"Do you think Sirius will need another blanket out there?" Molly asked.

"I’m sure he’ll be fine," Arthur assured her. "Those warming charms were still going strong after dinner, and a stomach full of your chicken soup put him right to sleep."

"I just don’t feel right, having him stay out there in that shed," Molly fretted.

"Now dear, we all agreed that he needed to stay well away from the Floo in case someone comes to call. And with all the spells we’ve cast, the shed is almost as comfortable as our sitting room," Arthur reminded his wife.

"I know Arthur, I just don’t feel right about it," his wife muttered as she began brushing her hair.

Arthur Weasley sighed as he prepared for bed. If someone had told him a year ago that he’d soon be openly defying Albus Dumbledore, practicing obscure forms of magic, hiding the most wanted fugitive in the country, and taking in one of England’s most famous wizards as his ward, he’d have recommended a prolonged stay at St. Mungo’s.

It wasn’t that he’d suddenly decided to become some sort of middle-aged anarchist, either. He wearily rubbed at his slowly thinning thatch of red hair, wondering if it was worth it to walk back to the kitchen for a headache potion. Every decision he and Molly had made was reasonable and, more importantly, essential for them if they were to continue being the sort of people they wanted to be. They couldn’t learn about poor Harry’s situation and then stand back and do nothing. Not if they wanted their children to follow their example when they were older.

He smiled as he thought about his children. Their autumn term marks were even better than he’d hoped. Even Fred’s and George’s marks had picked up a bit, though he doubted they would ever take their education as seriously as their mother would wish.

But it was his youngest children who surprised him most these days, and that at a stage in his life where he’d thought he’d got this parenting thing down cold. He’d worried about Ron, just a bit. Arthur Weasley tried to be fair and even-handed with all of his children, but he could tell that his youngest son felt a bit put-upon. Ron seemed acutely aware of the accomplishments of his older brothers, and Arthur knew the boy was desperate to make his own mark.

The inevitable hand-me-downs that were part and parcel of being a member of a large family didn’t help at all. Arthur didn’t need Lucius Malfoy to remind him that, while important, his work at the Ministry didn’t pay well. To their credit, none of his children ever complained - but they knew. And starting at Hogwarts, where many of their classmates were not shy about flaunting their wealth, usually drove this point home.

His sons each seemed to deal with it in different ways. Percy responded by focusing on his studies to such an extent that he earned better marks than most Ravenclaws. Fred and George, bless their souls, taught several of their classmates the wisdom of being discreet about their wealth. He’d never tell them directly, but he was proud of the cleverness that went into their various pranks, however much those pranks might perturb their mother. Money hadn’t been nearly as tight when Bill and Charlie attended Hogwarts, but those boys also found their own ways to shine — Quidditch, Care of Magical Creatures, and mastering some of the most complicated and subtle Charms and Transfigurations.

But his two youngest - they didn’t seem to have time to worry about being just another poor Weasley. Ron left for Hogwarts a nervous, slightly insecure young boy with a desire to find a way to stand out from his brothers and earn his own fame. With her last brother gone, he’d expected Ginny to be a bit lonely and depressed.

Instead of moping about the house, as he’d expected, his daughter spent an inordinate amount of time writing letters to a young wizard she’d met at King’s Cross. He might have been a bit alarmed at this, but his wife said that he’d looked to be a nice young man, so he reserved his judgement. The fact that he was famous didn’t seem to be an issue to him or anyone else, not with the way Molly described his clothing or manners. Arthur Weasley was also honest enough to admit that he was predisposed to favour anything that kept his little girl happy, and he could see that the ongoing correspondence was doing just that. The boy’s letters also seemed to pique Ginny’s interest in household magic, which eased things between her and her mother as well.

The downside to his children’s association with Harry Potter didn’t become apparent until he returned home from a very late night working on Halloween. His wife was still awake, her agitation visible in her shaking hands, and he knew something was wrong. As she made him a cup of tea, she explained what had happened that night at Hogwarts. While he was horrified to hear their son had been involved in a battle with a troll, it was Ron’s reactions afterward that really gave him pause for thought. Most of his sons were recklessly brave when put to the test, true Gryffindors at heart. But even after the fact, Ron was more concerned about his friend’s injuries than the fact that he had just narrowly avoided being killed. He didn’t say anything to his distraught wife, but that observation gave him a warm glow of pride that lasted most of a fortnight.

Looking back, he realised that his daughter had also become a little more confident in general, and was looking forward to starting at Hogwarts. He supposed this was due to the letters, and she was open enough with the contents, even reassuring them when Ron was less than forthcoming. But this occurred while she was still living at The Burrow, and he saw her every day. Molly had said with certainty that Ginny was smitten with the lad, but surely she was far too young for that — not that he’d mind something like that blossoming,,. but not for a number of years. She could certainly do far worse.

The return of his youngest son, after roughly nine months, was a bigger shock. In many ways, Ron had become more mature than Fred and George. Instead of revelling in his summer freedom, he worried about his best friend, Harry Potter. Instead of feuding with his siblings, Ron talked quietly about things that had gone on at Hogwarts. Instead of sleeping in, Ron was getting up early in the morning and going for a long run and exercising to stay fit. The change was jarring — Percy was driven, but Ron was becoming disciplined.

