The main room at the Three Broomsticks was nearly deserted when Neville walked in. He’d left Hogwarts with the first wave of eager third-years, but most of them were visiting shops like Zonko’s or Honeydukes, depending on their tastes. Madam Rosmerta would be extremely busy soon, but not yet.

"Neville," the proprietor said with a warm smile that made the boy blush a little, "your room is the first one on the left after you go up the stairs. Your guest already arrived, so I left a tray there."

Neville nodded his thanks, though a grimace did seem to cross his face. It was only good tactics for his grandmother to arrive early to make it as if he was calling on her. It negated some of the advantages of meeting in a neutral location.

But the stocky boy’s steps did not falter as he climbed the stairs and opened the door. That was probably wise, as any delay would likely only give him time to get nervous again. "Good morning, Gran," he said in a voice devoid of warmth, then turned and closed the door. Pulling out his wand, he cast a privacy charm that Hermione had drilled him on in the Gryffindor common room the previous evening. With that completed, he sat down at the table opposite his guardian, whose lips were drawn into a thin line.

"I don’t see why you are so concerned about privacy at this point, Neville," she said sharply, "as you saw fit to message me during a full meeting of the Horticultural Society."

"Gran, your Howler went off in front of my entire school," Neville replied with some heat, then stopped, visibly gathering himself. "And you managed to embarrass more than one person as well. As you are my legal guardian, humiliating me is well within your rights, but that stops when you drag my friends into it."

Augusta Longbottom’s eyes flashed angrily, but Neville didn’t flinch. "Am I really, Neville? You seem willing to openly flaunt my authority at every opportunity. What happened to the boy, the last of my blood, that I sent to Hogwarts?"

"He grew up, Grandmother," Neville said quietly. "He made friends, people that valued him because they like him… and not just as a link to Frank Longbottom."

Augusta blinked at the mention of Neville’s father, her son.

"Do you have any idea how much I hated myself?" Neville asked her, looking up. "I was the last of the Longbottoms, but I seemed to be little better than a Squib. My own family was so ashamed of me, so frightened that I’d embarrass them by not being magical, that they were willing to kill me to make sure it didn’t happen."

Augusta’s face paled. "What on earth are you-"

"Great-uncle Algie," Neville said. "Your brother. He’s not quite all there, is he?" he asked slowly. "That should have been apparent when he pushed me off the Blackpool pier, trying to get me to show some magic. Gran, I almost drowned, yet you still had no trouble with him coming over to visit. He was hanging me out a third-story window by my ankles — and dropped me! If I hadn’t started bouncing I could have died, suffered brain damage, or been paralyzed for life. But you were all happy he’d done it, because I’d finally proven that I had some magic."

Augusta looked vaguely ill. "I was crying out of relief," she said angrily.

"Yes," Neville agreed, "but it was relief that I wasn’t a Squib, not that I wasn’t hurt, wasn’t it? Better dead than an embarrassment, right? No smirch on the family honour, at least."

Augusta’s eyes were flashing now. "You have no right-"

"You are the one who has no right," Neville said, cutting her off. The shock on her face only underlined how rarely this had ever occurred. "It took making friends here, real friends, to realize what I’ve been missing. Do you know what Harry said to me, once, our first year? He said he was glad I was his friend and that it was good to have a Longbottom backing him up. That’s the first time I ever felt proud of my name, and it was because of someone outside my family." Neville swallowed, looking down at his clasped hands. "If you try to make me choose between my friends and my family, you won’t like what happens."

Augusta Longbottom went perfectly still. "You should be very careful making threats, Neville," she said after a long moment.

"It’s not a threat, Grandmother," he said in a formal tone. An astute observer would note how Augusta Longbottom blinked every time her grandson addressed her by the more formal title instead of ‘Gran’. "With all the attention raised after Harry’s removal from the Dursleys, I could submit Pensieve memories of all the times Uncle Algie and the others ‘tested’ me for magic. I like Trevor, but buying me a toad won’t make up for all of that, especially as far as the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is concerned. I know the family name still carries a lot of weight within the Ministry, but the press would still have a field day. Is controlling my life worth that much to you?"

"That’s not the point of this!" Augusta snapped. "That girl is completely unsuitable for you!"

"So now we come to the root of the problem," Neville said with a sigh. "You’ve never come out and just said what you have against Luna. Is her family not rich enough? Is her blood not pure enough?" The last question was asked with a slight sneer on Neville’s face, one that looked scarily out of place.

"It’s nothing like that at all," Augusta said quickly. "It’s her… behaviour. It’s completely disgraceful. Her whole family… and that so-called newspaper of theirs — it’s a load of rubbish." Evidently the accusation of blood prejudice was somewhat unnerving, as Augusta Longbottom seemed off-balance at the moment. "And the first time I saw her, she was practically hanging off of you," she continued. "I will not see my heir consorting with such a… shameless…"

"Grandmother," Neville said with a glare, "Luna is a nice girl. She hasn’t had a lot of friends, and she’s been very lonely since her mother died. We have a lot in common. She doesn’t always act like other people, but… sometimes I find it embarrassing, and sometimes I find it refreshing." He shook his head. "Do you know when she first decided she really liked me? In one breath, Bellatrix’s spoiled brat of a nephew insulted both Luna and my parents… so I beat him within an inch of his life in front of the entire school."

Augusta’s eyes widened for a moment. "And where were your ‘friends’ when this was happening?" she asked in an arch tone.

