. No doubt he would soon be hearing from Harry or Arthur, if not both, if steps were not taken.

Unlikely coincidences would also describe the boy’s habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The only thing more unlikely was Harry’s ability to get himself out of those situations. Though he’d suffered a broken arm, few adult wizards could have dealt with a fully-grown troll in so decisive a fashion. He was also in just the right place at the right time to stop Quirrell from obtaining the stone for his master. There were always explanations, but taken together they started to become more and more strained. He almost wished he hadn’t returned James’ cloak to the boy, but it really wasn’t his to keep. He also hoped that the belated gift might soften the boy’s anger towards his parents, as well as himself. Besides, they boy may need its protection at some point, given the enemies he’d already made.

In the end, there was no rational basis for his suspicions, really. But it occurred to him that while the child marked by the Prophecy would be inevitably opposed to Voldemort, it never guaranteed he would not be dark himself. It was a troubling thought as he savoured the sour aftertaste of his favourite confection.

He was jolted out of his thoughts as the gargoyle informed him a very angry person was approaching. Albus Dumbledore checked the time. Yes, the second year Gryffindor-Slytherin potions class had just ended.

~+~

Harry blessed his friends that week as they ran interference between him and Colin Creevey. It was impossible to actively dislike the excitable first year student, and Harry didn’t want to directly tell him off because he wasn’t sure the little fellow wouldn’t have a breakdown. Not only would he feel like a cad, but he’d also be playing into Malfoy’s accusations as well. It was easier by far to pretend to not hear the boy when he was apparently engrossed in a conversation with one of his friends.

Of course, Colin wasn’t the only person he was avoiding. Harry made a big show of being in a hurry when Gilderoy Lockhart was nearby. The only time the man could reliably corner Harry was during meal times, and then only for a few minutes. The great fraud also seemed to be less enthusiastic about conversing in front of witnesses — probably because he’d need to keep track of more than one set of lies at once.

But the one person Harry least wished to meet, he had no opportunity to avoid. It was with a palpable sense of dread that the four of them entered the potions laboratory for their first class. Professor Snape’s black eyes glittered in the dim light as he glared at them.

Harry tried to repeat his stratagem from last term. He weakened the defences around his mind until it should appear acutely vulnerable. Sure enough, as soon as Snape’s lecture was over and they began brewing a simple emulsifying solution, Harry felt twinges that indicated a Legilimens was trying to penetrate his mind. Harry blinked rapidly as the twinges became painful, but they soon stopped. Neville, who was partnered with him for this exercise, began to frown slightly. A moment later, Hermione looked up from her cauldron, her face pale in the torchlight.

Damn, Harry fumed; he’s going after them again. It’s even worse now that they’ve started learning Occlumency, because now they can start to feel that bastard poking around in their minds. Snape’s face grew thunderous and Hermione’s jaw trembled. He’s digging for something and she’s fighting him tooth and nail. He must be looking for how she figured it out. She wasn’t even making a pretext of stirring her cauldron anymore. Ron looked up at her as a furious tear tracked down her cheek.

Harry locked eyes with the potions teacher and lashed out with his own Legilimency. He wasn’t so much digging for information as just - squeezing - as hard as he could. He didn’t know what effect that would have, but his mind’s eye pictured crushing the man’s skull like an overripe fruit. Nothing happened as the man’s defences stiffened, but Hermione let out a tremulous sigh. Harry twitched as he suddenly had the image of a diamond-hard wedge dig into the boundaries of his own mind, seeking to cleave it in two. He countered by imagining burning the Professor to death, an inch at a time, starting with his toes.

He was jolted out of his reverie when a thick volume fell from the Professor’s desk. It struck the floor with a loud thud that echoed in the dungeon, making most of the students jump. Snape’s features were locked in a rictus of fury.

It was going to be a long class.

None of them looked up as they turned in their flasks. Harry didn’t even turn around when he heard the sounds of glassware shattering on the stone floor. As soon as they were out in the corridor, Harry whispered in Hermione’s ear and then quickly ducked into the bathroom.

Seeing it was empty, Harry pulled his invisibility cloak out of this bag and pulled it over his shoulders. He’d just settled it into place before the door opened again and he had to side-step an older Slytherin boy. Harry slipped out the door before it closed again. Once in the corridor, Harry settled into a nook next to one of the suits of armour and kept watch on the door to the potions lab.

Sure enough, less than five minutes later, Professor Snape came storming out of the office, his face like a thundercloud about to let loose. Harry shadowed the furious wizard all the way to the headmaster’s office. He needed some answers.

"Gumdrops," the man snarled. He brushed past the gargoyle as it leapt aside. Harry followed a bit more cautiously. Snape practically threw himself up the escalator, while Harry waited at the foot of it. There was just enough room for him to stand there as the passageway closed again. On an idle evening while Harry was recovering from a skirmish, Albus’ portrait told him that the gargoyle magically reported everything it saw to the current headmaster, but it wasn’t as perceptive as the headmaster himself. Harry was banking on the fact that it wouldn’t be able to see through the invisibility cloak like its master could.

Harry knew the inner door wasn’t soundproof, but Snape didn’t even bother closing it.

"Ah Severus, and what brings you here on this fine morning?" Harry could almost imagine the headmaster’s eyes twinkling as he said that.

"Potter, Headmaster, what else?"

"And what is he up to now?"