"Keeping the other Slytherins from interfering," Neville explained with a Gallic shrug. "Luna later told me it was the first time someone had stood up for her like that, aside from her father. Such a simple thing, but… I’m not going to throw her away to make you happy. She pushes me to break out of my shell sometimes, and I need that. Even when she teases me, she’s takes great pains to make sure it isn’t hurtful. Not everyone goes to such lengths. At the same time, I think I’m like her anchor."

Augusta stared at him for a long time. "You’ve changed a lot, Neville."

"I know," he said. "Talking to my friends has helped me work out a lot of this. On my own, I’m almost as bad as Ron. On the other hand, Hermione’s really brilliant at this sort of thing, and Harry isn’t far behind. He’s good at seeing why people do things, though he’s been really puzzled by you."

"I’m not sure I understand your meaning, Neville," Augusta said crisply, visibly gathering her composure.

"Well, I mean your current actions," he said uneasily, "we only had my observations to work with, and most explanations didn’t seem to fit."

"Explanations?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Neville shrugged again, and began counting off on his fingers. "Blackmail, family vendetta, a persistent Nargle infestation — that was Luna’s favourite, by-the-way, obscure inheritance laws, a secret betrothal contract — that one really had me sweating, you replaced with a Polyjuiced impostor, the Imperius Curse, you being a secret supporter of Voldemort, Luna being your secret love-child with Luna’s father-"

"Neville Tiberius Longbottom!" Augusta shrieked at the top of her lungs.

"It was just a theory," Neville protested mildly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"You…" Augusta began, but her voice trailed off. "You’re as bad as your father," she added with a sigh.

They both sat there quietly for several moments.

"Gran?" Neville asked. When she looked up, he continued. "You didn’t approve of Mum at first, either, did you?"

She just shook her head, but her eyes were troubled.

"Don’t worry," Neville said wearily. "We’re both young and we know it. By the time we finish Hogwarts, we might both be entirely different people. So… we’re just seeing what happens. We all have more important things to deal with, anyway."

Augusta shook her head. "I’m always going to worry about you, Neville," she said softly.

Neville pushed back his chair and stood up, frowning. He marched around the table and quite deliberately wrapped his arms around his grandmother’s shoulders, looking somewhat surprised to find that they were no wider than his own. Neither of them seemed to notice as the door quietly opened and closed behind them.

Out in the hallway, Harry carefully removed his Invisibility Cloak and folded it up before slipping it into his bag. He whistled a jaunty tune as he walked down the stairs.

OoOoO

Following the normal schedule, the first Quidditch match of the season pitted Gryffindor against their arch-rivals, the Slytherins. The week after the first Hogsmeade weekend had Oliver in a frenzy as the match approached. Three straight Quidditch Cups would be quite the feat if they could manage it. Professional teams would be scouting Oliver for his coaching skills in addition to his Keeping. Harry vaguely remembered hearing about the other Oliver giving up his career to train as an Auror when the fighting broke out again, so he wanted to help his friend as much as he could.

Of course, it was vaguely disturbing that he couldn’t exactly recall when Oliver had given up his position with Puddlemere United. Perhaps it had only been mentioned to him in passing after the fact.

In any event, Harry didn’t complain as the constant practices ate into his study time. After all, he’d done most of it before, except for Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Of course those classes weren’t all that easy, so he still had to push himself a bit to keep up. But he was saved from having to have a word with Oliver when Hermione Granger took the older boy to task, lecturing him on behalf of everyone in her study group.

It wasn’t going that badly, right up until Oliver made an unfortunate comment regarding priorities. At that point, Hermione began speaking even faster as she began tearing strips out of the seventh-year’s hide. Oliver was starting to resemble a trapped animal as the incensed girl slowly backed him into a corner. His mouth dropped open in abject horror when Hermione threatened to go to Professor McGonagall.

Oliver looked distinctly relieved when Harry and a red-faced Ron each took one of Hermione’s elbows and steered her away from the traumatized Quidditch Captain. "I think you’ve made your point," Harry said in a coaxing tone. "Oliver has seen the light. Haven’t you, Oliver? No more four-hour practices on weeknights, right?"

Oliver quickly nodded, edging toward the stairs to the boys’ dormitories.

"I should think not!" Hermione exclaimed. "It’s not fair to all of you, making you work so long. Not everyone can afford to lose that much revision time."

Harry gave Hermione’s elbow a sharp pinch as Ron stiffened, looking annoyed.

"I mean, it’s all well and good for Oliver to spend all his time on Quidditch," Hermione added quickly, "if it’s what he plans to do after leaving school. But if he makes all his players do so, including the reserve members, he could compromise their educations." Harry had to give her points for a quick recovery as Ron’s facial muscles visibly relaxed.

Of course, Ron also needed to stop being such an oversensitive prat at times. He wasn’t as bad as that other Harry had remembered, but he still found it annoying when it cropped up. How long had Ron and Hermione been together before he outgrew that? Harry frowned as they led Hermione back to the table where Neville, Luna, and Ginny were already hard at work.

OoOoO

Oddly enough, Harry had almost forgotten about Professor Lupin’s medical condition until he walked into Defence and found Professor Dumbledore substituting. After assuring them that Professor Lupin was fine and would be returning soon, he had them all lined up ‘to do something fun’.

‘Something fun’ turned out to be shooting sparks at moving targets. It was actually a precursor of an Auror training exercise Harry had learned about and incorporated into their morning drills. Of course, they did it with real spells, which took a bit more out of you — but that was the point.