"He and that insufferable know it all Granger have somehow pieced together that we have been using Legilimency. He’s been teaching his verminous little friends how to block me out!"

"Severus, I will remind you that they are still students, and should be respected as such."

"I will show them as much respect as they have shown me."

Harry heard a sigh. "How did they figure it out?"

"Granger isn’t quite as good as she thinks she is. I managed to pull that information out of her, along with her delusions of adequacy and disturbingly adolescent infatuations. Your words were actually the give-away, Albus."

"Oh?"

"You should have expelled Potter when you found him in the restricted section, rather than warning him. Their nightly forays were not known to anyone else, so she surmised that the information had been extracted from her mind."

"Interesting. She is rather sharp, isn’t she?"

"I suppose. For being a Mudblood with no sense of respect, I suppose there should be some consolation."

"Severus, I will not hear that word used in my presence."

"Fine. For an insufferable know it all with no respect for her betters."

Another sigh. "I have also discovered what young Mr. Potter was seeking in the Restricted Section. He was looking for information on the Fidelius Charm. He remembered some of James and Lily’s last words, when they mentioned that spell."

Harry could almost hear Snape’s head snap around as this information pierced his tantrum. "Why is that so important?" he asked in a quiet voice.

There was a long pause. "Peter Pettigrew was captured by the Ministry a week ago. There are indications that he was the secret keeper, rather than Black."

Harry could have sworn he felt the air around him grow cold.

"It doesn’t matter. Black still massacred a dozen Muggles. He’ll die in Azkaban."

"Severus, Peter’s capture means the investigation will be reopened."

"Perhaps, I doubt that will happen though."

"And why is that?"

"Some remarks Lucius made a few days ago are making more sense now. He mentioned in passing that an important prisoner was being held under wraps until ‘the point was moot’, whatever that means. I have no doubt that there are many in the Ministry who would prefer that this matter never see the light of day."

"Is there a reason you didn’t tell me about this?"

"Other than the fact that I only made the connection with what you just told me regarding Pettigrew? Besides, Azkaban is no more than Black deserves."

"Severus, if he is innocent-"

"He tried to kill me!"

"And James saved you."

The silence was palpable.

"Why was Lucius Malfoy so concerned about this, anyway?"

"I imagine it has to do with his wife being the last of the Blacks, discounting Sirius and Bellatrix who are in Azkaban. With Sirius dead, Narcissa would receive half the Black fortune. When Bellatrix dies, she’ll receive the other half."

"It would be better for that money not to end up under Lucius’ control. His wealth has purchased him half the Ministry as it is."

"Do not expect me to spare any efforts toward freeing Black. Besides, if it looked like a trial was inevitable, I imagine he’ll be accidentally kissed by a dementor. Such a tragedy that would be."

Harry’s blood went cold. He ruthlessly suppressed his emotions before another accidental magic outburst gave his presence away.

"I am… disappointed in you, Severus. Back to the matter at hand, why are you here?"

"Why am I - Headmaster, we cannot allow these impudent delinquents to get away with this!"

A third sigh. "What do you propose we do?"

"Expell them all!" Harry could almost imagine Snape was frothing at the mouth by now. He had no idea how infuriating the headmaster’s patience could be when used against someone that far out of control.

"And how would we explain this action? The use of Legilimency on students has never been officially sanctioned, and I doubt it ever will be. Many would consider it a frightful breach of privacy, no matter how well-intentioned. I doubt you would be accorded that much benevolence, as your reputation does you no good there."

"Fine then. How do you propose we stop them?"

"Severus, we can’t prohibit them from learning a branch of magic that has no use aside from preventing unwanted, not to mention unwarranted, intrusions."

"Headmaster! They. Are. Up. To. Something!"

"I have no doubt that they are, or at least that young Harry was some hidden agenda. But what has he actually done? He killed a troll that poor Quirinius was compelled to let into the school… saving the life of one or more of his fellow students. He also stopped Voldemort from procuring the stone and regaining his powers. Thus far, I believe he had earned some small degree of trust."

"He’s been training those friends of his in Muggle fighting skills. Are you content to let a student form his own gang within the school?"

"Of course not. But then again, when have they behaved aggressively without provocation? Severus, I understand you’ve had a difficult time trying to bring around some of the students in your house. But I’m starting to wonder if I’ve given you too much leeway with respect to their behaviour."

"Headmaster, I’m not sure I understand what you mean."

"I mean that every time I… investigate… a complaint about aggressive behaviour by Harry or one of his friends, I invariably find a member of your house was the instigator. One might think the whole thing was organized with the express purpose of having one or more students removed from Hogwarts."

If anything, the air had become even colder.

"I will see if there is any substance to the suspicions, headmaster, and act accordingly. Good day."

With that, the upper door opened and the gargoyle moved aside just in time for Harry to exit the entryway ahead of Professor Snape. Harry didn’t relish getting caught by the man after listening to the less than subtle dressing down he’d just received.

Harry had a lot to think about as he rejoined his friends. He actually felt more optimistic about Dumbledore than he had in a while. He wasn’t willing to just let Snape run roughshod over them. It wasn’t everything Harry could hope for, but it was a start.

On the other hand, Sirius’ situation was just as bad as he thought, if not worse. The presence of a new warden at Azkaban was particularly ominous, if that threat about the kiss was more than just a pleasant fantasy for Snape. Draco’s comments in the courtyard also took on a whole new meaning. He meant I would be envious of his father’s ability to get out of Azkaban because Sirius was stuck there. Maybe it’s time to demonstrate that there’s more than one kind of coin to spend.

The look on Harry’s face when he joined his friends for lunch left them more than willing to wait until they could talk privately. Luna and Ginny told a very funny story from their last charms class. Colin tried to enchant one of his many pictures of Harry to make it talk. Unfortunately, the picture he’d taken seemed to be in a rather cross mood, because its language was exceedingly vulgar. Colin couldn’t make out all the words said by the tiny, high-pitched voice coming from the snapshot, but Professor Flitwick could and he was less than impressed.

Colin had also started sitting with Ginny and Luna in their classes. While he was obviously sucking up, Harry was also secretly glad. He had a quiet paranoia that someone would attack the girls when they were separated from the rest of the group. If that ever happened, an extra friendly wand in the vicinity couldn’t hurt.

Of course Harry knew that was just his memory speaking. It was harder to blot out the Hogwarts Massacre when he was at the proverbial scene of the crime. It was particularly hard to suppress when Ginny was around. The way she looked at him sometimes, he knew he was letting too much of his anxiety show. How can he tell her he wants to carry her off and so he can keep her safe? She’d either laugh or kick him where it hurt for thinking she was helpless.

They didn’t have any classes after lunch, so they all walked down to the lake to enjoy the warmer weather before it was gone. Harry wanted to tell them what he’d overheard, but he couldn’t share while their minds were still open. Just by existing, Snape was driving a wedge between him and his friends.

Still, he could do this subtly. "You know," he began, "something Malfoy said keeps sticking in my mind."

"Bah, I’d see Madam Pomfrey about that, mate!" Ron quipped.

"Shut it, you," Harry replied with a grin. "He said something about me envying being able to buy someone out of Azkaban. I think he knows something about Sirius."

"What motive would they have for being involved in a cover-up?" Hermione asked. "Who stands to gain from Sirius being imprisoned?"

"There are some people in the Ministry that will be embarrassed if this gets out," Neville said. "Some people may lose office over it."

"None of the Malfoys hold office though," Harry said, frowning.

"Maybe he doesn’t want to have to buy new politicians?" Ron asked.

They speculated a bit longer, but no one made the connection that Narcissa’s maiden name was Black. Harry sighed. Maybe it didn’t matter if they know. I’ll just give them warning about what I’m going to do. "I think I better go ahead and send that letter to Rita Skeeter. It’s been too long and I’m getting really suspicious."

"If you want, I can go over the rough draft with you," Hermione offered.

"I’d appreciate it," Harry said with a grin. She always came out ahead on essay assignments.

~+~

Harry felt a little smug that he’d gone to bed early Friday night, so Oliver’s extremely early morning summons didn’t leave him dead on his feet. In fact, the Gryffindor captain was surprised when he stepped into their dormitory and found Harry, Ron, and Neville getting ready for their morning run. "Oh, er, right. You’re already up? We have practice now."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Harry shrugged. "Okay Ron, you and Neville take everyone on their run. We’ll probably still be at the pitch when you’re done. Could one of you work one-on-one with Luna? She’s got the most to make up."

"I’ll take care of it," Neville said. "I need to work on the basics anyway."

"Right," Harry said, pulling his Quidditch robes and Nimbus 2000 out of his trunk.

"You’ve been working out?" Wood asked as they headed down the stairs.

"A run in the morning and some martial arts," Harry replied.

Oliver nodded approvingly. "I can tell. You’ve filled out a bit."

Harry shrugged as they brushed past Colin. "The twins joined us most of the time."

"Good! Most of the teams will be taking aim at us now," the team captain grinned.

When they reached the changing rooms, everyone else was asleep on their feet. Oliver began describing some new plays he’d put together over the summer. Unfortunately, even with a clear head, Oliver’s game plans made almost no sense to Harry.

When Oliver lost his temper at the groggy twins, his spiel about the previous season was more upbeat, but just as impassioned. "Yes, we got the cup last year. So now, everyone is looking to take us out of the running at every opportunity. The other teams will bring their best games when they play us! We can’t let our guard down, even for a moment!"

"Constant Vigilance!" Harry interjected. He really couldn’t help it.

"That’s right!" Oliver shouted. "We can’t let up on them, even for an instant. I want every game to be a blow-out. Any match we win by less than one hundred and fifty points we should consider a personal defeat!" He looked at his chasers. "Are you girls with me?"

Katie, Alicia, and Angelina blinked and nodded.

"Are you with me?" Oliver repeated.

The girls looked resignedly at each other. "Yes we are!" they shouted in reply.

"I want their Seekers and Chasers afraid to get near anything round," Oliver snarled, turning toward the twins. "I want them terrified of flying by the time you’re done with them. Are you with me?"

"We’ll make them need to clean their brooms after the match," one of them replied, starting to wake up. He nudged his brother.

"And we’ll make you lot forget they even have Bludgers. Right?"

Oliver looked pleased for just an instant. Then he led them out to the pitch.

Harry smiled when he saw his friends sitting together on the stands. They were still adamant about him not walking around by himself if they could help it, especially at scheduled times like Quidditch practices.

They were just getting started when the Slytherin team marched out onto the pitch. Harry followed Wood down to the grass, and noticed his friends already getting up from the stands.