Harry was proud to note that everyone’s Occlumency barriers were hard and tight. He was tempted, now that they had the leisure, to learn the more passive, deceptive varieties. But with Snape and who knew what else running around with knowledge that they could all block, any enemy trying to access their memories wouldn’t be fooled for an instant.

No, his friends weren’t giving away any of their thoughts, but their skills on the other hand… it was clear from the beginning of the exercise that their wand work was noticeably better than their classmates. Harry tried to lie back a little, but he couldn’t find a means of cautioning his friends without the Headmaster picking up on it.

Of course, they soon realized that they were making a bit too good of a showing, but not until the other students had noticed it as well. Not a single conjured bubble was making it past the students known as "Granger’s Study Group" or "The Gryffindor Six", depending on who you asked.

Harry felt Dumbledore’s eyes on him as a wave of the Headmaster’s wand increased the volume of targets. At this point, any efforts at concealment would be wasted, if not bring on more suspicion, so Harry relaxed and concentrated on the targets, exploding three at once.

When the class was dismissed, Dumbledore gave them all full marks, but asked Harry to stay behind.

"A very impressive showing today, Harry," the Headmaster observed.

Harry nodded, deciding to brazen it out. "It’s a lot like something we do for practice sometimes. I read about it in an Auror training manual."

"You and your friends certainly seem to put a lot of effort into that," the old man ventured.

Harry shrugged. "It helps in our classes sometimes, like today, and we know, generally, what’s coming, so we have to be prepared, right?"

Dumbledore frowned. "I’d rather not see you or them sacrifice your childhood for this."

"I think childhood is overrated in some ways," Harry replied coolly. "It only lasts a few years anyway. I’d like to think we’re getting ready for the future — hopefully, the other ninety percent of our lives."

Dumbledore stared at Harry for a long moment before nodding. "Perhaps that is for the best," he allowed dubiously. "But that is a very pragmatic attitude, especially for someone so young."

Harry frowned thoughtfully as he shouldered his bag. "Maybe if my mum and dad had trained like this when they were my age…" He let his voice trail off. "They probably wouldn’t have beaten Voldemort, but maybe they could have escaped. Maybe they’d still be here."

The Headmaster was silent as Harry left the room.

OoOoO

The weather on the day of their match with Slytherin was just as nasty and wet as Harry remembered. He glared out at the sheets of rain from the changing room, savouring his last dry moments for the next few hours. He gripped his forearms, surreptitiously making sure his wand was in place, as Oliver led them out onto the pitch. He glanced toward the stands, already having placed an Impervius charm on his glasses. In a rare moment of sanity, Oliver said there was no use in the reserve squad getting soaked to the bone, so his friends were all huddled together at the front of the Gryffindor section, under an odd collection of umbrellas. He didn’t want to know where Luna had acquired the fluorescent pink and green parasol advertising some place called "Margaretville."

At Madam Hooch’s whistle, they took to the air, though for a second Harry wasn’t sure he’d be able. Finally, the mud surrendered his boots with an awful squelching sound and he lurched into the air. Harry could barely see his Slytherin counterpart, let alone the Snitch, but Oliver let him know that Theodore Nott had taken Draco’s position, and cautioned him that Draco’s former classmate had out-flown several older students to gain that position. Harry had no idea how well Nott could fly, so he was resolved not to underestimate the Slytherin Seeker.

Of course, flying around in the Scottish equivalent of a typhoon meant that anyone catching the Snitch would be more due to luck than anything else. That’s why Harry hated flying in such foul weather — it took all the skill out of Seeking. Not to mention being soaked to the skin and feeling like his hands were frozen onto his broom…

Harry quickly lost track of the game, concentrating more on fighting for control of his broom and avoiding collisions. Madam Hooch had to blow her whistle three times before everyone heard it and descended to the pitch. Harry and his team-mates followed a wildly gesticulating Oliver to a huge umbrella erected at the edge of the pitch near the Gryffindor stands. "I called for time," the captain explained.

Ignoring the rain, the reserves jumped down and joined their team-mates. Though the show of solidarity was nice, Harry thought they’d have been smarter to stay dry. He was even more surprised to see Hermione follow them, juggling a parcel and followed by a smaller figure in a voluminous cloak. When they got closer, Harry saw that they, along with the reserves, were carrying an assortment of charmed carafes and Muggle thermoses filled with piping hot tea.

Oliver stared at the younger witches for a moment, and then gulped down the warming drink. "This was bloody brilliant!" he said, colour returning to his face.

"Dobby helped keep them hot," Hermione said modestly.

The cloaked figure jumped, the hood falling back slightly to reveal the house-elf’s pointed nose and bulging eyes. "D-Dobby is glad to be helping," the little manikin stammered.

"Well, we definitely appreciate it," Harry said, feeling a little warm for the first time since he’d entered the pitch. "What’s the score?" he asked quickly as Dobby twitched again. He really didn’t want him to make a scene right now. All the same, he was glad he’d introduced Hermione to his ‘new’ friend. She’d been very sympathetic when he told her Dobby used to work for the Malfoys, and her natural curiosity took it from there. Of course, Dobby was ecstatic about working at Hogwarts, and elaborated on how much nicer it was. With any luck, there would be no repeat of S.P.E.W….

"We’re up by thirty," Oliver replied, jerking Harry back to the here and now, "but if we don’t get the Snitch soon, we’ll be here all night or until the storm clears off."

"Over my dead body," Harry spat. "It’s freezing out here. Don’t they ever call a game on account of weather?"

Oliver shrugged, shaking his head. "It’s tradition," he said.