"Flint!" Wood bellowed. "This is our practice time! We got up especially for this, so you can clear off now!"

Marcus Flint, who bore a more than passing resemblance to the troll they killed last year, had a nasty grin. "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

Harry knew they’d love to hold a joint practice. Not only would it let them see any new plays Oliver put together, but it also gave them the opportunity to inflict some ‘accidental’ injuries.

"I booked the field!" Oliver insisted. "I booked it."

Harry suppressed a grin. While the Slytherins were all leering at the chasers, who’d just landed, Ron had directed his friends to take up a flanking position on the Slytherin team. No one had wands out yet, but if anything started they’d be in a position to hit the green robes from the side, with no worries about friendly fire. Evidently Ron did read that book on war games and small unit tactics, Harry mused, he put up such a fuss about extra reading that I began to wonder if he would.

Flint smirked at Wood. "I’ve got a note right here…" and he read off the note from Snape usurping their field reservation because they needed to train their new seeker… Draco Malfoy,

When the Slytherin team unveiled their Nimbus Two Thousand and One brooms — a gift from Lucius, Harry decided to take this whole encounter in a different direction. He fell to his knees, laughing.

Wood looked alarmed, and Harry noticed Fred and George moving behind him. Harry pointed a shaking finger at Draco, which the blond boy slapped away as his face purpled.

"Oh bloody hell Flint, you got screwed. You actually agreed to take Malfoy as your Seeker? Bwahahaha!"

"What the hell is wrong with your Seeker, Wood?" Flint snarled, though his eyes began to look a little uneasy.

"Sorry," Harry chuckled before snorting as he slowly rose to his feet. "I guess you didn’t know. Draco here is dead useless on a broom. He’s been flying for years, according to him, and the first time I mount a broom I fly rings around him. I don’t think a free set of brooms is worth forfeiting the next six Quidditch Cups."

Draco’s team-mates began to eye him warily. "That filthy half-blood is lying!" the boy snarled. He tried to kick Harry, but only managed to ram his shin into the Gryffindor’s heel when he blocked.

As Draco hobbled backward Harry produced a nasty grin. "Tell you what; I’ll put my money where my mouth is. If Draco EVER beats me to the Snitch in a real match, I’ll buy you another set of brooms myself."

"Pretty big talk coming from such a tiny little beggar," Flint said, smirking at Wood.

"The best players don’t ride the broom like a walrus perched on a toothpick," Oliver observed coolly.

"Why don’t we head down to the lake," Harry said. "The air here smells a bit… off."

With a little work, they were able to transfigure some sticks into regulation-sized goals and continued their practice by the lake. Harry’s friends sat under a tree and watched them fly… and coincidentally kept an eye out for anyone a little too interested in what the team was doing.

As they walked back to the changing rooms, Oliver kept glancing at Harry. "Do they always follow you around like that?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "Ever since someone jinxed my broom at my first match."

"Someone what?!?" Wood shouted.

Harry just raised his eyebrows. "It’s not a big deal. I just kept dispelling it until they gave up."

"But what if the Snitch appeared while you were busy? That’s cheating!"

Harry laughed. "Don’t ever change Oliver. Anyway, Malfoy and his little buddies would love to catch any of us alone, so we’re pretty careful about that. Especially practices, because everyone knows where I am."

Oliver nodded, frowning.

"You ever think about setting up a reserve team?" Harry asked.

"We’ve tried it before, but there aren’t a lot of people that are willing to practice if there isn’t a guarantee they’ll get to play."

"I see. But it’s a good way to break in new players, isn’t it?"

"Aye, it is. You have some people in mind?"

"Well, Ron is a decent Keeper, and we discovered Ginny is-"

"Oy!" a voice shouted from behind them. "George and I do NOT need to be reminded of that."

"Indeed we do not, brother of mine. Being schooled by your wee little sister at Quidditch is NOT a happy memory."

"Is she really that good?" Oliver asked doubtfully.

Gred and Forge sped up until they were flanking them. "Seriously?" George asked. "If our lasses weren’t a well-oiled scoring machine, I think she could easily start at Chaser."

Oliver looked thoughtful. "You know, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone on hand, in case of an injury."

"Same goes for your spot, oh fearless leader," Fred quipped.

"Spot on!" George agreed, "Ickle Ronnikins isn’t so ickle anymore. He keeps growing like he is he’ll be able to block two hoops at the same time."

"Let me talk to Professor McGonagall about it," Oliver said.

After they cleaned up, Harry and the rest paid a visit to Hagrid. The groundskeeper didn’t think much of Draco buying his way onto the Slytherin team with a new set of brooms, and he echoed Harry’s low opinion of Lockhart. Neville was impressed with Hagrid’s pumpkin patch and they compared notes on compost mixtures. Luna just sat and silently stared at Hagrid almost the entire time, much to Ginny’s amusement.

"Well, ye are a quie’ one, aren’ ye?" Hagrid asked her, chuckling.

"I’m sorry, but I’d never met a half-giant before," she replied. "You don’t really live up to the reputation though, you are much too nice."

Harry was fairly sure he could have dropped a pin and made everyone jump.

"I, er, I, uh," was all Hagrid could say.

"I’m sure she didn’t mean it," Hermione said quickly.

"You don’t think he’s nice?" Luna asked her, "He seems very nice to me."

Hagrid’s reaction left no room to doubt Luna’s assessment. "I think half-giant means just about as much as being a half-blood," Harry said. "It’s just a label, nothing more."

"Well, yeah," Ron agreed. "But Harry, people, well... Giants have a bit of a reputation, you know."

"Some varieties of Muggles think wizards and witches are inherently evil, too," Harry countered

"Harry, I think what Ron means is that people would react very badly if they found out Hagrid wasn’t just a very large man. Even though we know better."

Harry shrugged. "I don’t want to make trouble for you, Hagrid, but it really doesn’t matter what people call you. You’re still the same person to me."

The rest of them all agreed and Hagrid got a bit sniffely after that. He blew his nose on an oversized handkerchief, loosening all their teeth with the racket. They agreed to keep quiet about it; though Harry knew there might be problems later.

As they walked back to the castle, Hermione stunned them all by asking a question about Quidditch. "Is having an older broom really a handicap?"

"Well," Ron answered immediately, "it depends on how old. Most of the team has Cleansweep fives, and against a late-model Nimbus, there’s a definite disadvantage, both in speed and manoeuvrability. The Nimbus also has superior acceleration, which is paramount for Seekers and Chasers."

Everyone stared at Ron for a moment. He blinked. "What?" the red-head finally asked.

"Professor Quidditch," Hermione said, patting his arm fondly. "That was exactly what I needed to know. I think the Gryffindor team needs new brooms, don’t you?" she asked, looking at Harry.

Harry frowned. "I don’t know how expensive that would be, but I don’t think Professor McGonagall would let me-"

"I don’t think it’s a question of paying," Hermione said with a smile. "Let me talk to her and see if she’ll agree."

"All right," Harry replied. He knew that when Hermione came up with a scheme, she usually preferred to not unveil it until she’d worked out all the bugs. It was usually more impressive that way, and she wasn’t that far away from the shy ten year old that didn’t have any friends.

~+~

Monday morning, Harry was eagerly awaiting the arrival of the owl post. He happily paid for his reserved copy of the Daily Prophet. The story was exactly where he expected it to be, on the front page.

Boy Who Lived Speaks!

-By Rita Skeeter

Harry Potter is very angry young man. It isn’t because his parents were lost on one horrible Halloween night. It’s because the man who betrayed them to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named went free. And an innocent man was condemned without a trial. It’s enough to make the boy who saved us from the Dark Lord wonder why he bothered…

Harry whistled as he read. Rita stuck to the plan, for the most part, but she did make a few small changes. She had a natural gift for invective and wasn’t afraid to use it. He imagined the Ministry bore some resemblance to a kicked over ant hill right now.

His agreement with the reporter was fairly straightforward. Harry had access to information that few people did, and she made her living spreading information. He would provide her with exclusives from time to time that he would be willing to swear were factual. If a story came up that involved him, Harry promised to give her the first interview. In return, she would present the information in the manner he wished, and didn’t go digging for more. Since Harry wasn’t speaking to any other members of the fourth estate, it wasn’t a bad deal for her. He also promised not to tell anyone about her Animagus form — though he also refused to tell her how he knew.

Mr. Weasley knew this was coming, so he would be ready if there was an inquiry at work. Fortunately, the capture of Pettigrew had nothing to do with his official duties, so it would be hard to censure him for Harry’s words. And if someone did come down on him, Rita might have a follow-up story.

While his legal guardian enjoyed his work in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office, it wouldn’t break Harry’s heart if the man found other employment. It was, after all, in the discharge of his duties that he was stabbed and fatally poisoned by Lucius Malfoy. There were two long-term courses of action open to Harry to prevent this. The first involved Arthur no longer working for the Ministry. The second involved him advancing to the point where he was no longer on the front lines.

While Harry was more than happy to help the man in any way possible, he was less than sanguine about sabotaging his career. The only thing forestalling the wrath of Harry’s conscience was the fact that Arthur said he didn’t care about his career as long as Sirius’ freedom was on the line. It amazed Harry that some people considered Arthur Weasley ‘weak’ or ‘hen-pecked’.

Harry passed around the article as soon as he was done. Ron let out a low whistle when he finished. "Typical Ministry incompetence carried to an unconscionable degree? Why doesn’t she tell us how she really feels?"

"She does not sound like someone I’d like to be on the bad side of," Hermione agreed.

You don’t know the half of it, Harry thought with a smirk.

Their next class, Defence against the Dark Arts, did not really improve under Lockhart’s stewardship. As sort of a nasty sport, they had taken to studiously reading every chapter before it was to be covered. Once they were in class, they began to ask rather pointed questions, pressing Professor Lockhart for more details on how he defeated the assorted menaces.

Hermione, who might still have been holding some faint hope that he wasn’t a complete fraud, took to this with a will. Ironically, she was also the most adept at picking apart his explanations. They were never directly confrontational, but by the end of class Lockhart was usually sweating. In a twisted way, they did learn a few things about dealing with Dark creatures — after all, the accounts in his books were drawn from the memories of the people who actually did the deeds. When they asked a question that obviously hadn’t been asked during his interviews, Lockhart’s fabrications were painfully obvious. They got a little education, along with torturing the ponce, so their time wasn’t completely wasted.

When Lockhart asked Harry to stay after class though, it wasn’t to talk about their questions.

"Harry, Harry, Harry… I warned you that you’d need my expert guidance."