"It’s bloody ridiculous," Hermione said, earning herself a nudge from Ron. "What if you get struck by lightning?"

"Hope the broom doesn’t explode between your legs?" Ron answered with a grin.

Hermione made an exasperated sound and stalked back to the stands, Dobby trailing behind her.

"You lot owe me one," Ron said to Oliver. "She’s going to spend the rest of the match fussing at me now, instead of thinking of sharp things to say to you."

"We are truly in your debt, little brother," George agreed with a smile.

"You can always snog her to shut her up," Fred quipped.

Ron paled, then turned and stomped away. Ginny, who’d been collecting empty tea containers from Katie, Alicia, and Angelina, gave Fred a glare. "That was rude," she snapped.

Harry quietly gulped down the last of his tea, savouring the warmth, before handing it to a silent Neville. Harry noticed that Neville and Luna both made a point of detouring widely around the brewing Weasley confrontation.

"… could have stayed up in the stands, warm and dry, but instead he comes down to deliver some hot tea, and then you go and embarrass him," Ginny concluded, her face starting to match her hair.

"She’s got a point there," George said quietly.

Fred turned to his brother, looking shocked and betrayed.

"We’ll lay off Ron - with respect to Hermione," George said to Ginny as Madam Hooch blew her whistle again, signalling the time out was over. He handed her his thermos along with an unresisting Fred’s. Ginny blinked, clearly shocked to see the twins break ranks, and made her way back to the stands.

"I can’t believe you did that," Fred said in a horrified voice as they remounted their brooms.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"Well, it is getting a bit old, isn’t it?" George said in an even tone. "And if you did muck things up for them, we’d never hear the end of it — and I’d be caught up in whatever they did to you to get even. Besides, it’s more of a challenge to bait him in other ways, isn’t it?"

Harry suppressed a snicker as he stepped out into the freezing rain and took to the air again.

If anything, the rain was getting even worse now, and he could barely see one set of goals from the other. The gathering gloom also made colours fade, so it was harder and harder to tell team-mates from opponents. He was fairly certain that at least one of his Bludger near-misses was from the twins, and not Crabbe or Goyle.

Finally, there was a faint flicker of gold near the stands. Harry wasn’t sure if it was real or not, but this was the first trace of the Snitch he’d seen all day, so he wasn’t taking any chances. He hauled his Nimbus into a tight circle and shot toward the stands like an arrow. The roar of the crowd cut through the howling wind for the first time that day, indicating that they’d noticed his dive. Harry glanced back. A shadow that might have been Nott was chasing him, but it was too far back to have a chance now.

Suddenly the roar of the crowd, as well as the howling wind, fell silent. Harry hauled back on his broom, idling in little more than a hover, the Snitch forgotten as he scanned the pitch. A wedge of ragged, cloaked figures was pouring past the Gryffindor goals. Oliver lurched to the side, abandoning his hoops to get away from the scores of Dementors that had appeared on the pitch.

Harry couldn’t help but think the foul creatures were coming for him, personally. Below him, he could hear the shouts as the students panicked and began stampeding toward the exits from the stands. It was only a matter of time before someone went down in the crowd and was trampled…

He ripped the wand from his sleeve and concentrated on his memories of his latest trip to the Chamber of Secrets as he called out, "Expecto Patronum", in a loud, ringing voice. He remembered how it felt when he realized that they accepted him, they weren’t mad, they were still his friends. Even Ginny…

The wand bucked in Harry’s hands and his eyes were dazzled as a globe of pure white light erupted from the end of his wand. Trailing curved streamers of energy, the spinning sphere shot toward the ground in front of the advancing Dementors. When it struck the ground, there was another flash of white light. When it cleared, a massive white stag stood there, over twenty feet at the shoulder. It pawed at the ground with one massive hoof, lowered an enormous rack of antlers, and charged toward the mass of approaching Dementors.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a silver bird streak toward the Dementors from the staff section. The Dementors recoiled from the magical creations like waves breaking upon Gibraltar. The shouting from below had lessened in volume, even as the artificial silence seemed to disperse, but Harry couldn’t spare much of his attention. His Patronus, a stag reminiscent of his father, was a good bit larger than he remembered, but he supposed that only made sense if his magic was stronger. The Dementors backed away from it, but it still managed to catch a couple with its sharp horns and send them flying.

At some unspoken signal, the Dementors turned as one and fled the pitch. Harry maintained his concentration on his Patronus, not trusting the foul creatures to know when they were beaten. He drifted forward and down, keeping an eye out for any stragglers trying to get around the glowing stag.

There was a loud crack and Harry’s broomstick jerked hard underneath him as he felt several sharp jabs at the back of his neck. There was a brief sensation of falling and then darkness.

OoOoO

Melissa Bulstrode took her prefect duties rather seriously, unlike certain prats she could name. Her size and imposing demeanour made this a good bit easier than it could have been.

But even she was hard put to quell the minor riot that erupted around her when the Dementors appeared. She’d already had to grab one of the first-years that stumbled, right as she was about to get thoroughly trod into the wet floor of the stands. She didn’t have time to do more than hang the crying girl from a torch sconce by the back of her robes, but at least that would keep her out of the melee.

She didn’t know what Potter had done to make those nasty bastards back off, but it had looked impressive as hell. Moreover, it made the hellish aura of the Dementors fade, which made her job much easier. She’d just about got the first- and second-years sorted out when a bolt of reddish light struck the back of Potter’s broom. The twigs exploded in a ball of flaming splinters and Potter, along with his wrecked broom, fell at least twenty feet onto the pitch with a loud squelch of mud. He didn’t move.