"I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about, sir."

"I read the article in today’s Prophet. Very dramatic, and it got you on the front page, but dabbling in politics… it can’t be good for your career in the long term."

"My career, sir?" Harry decided to hold himself as stiff and formal as possible. It wouldn’t do to loose control of his temper and tell this strutting peacock what he really thought.

"As a celebrity. I’m glad to see you are finally realizing the truth of my words but this… it doesn’t do to make too many enemies, Harry. Especially this early in the game. Politicians have long memories and you can sacrifice too many opportunities. Now, I’ve taken the liberty of crafting a masterful retraction for you." With that he picked up a parchment covered with lavender ink. "Just sign this and I’ll send it off to my press agent to distribute and you can put this nasty blunder behind you. He’s agreed to take care of this, free of charge, if you’ll consent to have lunch with us this weekend. He’s found this wonderful little café that’s opened near-"

Having already bit back his first three responses, Harry interrupted, "I’m sorry, sir, but I had to give Ms. Skeeter a signed affidavit regarding the facts before she would print the article. I don’t think a retraction would hold much water."

Lockhart frowned. "You poor boy! I had no idea you were such a babe in the woods. You should never, ever, agree to something like that," he said, wagging his finger. "It’s almost impossible to say you were misquoted if you do that!"

"That doesn’t really matter to me, sir. I only gave her that information because I want my Godfather released."

"A man you’ve only met one time?"

"Because he was imprisoned for something he didn’t do!" Harry snapped, his temper fraying.

Lockhart sighed. "Harry, this obsession with right and wrong is definitely going to hurt your career."

"Thank you for your concern, professor. I need to leave or I’m going to be late for my next class."

Lockhart waved him off, but he was still late for transfiguration. McGonagall scowled and told him to see her after class.

Harry was so infuriated that first pebble he transfigured into a rubber ball ended up covered with wicked looking spikes and suspicious-looking rusty brown stains. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him but didn’t say anything.

She did, however, lag behind after class when Harry marched up to Professor McGonagall’s desk.

"I’m sorry I was late, professor, but Professor Lockhart kept me after his class." Harry was less than successful in keeping the frustration out of his voice.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him. "I was not aware you were having difficulties in Defence against the Dark Arts, Mr. Potter."

"I’m not, Ma’am. No more than anyone else. He wanted to talk to me about the article in the Prophet, and how I need to manage my career as a celebrity."

Hermione muffled a sigh, but McGonagall’s lips just got the tiniest but thinner. "I see. Well, it is somewhat in connection with that status that I wanted to see you today. Ms. Granger has informed me of the recent… donation… made to the Slytherin house team. She has an idea for how to address that, but she wanted my approval before speaking to anyone on the team. While I appreciate her discretion, I felt that you should be the next to hear this idea. Ms. Granger?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Well Harry, as you know, Muggle athletes will sometimes get endorsement contracts with companies that manufacture sporting goods or clothing. I was thinking perhaps we could write to Nimbus and see if they’d be willing to supply last year’s Quidditch champions with new brooms. In exchange, they could take pictures of the team in their robes, holding the cup, riding on their brooms... The advertising would more than make back their costs, I’d think." She hesitated. "Especially with that whole Boy Who Lived thing."

Harry blinked. "That’s utterly brilliant… Oliver’s going to kiss you when he hears this!"

Hermione turned bright red.

Harry chuckled, thinking of Draco’s reaction. He’d always claimed Harry was a show-off, now to make him suffer for it… "One thing," Harry said as he thought about Hermione’s last words, "Make sure they only use pictures of all of us together. I don’t mind being in it, but I want this to be about the team, not me. It took all of us to win that cup, and Oliver wants to play professionally after he graduates."

Hermione nodded eagerly. "I’ll start writing the letter today."

"I’ll speak to the Headmaster about using the Quidditch Cup in the photographs," McGonagall said, "but I don’t think that will be a problem. This is an ingenious solution to a vexing inequity, Ms. Granger - ten points to Gryffindor."

Hermione was practically skipping as they left the classroom.

When she explained the plan to the rest of them at lunch, Ron embarrassed himself by yelling "That’s BRILLIANT!" at the top of his lungs. The normal meal-time chatter ground to a halt as everyone in the Great Hall stared at the Gryffindor table. Harry suppressed a laugh as Ron ducked his head down. Hermione’s face was just as scarlet, but for a different reason.

That night, Harry was feeling particularly confident, so he decided to work on something he’d been putting off. After everyone was asleep, he opened up his trunk and dug out the Diary he’d concealed in the bottom.

Settling back down on his bed, Harry pulled out his quill and began writing.

"Dear Diary, my name is Harry Potter."

The ink absorbed into the page and reappeared in a new configuration: "Hello Harry, my name is Tom."

Harry felt a chill race down his spine. Sitting there in his hands was a piece of Voldemort’s soul, one of the anchors that let him live on after the killing curse rebounded in his face.

"Hello Tom, I’ve never seen a diary that wrote back to me before. How were you made?"

"I don’t remember Harry. It must be magic though. Are you a wizard?"

And so it went for the better part of an hour. The diary deflected any questions about itself or how it was made, while Harry avoided giving it any details. Harry finally gave it up as a bad job. He bade it good night and closed the cover, frowning.

This thing is both self-aware and cagey, he mused. I was hoping I could get some information out of it regarding how it was created and how Tom planned to create the other Horcruxes. I don’t know all the details, let alone how to destroy the ring without losing a hand, but I don’t think I’ll be getting much help here.

With that, he threw on a dressing gown and quietly left the dormitory. The common room was deserted, the fireplace banked to ward off the chill from the stone walls.

Making sure the couches and squashy chairs were unoccupied, Harry made his way to the fire. If the destruction of the diary made any disturbance, hopefully it would be chalked up to normal Hogwarts weirdness or blamed on Peeves. Harry leaned forward and tossed the diary onto the fireplace, then jumped back.

Some sparks shot up as embers were knocked loose from the burning log. Flames licked around the cover, but the faded leather didn’t darken. Harry stared in disbelief for several minutes before he picked up the fireplace poker. He jammed the diary down into the hot coals but it still refused the catch. He ground the poker into the front cover, but it remained unmarred.

Finally, Harry gave up and hooked the spine of the book and pulled it out of the fire. He left it in front of the hearth to cool as he hung the poker back up. A few minutes later the still-warm diary was back in the bottom of his locked trunk and Harry was staring up at the canopy over his bed.

Sleep did not come easily that night.

~+~

Over the next few days, the Daily Prophet carried several stories related to the imprisonment of Sirius Black. The first was an outright denial that the whole mess was being covered up. According to ‘sources within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’, an unregistered Animagus had indeed been captured. However, the wizard was reported to be unidentified and in a highly disturbed mental state. He reportedly would not stay in his human form unless stunned, which complicated the identification process.

After that, the inevitable counter-attacks on Harry began. A ‘senior ministry official’ speculated to another reporter (not Rita, of course — she knew better than to annoy the goose that produced such golden eggs) that Harry was delusional, and seeking to free Black out of some misplaced sense of guilt over his parents’ deaths. That remark led to Harry gouging a chip out of his breakfast plate.

By the end of the week, other publications had taken up the torch. Friday morning, Luna received a thick rolled-up newspaper from an owl. She read it, smiled dreamily, and handed it to Harry. It was folded open to a specific article.

Evidently The Quibbler was getting into the act, and featured a historical piece on Sirius’s imprisonment, pointing out the many irregularities in how his case was tried — or rather wasn’t. What surprised Harry was the straightforward and non-fanciful nature of the article. It had a clear time-line of the events, a well-written legal breakdown, and not a single mention of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. Harry just stared at Luna.

"I told father about the article," she said. "He doesn’t normally like to carry stories like this, but he’s annoyed at the Ministry for suppressing his expose about their secret alliance with the Vampire clans."

Harry didn’t even react, he just handed the paper to Hermione when she began to sputter. Ron muffled a suspicious-sounding cough as Ginny elbowed him.

"That was a nice thing to do," Neville said quietly.

Luna turned toward him, her eyes seeming to look right past him. Neville cleared his throat. "The five of you have acted much nicer than anyone else I’ve ever met. It’s very strange not being treated as a freak, but I think I prefer it." She went back to eating her breakfast as Neville just gaped at her.

"This is really well-researched," Hermione said in a subdued tone. Harry supposed she felt compelled to offer an olive branch. She’d been less than interested the last couple of times Luna had shown her an article from her father’s newspaper.

Luna turned and cocked her head at Hermione. "It’s not very interesting, I suppose, but public service announcements seldom are."

"Public service announcements?" Ginny asked her friend. Sharing classes had brought the girls even closer together.

"The public should know what sorts of people are running the Ministry, shouldn’t they? You would think the Vampire Alliance would install smarter puppets though." Luna asked in an absent-minded tone before she resumed eating.

On Saturday, Oliver delayed their normal practice until after the photographers had captured the Gryffindor Lions in all their glory. The men from the Nimbus Racing Broom Company were there as well, and were rather excited about the whole thing. One man did ask Harry to autograph a proof for his son, which made him a little uncomfortable. The Boy Who Lived sucked it up and smiled as he wrote, but then passed the photograph to Oliver and the rest of the team to sign it as well. The man chuckled as he received the picture back, but he also nodded to Harry as if to say he understood.

Oliver was so happy about the new brooms that he even let them slack off for the rest of the practice. In truth, they all needed to do some casual flying to get used to the new brooms. The Weasley Twins were especially exuberant; Oliver forced them to stay serious throughout the photography session on pain of death, or worse — expulsion from the team. Now they were seeing exactly how fast their new brooms could go as they buzzed the stands.

The icing on the cake, however, came the following Monday. Nimbus had a very large advertisement on the third page of the Daily Prophet. It featured a picture of the Gryffindor Lions, lined up with their brooms and looking very serious, with the caption "Nimbus Racing Brooms — Proud Sponsors of the Gryffindor Lions, 1992 Quidditch Cup Champions!"

Oliver posed with Fred and George on either side of him, not trusting to let them out of his sight. It worked for the most part. But every so often, one of the twins in the photograph would smirk and reaching back, use two fingers to put ‘rabbit ears’ on Oliver.

If Oliver was upset by this, he didn’t show it. Harry supposed he was used to them by now.

Draco Malfoy, however, was a bit more demonstrative. He stomped up behind Harry and threw his newspaper down on the table, narrowly missing the bacon. "Who the hell do you think you are, Potter?"

"I think you just answered your own question, Malfoy," Harry replied coolly as he turned back to his plate.