The stag faded from sight and the Dementors began to advance again, at least until that silvery bird cut in front of them. Even that temporary setback had set off the students again, but Melissa wasn’t concerned with that at the moment.

The curse had come from her section of the stands.

She bulled her way through the crowd, angling for where she thought the caster had to have been located. But when she made it to the approximate area, all she saw were milling students, most of them third-years. None of them had a wand out. None of them looked suspicious as they all struggled toward the stairs down, trying not to slip in the collected water.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Melissa turned and looked back. Whoever attacked Potter wasn’t likely to give themselves away now. They’d got away clean. She shouted for the students to form an orderly queue for the exit and stop bloody shoving. Spotting a tangle where it looked like someone had gone down, she began pushing toward it, finding that struggling against the flow of people was a bit harder.

She stumbled when she felt a sharp pain in her side. Reaching around, she found a rent in her sodden robes, warm with a trickle of blood. She struggled to keep her footing, wondering if she’d got caught on something, when her legs cramped up and she tumbled to the wet floor. Fire seemed to fill her stomach and lungs, making breathing difficult as heedless feet began to stumble over her. She barely noticed when someone stepped on her clawed hand, breaking two fingers. The light dimmed as it grew increasingly harder to breathe.

OoOoO

Harry shifted uncomfortably as he regained awareness of his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was being warm and dry — conditions he wasn’t sure he would ever feel again. The next was that his whole body ached in general and the back of his head and neck had something stuck to them. He opened his eyes, blinking at the well-lit hospital wing.

"Bloody hell," was what he tried to say. What came out was more of an incoherent mumble, not surprising given the manner in which his dry mouth and lips seemed to all be stuck together.

Cool fingers touched his temples and he blinked again as his glasses were settled on his face. He looked up to see Ginny raise her face. "He’s awake, Madam Pomfrey," she said, looking over his shoulder.

"There we are, Mr. Potter," the school nurse said in her ‘professional’ voice. "I imagine you are a bit dehydrated," she continued as she leaned over him with a glass of ice water. Harry gratefully accepted the liquid, swallowing the lump in his throat until he could speak.

"What happened?" he asked, gingerly sitting up. He was sore, but everything seemed to be working and neither of his attendants objected to him shifting about.

"Some coward hexed your broom when you were driving off the Dementors," Ginny said with a scowl.

Harry blinked. He didn’t think his Patronus would work if he was unconscious. "What happened after that?" he asked quickly.

"The Headmaster was able to deal with them," Madam Pomfrey said in a reassuring tone. "You struck the ground with some force, Mr. Potter, but fortunately, the mud was soft enough that you avoided more serious injuries."

"I see," Harry said, relieved. It made sense, given that Dumbledore had been able to handle them before, but keeping a large mass of them contained and moving with only one Patronus was a tricky business at best. "How is my broom?" he asked, hoping for good news.

The sad frown on Ginny’s face as she shook her head was all the answer he needed.

"The dressings on the back of your neck and scalp are for where we had to extract a large number of splinters," Madam Pomfrey informed him. "But you should count yourself lucky that the spell struck your broom, and not your back."

Harry made a face. "I suppose I should. Do they have any idea who did it?"

Ginny shook her head. "Do you remember which section you were in front of when it happened?"

Harry frowned, concentrating as he tried to remember the seating lay-outs and how he was facing the Dementors. "Slytherins?" he finally asked.

Ginny gave him an angry nod. "No one saw anything," she spat.

There was a knock at the door to the wing and Madam Pomfrey gave Harry and Ginny a sharp look as she pulled the partitions around his bed. "I don’t want to move you just yet, Mr. Potter, but I need both of you to be very quiet while I deal with this. Do not make a sound."

Harry gave Ginny a questioning glance, but the red-headed girl just bit her lip and nodded to Madam Pomfrey.

The nurse disappeared and there was a sound of a door opening. "Mr. Bulstrode, Headmaster."

"I’ve come for my daughter," rang a deep, rough voice.

"Yes, sir. Come this way. We are all saddened by her loss."

"Not likely," the voice said bitterly. "Spare me your platitudes."

"On the contrary, Mr. Bulstrode, Melissa was well-liked by her professors and had a surprising number of friends outside her house," said a voice that could only belong to Albus Dumbledore.

Harry felt like he’d just been nailed in the stomach with a Bludger.

"And damn few within her house," the man said with a sigh. "She was such a strong girl growing up. Didn’t take shite from anyone. Hard to imagine her dead, trampled by panicked classmates."

Harry looked over at Ginny, who was slowly nodding confirmation.

"That’s not precisely true," Madam Pomfrey said. "When I performed my examination, I found a small incision in her lower back. There were traces of a foreign substance that I sent off to St. Mungo’s to be identified. I expect the results back in a day or so."

"I see." There was a long pause. "That won’t be necessary," the man said.

"But your daughter might have-" Madam Pomfrey began.

"She knew the risks," the man said coldly. "I warned her more than once…" he continued in a quieter tone, "and… I have another daughter here."

The hospital wing was dead silent for a moment. Harry realized Ginny was holding his hand when the pressure made his fingers begin to go numb.

"Gorry!" the man’s voice snapped, making Harry twitch. There was a muted pop that Harry recognized as the house-elf equivalent of apparition. "Take Melissa home," the man said quietly.