"He’s just mad that the playing field got levelled," Ron observed sagely. "Now he actually might have to rely on his own skills, and he’s terrified." He was also turned slightly so he could see the blond-haired Slytherin and his omnipresent bodyguards.

"At least I’m on a team," Draco sneered.

"Bought your way on, rather," Hermione corrected him.

"Defending your… boyfriend, Granger? I supposed your sort would have to settle for a pauper."

Ginny immediately grabbed Ron’s arm. The last thing they needed was an altercation with all the professors at the high table watching. Draco scowled and Harry knew the boy was hoping for more of a reaction. Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table. While Crabbe and Goyle were flanking Draco as usual, some of the other young snakes were watching to goings-on at the Gryffindor table. Many of them had their hands in their pockets.

Draco must have been disappointed by the lack of reaction, because he switched targets. "I see you’ve recruited Loony Lovegood for your little band of misfits, Potter. What’s the matter, Lovegood? Do you have no sense at all, or are you just that pathetically desperate for friends?"

"Shut up Malfoy!" Neville snarled. The normally soft-spoken boy’s voice echoed through the Great Hall. "She’s worth ten of you!"

Harry felt a chill go down his spine. That was downright peculiar, hearing that come out of Neville’s mouth.

Luna just smiled absently at Draco, which seemed to provoke him even more.

"Nothing to say, Lovegood? Lost your tongue? Or… lost your mind?" At the last part, Draco gave Neville a nasty leer.

Harry watched as the blood drained out his friend’s face. In a flash Neville was standing, then he leaped onto the table, stepping on a platter of scrambled eggs. The next instant he was airborne, and landed on Draco Malfoy like a ton of bricks, slamming the boy to the floor. Neville’s elbows were working like pistons and he pounded Draco’s face several times before Crabbe and Goyle even thought to do anything. Several Slytherin students jumped up with wands in their hands, but Neville and his target were out of their line of sight. Harry palmed his wand while Ron grabbed Goyle’s leg before he could kick Neville in the head.

Things were starting to spiral out of control when Professor Dumbledore’s wand let out a noise like a crack of thunder, making everyone jump. Professor Snape was already moving, with McGonagall half a step behind him. Harry and Ron helped pull Neville to his feet while Crabbe and Goyle belatedly helped their leader.

Draco looked like he’d been run over by a herd of Hippogriffs. One eye was blackened and swelling shut, while the other was blinking and unfocused. Both nostrils were bloody and he had a badly split lip.

Professor Snape took one look at Draco and spun toward the Gryffindors. His wand was in his hand and for an instant Harry thought he was going to hex them. Harry’s own wand was in a white-knuckled grip and he was a split second from screaming "Protego!" at the top of his lungs. Being the first to use magic, even a defensive spell, would not help them.

Everything hung in the balance until Snape mastered his rage. "This conduct is inexcusable! Thirty points from Gryffindor and a week’s detention, Longbottom."

"He was provoked!" Ron protested. "Malfoy came over here to pick a fight. You’re just mad that he got one!"

Snape’s face got even redder, but he was cut off before he could say anything.

"While there should not have been any violence, I would like to know what comments precipitated this incident, Mr. Malfoy." Professor Dumbledore’s voice was calm, but it nonetheless seemed to carry a slight edge to it.

Draco hesitated. Harry knew that to someone aware of what happened to Frank and Alice Longbottom, Draco’s remarks were beyond the pale. They were especially unforgivable since Draco’s aunt Bellatrix was one of the ones responsible for their condition, and was serving a life sentence in Azkaban for it. "I’m certain I don’t understand what you mean, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, and Harry wondered if he was using Legilimency on the boy. Not my problem, Harry concluded wryly. "Very well, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore agreed, "If your words were so shameful that you can’t repeat them, then I believe that thirty points should be deducted from Slytherin as well. Don’t you agree, Professor Snape?"

"I… see, Headmaster," Snape agreed, looking like he’d just eaten a whole lemon.

"Very well. We should all return to our respective seats before our breakfast is completely cold. Mr. Longbottom, you will report to Professor Sprout after dinner tonight to begin your detention."

Neville coughed. "Yes sir." Harry knew that working for Professor Sprout was far more preferable than whatever Snape would have him doing.

The atmosphere was subdued after that. Neville was looking down at his plate, probably thinking about his parents. Everyone else was trying to make light conversation and not draw any more attention to his reaction, with one exception.

Harry noticed that Luna was staring at Neville. This wasn’t one of her usual vacant stares. In fact, she was looking at him quite intently. She seemed to be frowning, which was almost impossible for her. He ate mechanically, watching this unusually focused Luna. Ginny nudged him under the table and he nodded fractionally to indicate he’d noticed. Hermione was still explaining to Ron how Muggle athletes used product endorsements.

Harry pondered Luna’s latest behaviour as they left for their morning classes. He was about to tap her on the shoulder and just ask her, an approach which worked about a third of the time, when she murmured something. She was probably just talking to herself, and if Harry had been any farther away he would undoubtedly have missed her whispering, "At least I won’t have to change my initials."

Harry tripped on the stairs and almost crashed into her.

He cleared his throat as he recovered. He smiled as Ginny dragged a very distracted Luna off to their morning class. Well, he mused, Neville might not have slain a dragon, but he did pound the crap out of a Draco.