"Yes, Master Bulstrode," a quiet voice lisped, followed by a loud sniff. "Gorry is very sorry about Mistress Melissa. Gorry will take good care of-"

"Yes, Gorry," the gruff voice interrupted, not unkindly. "I’ll be along shortly."

There was a louder pop this time.

"You can use the Floo in my office, Mr. Bulstrode. There are a few things we need to discuss," Dumbledore said.

"Very well," the man’s voice replied, but it seemed less than interested.

After they heard the door shut, Madam Pomfrey moved the partition aside.

"What you may or may not have heard is not for public knowledge," she said quietly. "I don’t imagine the Headmaster would appreciate me allowing you to overhear that conversation, but since this may very well be tied into the attack on you, I am bending the rules."

Harry frowned thoughtfully. Melissa’s probable cause of death would normally be told to just her parents, barring a criminal investigation… and it didn’t seem like one of those would be happening any time soon. He looked up at the nurse. "Why?" he asked.

"Because I find two students being attacked minutes apart to be a very large coincidence, so her death is no doubt related to the attack on you. And I want you to keep your head down this year, Mr. Potter! I do not want a repetition of last year!" Madam Pomfrey said, her voice growing rather fierce at the end.

"I will!" Harry assured her as Ginny simultaneously said, "He will!"

They looked at each other as Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes.

OoOoO

Of course, Arthur and Molly were already in the castle. Ginny said they’d visited the hospital wing earlier until Madam Pomfrey assured them that Harry was resting comfortably. At that point, they’d agreed to speak with Professor McGonagall in her quarters while the Headmaster contacted Melissa’s family. Ginny was allowed to stay and keep an eye on Harry, as long as she promised to bring word to her parents when Harry regained consciousness again.

Harry lay back on the bed after she left. He was still a bit numb. As inured as his future counterpart had become to people dying, he himself was at a loss. From her father’s reaction, Harry had little doubt what St. Mungo’s would report. She’d been murdered, and he had a pretty good idea why.

Harry himself had kept quiet her involvement in the foiled attack at the end of last term. He knew his friends hadn’t talked either. Melissa had, however, been involved in some rather serious public altercations with the other prefect before he was removed. Maybe Professor Sinistra or Professor Slughorn knew more about that.

But no matter the exact reason she was killed, Harry couldn’t deny one simple fact. No one had died during that Dementor attack in the original timeline. That meant that Melissa’s death was at least partially caused by the changes he had made. Just because he couldn’t see an obvious connection didn’t make it any less true. And that thought was making him increasingly uncomfortable as he waited for his guardians to arrive.

So Harry was well and truly in a state by the time he heard the doors to the hospital wing re-open. Madam Pomfrey led his guardians and Head of House back, only to find Harry already sitting up on his bed and searching the nightstand for his wand.

"Under the pillow, Harry," Ginny said quietly. He nodded to her as he pulled out his wand.

"Mr. Potter!" Madam Pomfrey objected. "You need to rest. You had a nasty fall and were unconscious a long time."

Harry struggled to master his frustrated rage. "I will. I’m also acting on the advice you gave me earlier, which I do appreciate." He turned to Professor McGonagall. "If the Headmaster is free, I think we need to speak to him about what happened today."

OoOoO

Melissa’s father evidently hadn’t stayed very long, because the gargoyle swung open for them without hesitation. Harry followed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley up the stairs. Professor McGonagall brought up the rear. Ginny had been sent back to Gryffindor Tower. She looked a bit rebellious at being dismissed until Molly reminded her that their friends might want to know that Harry was awake now.

The Headmaster wordlessly waved them to comfortable chairs that appeared in front of his desk. Harry was slightly surprised to see an exhausted-looking Professor Lupin already there. There’d been a full moon the previous night. Harry wondered if Dumbledore had already been quizzing the Defence Professor about the Patronus. The old man also didn’t offer anyone a lemon sherbet this time, either.

"Harry," Dumbledore began, "I’m glad to see you looking better."

Harry nodded politely.

"Professor," Molly began, visibly gathering herself, "How were those… things… allowed onto school grounds? Especially during a sporting match?"

"That is a very good question," Albus agreed. "One that I have asked Minister Fudge several times thus far today. Unfortunately, the answers have been less than forthcoming."

Remus frowned and spoke up. "The handlers from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement are claiming that the Dementors were pursuing a suspicious character onto the grounds, one that seemed to match the fugitive they’ve been seeking."

"What happened to this suspicious character?" Professor McGonagall asked sceptically. "Did they find any traces of him?"

"Not as yet," Dumbledore replied, looking somewhat pensive.

"I doubt there ever was," Harry added, garnering a few glances as he finally spoke up. "Would they have all arrived in a mass like that if someone had simply slipped through their cordon?"

"That’s somewhat doubtful," Remus agreed.

"You must do something about them!" Molly Weasley insisted, frowning. "It’s simply not safe to have those things near a school."

Dumbledore sighed. "If it were only that simple," he said. "The Ministry insists on their being deployed to protect the public from Sirius Black. Surprisingly, the Board of Governors has backed me on forbidding them from entering school grounds, but I’m afraid my authority extends no further than that."

Arthur let out a sigh. "And if their handlers claim that they are in pursuit of a dangerous known fugitive, even that authority is voided," he said disgustedly.

Professor McGonagall looked incensed, but Dumbledore only nodded. "Worse, I believe the Ministry is going to be very interested in how young Harry here was able to produce such a strong Patronus."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Remus actually beat him to it. "Headmaster, I taught Harry and his friends that spell weeks ago. He has a… very strong reaction to the presence of Dementors. I discovered this on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of the term."

Harry felt several sets of eyes turn toward him. The Weasleys looked especially concerned, with good reason, given what they knew of his memories. "I, er, hear my mum and dad… shouting and screaming on the night they were murdered," he said quietly, looking down.

He could have sworn he heard a choked noise come from McGonagall’s direction. Of course, it wasn’t too surprising — she’d known both his mother and his father as students. He looked up again, right into Dumbledore’s eyes. "I’ve put quite a bit of practice into that spell," he said evenly. "We’ve worked on it almost every day so far this term."

"I see," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair, his eyes twinkling. "That’s still quite an impressive achievement, Harry, mastering a NEWT-level defensive charm. Not to mention producing such a… substantial Patronus."

"Harry’s achievements aside," Arthur spoke up, "it shouldn’t be required for him to master such magics in order to attend school functions unmolested."

"Arthur’s right," Molly added. "It’s ridiculous the way he’s been attacked! And what will that poor girl’s parents say?"

"I’ve already spoken to Mr. Bulstrode," Dumbledore said in a weary tone. "He has… declined to pursue any sort of investigation." The old man let out a troubled sigh. Harry couldn’t recall seeing him look quite so old since he’d come back in time. "He appears to be afraid of reprisals, especially if they might be aimed at his remaining child."

"Remember that source I had within Slytherin?" Harry asked, his voice low and bitter, "The one I was afraid would be harmed if it was known she’d warned me? It was Melissa Bulstrode who sent me that note." He looked up at the Headmaster. "Do you still think my concerns were groundless?"

"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall snapped as Molly simultaneously gasped, "Harry!"

Harry bit down on his next words. The old man’s face had gone even paler, and a nasty corner of his soul actually enjoyed that. Maybe he’d take this a bit more seriously now. But for the most part, Harry felt ashamed of himself. If he’d discouraged Melissa, maybe she’d still be alive. Trying to shove his guilt off on Dumbledore was the act of a coward, even if events had proven him right to some extent.

"Sorry, Professor," Harry said, looking down. "I’m just frustrated by all of this. Ginny says you have no idea who attacked me or Melissa."

"No, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said in a clipped voice. Harry winced. He wasn’t going to hear the last about his outburst for a long time. Her voice warmed a bit when she turned to the Weasleys. "We’ve checked every student’s wand, and searched the Slytherin dormitories. No wands showed signs of a curse capable of destroying a broom, and there were no knives found with any traces of blood or other substances."

Harry’s guardians didn’t look very reassured. He felt the same way.

"So," Harry said. His head of house gave him a frosty look, but he ignored it. Angry with him or not, he needed to do something about this, or staying at Hogwarts was going to become untenable. "We have at least one murderer inside the school, and a horde of monsters outside the school that seem to want to remove my soul. If we can’t address one thing, can we at least do something about the other?" he asked.

Dumbledore’s eyes bored into Harry’s. "You seem convinced that the Dementors were seeking you out," he observed.

Harry glanced over at the Weasleys. Molly looked uncomfortable, but that might have been left over from his harsh words earlier. Arthur met his eyes and nodded. "I ran into a small pack of Dementors outside Ottery St. Catchpole this summer. They chased me all the way back to The Burrow. If the wards hadn’t stopped them…"

Dumbledore’s eyes widened behind his spectacles. Harry could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen the man surprised. This was one for the list. "How did I fail to hear about this…?" he asked.

"As far as we know," Arthur explained, "they had to have been sent by someone at the Ministry. They’d stayed hidden and not attacked any of the villagers, so this wasn’t a wild colony. We’ve seen strangers in the village since Harry’s godfather escaped, so it seemed likely that they’d been placed there to intercept him if he tried to make contact with us. But we have no proof of this."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Arthur, I’m sure Amelia Bones would at least open an investigation as to how a pack of Dementors ended up so far from Azkaban. At the very least, there would be a chance that someone might fail to cover their tracks."

Arthur’s face reddened. "Well, as to that, we didn’t exactly have any proof to back up our allegations."

"They tried to chase me through the wards," Harry clarified, "that was the last mistake they ever made."

"Do you mean to tell me that your household wards destroyed a group of Dementors?" McGonagall asked in a shocked voice.

Arthur nodded. "My eldest boy, Bill, works for Gringotts. He says the goblins have really come up with some impressive advances over the last decade."

Harry perked up suddenly, as though he’d been struck by an idea. "I’m sure if we ask, we can get the formula for the Dementor-repelling enchantments." He looked over at Dumbledore. "If you still have authority over the Hogwarts’ wards, no one can complain if you upgrade them. Especially if it’s to keep the students safer and prevent any more… accidents, like today?"

The old man didn’t quite smile, but his eyes had a definite twinkle. "I wasn’t aware that such advances were available," he said affably, "but if we can obtain the formulae, I believe the Hogwarts’ staff will be more than up to the task of incorporating it into the existing wards."

Harry nodded slowly. "I think Hermione may have it in her notes, but I’d better owl Goldfarb. As it’s directly related to protecting the trustee, he can probably transfer funds to cover licensing the ward design for Hogwarts."

"But if your friend already has the formulae, can’t we just use that and get it over with sooner?" Mrs. Weasley asked, frowning. Harry realized she’d just had a very direct demonstration on how Hogwarts could, in fact, be less secure than The Burrow. That couldn’t have been pleasant for her.

"We could," Harry agreed, "but I’d rather be fair to the goblins. Goldfarb has been very scrupulous in his dealings with me, and I’d hate for Bill to get into trouble if his employers thought he had a hand in this. I trust Goldfarb not to cheat me."

"Trust is a rare commodity in dealings between Wizards and goblins, Harry," Dumbledore warned, though he seemed to be smiling a bit under his beard.

"I don’t see why," Harry replied with a slight chill to his voice. "He’s never been less than fair with me. That puts him ahead of the Ministry and other parties in my book."

OoOoO

Things were starting to return to normal on Sunday, though many students wore black armbands bordered with white trim. Harry and his friends wore them as well, and more and more of Gryffindor followed suit throughout the day. A few students looked questioningly at Harry, seeming to wonder why he was mourning the death of a Slytherin, but none had the temerity to openly ask him why.

Hedwig returned around lunchtime bearing Goldfarb’s reply. Harry began to read the letter as he ate, but his chewing grew slower and slower as he digested the contents. Finally, he put down his fork and pushed away from the table. Fortunately, Professor McGonagall was still eating at the head table, so he quickly made his way there.

"Mr. Potter?" she inquired after swallowing.

"I received a reply from Gringotts," he said quietly. "They are happy to provide what we asked for, pro bono, but they would like a small favour in return…"

OoOoO

Before the evening meal, Professor Dumbledore led the other professors in a quiet memorial service for Melissa Bulstrode. By this point, almost everyone in the Great Hall were wearing armbands, though some seemed less than sincere to Harry. He was, however, proud to note that Fred and George were unusually solemn, and hadn’t given Percy a word of backtalk as he lectured the Gryffindors in the common room on proper decorum for this evening.

Harry stood, along with the other students, as the Headmaster said a few words. He surreptitiously surveyed the Slytherin table for any… unusual… behaviour, but he knew it was a useless effort. If the professors hadn’t been able to winnow out the murderer, then he or she wasn’t going to slip up now. It also meant that whoever did it also had some form of Occlumency training as well. Percy had let slip that Dumbledore had supervised the questioning of the students in that section of the stands.

At least there was one face there that Harry knew wasn’t a false mask. Millicent Bulstrode stood with her hands clasped in front of her, tears streaming down her face. None of her housemates were reacting to this. Was it Slytherin manners to not acknowledge a breakdown in a companion’s demeanour? Or were they just a bunch of cold bastards? While anger was easier to deal with than guilt, now was not the time for it.

Harry mulled this over as Professor Slughorn finished the final eulogy and a much-subdued Great Hall sat down and began their evening meal.

OoOoO

The Astronomy tower wasn’t used for classes on the weekend, and on Saturday evenings it was a fairly popular place for couples in the upper forms to get a little privacy ‘to talk’ uninterrupted. But in the wee hours of Sunday night, or rather Monday morning, most students sought their beds, especially since there were classes in just a few hours. This meant that Millicent had the parapet all to herself. She’d been there a while, staring out over the forbidden forest, before she spoke.

"Come to finish what you started?" she asked in a ragged voice. She sounded raw from weeping, but her tone of voice was almost… disinterested.

"Not at all," Harry said as he doffed his Invisibility Cloak. He wondered if she’d heard him breathing.

"Oh, it’s you," she said flatly. "I suppose if anyone has a good alibi, it’s you, Potter."

Harry shrugged. "I guess."

"So what do you want?" Millicent asked. "Come to gloat? Happy that they’re going after someone besides you and your precious Gryffindors?"

"Do you know who did it?" he asked intently. Her father had been afraid of reprisals if the murder was investigated.

"If I did, I’d be doing something about it," she snarled. "And I wouldn’t be calling for professors or Aurors like some cowardly-"

"Give me solid proof," Harry cut in coldly, "and the Aurors will never find the body."

Millicent blinked. "You almost sounded serious. You, the hero of the Light, the Boy Who Lived? That’s a laugh."

"Look, Millicent," Harry said with some exasperation. "We aren’t friends, and we may never be. But your sister was my friend. She was funny, she let me off the hook for something stupid I did, and she helped me and my friends avoid a nasty situation."

Millicent’s eyes went wide. "End of last spring…" she gasped. "She’s why Pansy and the others failed?"

Harry nodded. "She sent me a note warning me what they were planning. When I said once that I owed her… she asked that any debts be transferred to you." He paused. "She said that, like her, your friends were just using you. An older prefect overheard them and tipped her off. She said that, at some point, you may need help and she might not be available. I… I think she just meant because she’s older and would have left school, but the same principle applies."

The stocky girl’s lower lip trembled, but her eyes grew flinty. "You could just be saying this because you want to use me against my housemates — just like you used M-Melissa," she accused.

Harry nodded. "I could be. Do you want a magically-binding oath that I’m telling the truth?"

Millicent started to speak, but then stopped. She shook her head. "Keep your wand in your pocket, Potter. Just leave me alone."

"I’ll go," Harry said. "But remember what I said. I liked your sister, and I owe the Bulstrodes a debt. If you ever need help, a favour, anything... just let me know."

Millicent looked up. "You really mean that, don’t you?"

Harry shrugged again. "I- I couldn’t help Melissa when she needed it. This is the best I can do."

Millicent sighed. "All right, I believe you. Just go, before someone sees us talking. And stay away — I have enough things to worry about now."

Harry gave a small nod that turned into a bow as he swung the Cloak back onto his shoulders. That hadn’t gone quite as he’d expected, but his heart was a little lighter as he descended the tower. He’d made the offer and Millicent knew she could call on him if she got into trouble. Hopefully, she’d be on her guard.