After about a week of this odd behaviour, on a Saturday afternoon, Arthur asked Ron to help him fit new "windshield whippers" onto the Anglia. Of course, this task was nothing more than an excuse to talk to his youngest son, alone.

"So," he said, as they struggled to secure the pliable rubber into the metal clips, "you seem to have had a fairly eventful first year."

Ron shrugged. "Not as eventful as some," he said quietly.

"You wish you’d had a bit more adventure?" Arthur asked with a smile.

Ron was still looking down at the bonnet of the car. "Not really. Harry gets into all kinds of scrapes, but it doesn’t seem like much fun for him."

"But he is pretty famous," Arthur reminded his son. This new, pensive version of Ron was a curious thing.

"But he’s famous for what happened after his parents were murdered by - er, Voldemort," his son said, his voice dropping to little more than a whisper. "And he’s still after Harry. Harry worries about it a lot, too. He doesn’t want people to know, but I can tell he doesn’t sleep well most nights."

While he was disturbed by Ron’s worries for his friend, Arthur also felt a stirring of pride in his son’s character. "Sounds like you’re a good friend for him, Ron."

Ron ducked his head down and fiddled some more with the blade clamps, but Arthur could see the tips of his ears turning red. "I just don’t want to let him down," was all he said.

Thinking about that conversation, Arthur realised that a lot of the changes in Ron could also be attributed to Harry’s influence. The only serious disagreement he’d had with his children that summer was over whether Harry was all right staying with his Muggle relatives. He was ashamed to find out he’d been on the wrong side of that disagreement.

From his first meeting with Harry Potter, the boy had struck him as an ‘old soul.’ The healer had warned Molly that the boy was likely to have long-term psychological effects, but it was still disturbing to see how seriously he took everything. His stomach twisted when he remembered the look on the boy’s face as he flinched back when Arthur tried to pat his shoulder.

But there was more going on than just an abusive home-life. At first Harry’s desire to see to The Burrow’s security seemed to be rooted in simple fear. But after Bill took him aside and described some of the more - exotic - measures, Arthur began to wonder. The fact that Harry freely admitted he was keeping things back from them was a bit startling, but when he explained about the threat of Legilimency and their Potions professor, it began to make sense. That was why he and Molly practiced every night after he came home from work.

Arthur Weasley smiled wearily at his wife, who was just settling down in their bed. "Those exercises are harder than I thought they would be," he said, as he laid his head on the pillow.

"I can’t believe our children are doing them in addition to their school work and all that play-boxing business," she said.

"They appear to be rather well motivated," he agreed. "This Professor Snape appears to be just as unpleasant as Bill and Charlie told us he was."

"I can’t believe Professor Dumbledore would sanction his conduct," Molly said in an aggrieved voice. Their owl to Dumbledore had received a quick reply. While he was quick to reassure them that he had the situation under control, and that he would ask Professor Snape about these accusations, Arthur couldn’t help but note that the headmaster never directly promised that he’d put a halt to the mental invasions. It appeared that Harry’s speculations were proven correct.

"There may be some situation going on there that needs such extreme measures," Arthur allowed, "but I don’t think our children are involved in such things. Not being able to scan their minds shouldn’t cause any problems. And remember, Harry promised he will tell us everything as soon as we can keep that information fully to ourselves."

"But what if we think it’s something the headmaster needs to know, or even the Ministry?" Molly wondered aloud.

"I think Harry realises that’s possible. He trusts our judgement, Molly, and I think we should trust his, for now." Arthur said with a smile. In truth, he’d come to think of the serious young man like a seventh son. The boy’s words at the Ministry custody hearing came back to him. Never mind what he’d done for the Wizarding world, the boy had earned at least a little trust.

OoOoO

Fortunately, after Valentine’s Day things settled down a bit for Harry and his friends. He was quietly grateful for this, as it gave him some breathing room to work on a few things.

He owled Rita Skeeter and suggested that she might want to take a close look at Gilderoy Lockhart and his ever so illustrious career. The discrepancies in his and Hermione’s timelines could possibly be explained away as ‘mistakes’ and ‘typographical errors’, but the man’s hesitancy in dealing with certain issues and questions in the classroom was far more damning. Harry was fairly confident that, given a few hints that something was amiss, Rita would inevitably dig up the dirt.

Rita responded the next day. She knew that Harry’s hints were just that, and she responded in her usual insinuating style. Once upon a time, her manner would have flustered him, but since they both knew what was going on, it now felt more like gentle teasing. Perhaps it was the tone of his initial letter to the witch, wherein he had not-so-subtly threatened to reveal her Animagus status. Perhaps it was the essentially transactional basis of their relationship. Whatever the reason, she treated him more like an adult than almost anyone else he’d interacted with since his future analogue had gifted him with some singularly unpleasant memories. Not that she ever cut "Mr. Potter" any breaks. And he still owed her an interview once he was on holiday, as she reminded him yet again. But it was bearable, and she could cause his enemies a lot more pain.

As February wound down, there was a pleasant surprise at breakfast. Flanked by what had to be her parents, Cho Chang entered the Great Hall. A few people looked surprised when Cedric Diggory jumped to his feet and escorted her to the Ravenclaw table. He bowed to her parents, but ignored the hostile and curious looks coming from the students.

"I heard he’s visited her several times at St. Mungo’s," Hermione said sagely.

"Seems that rumour was accurate," Harry observed dryly. Watching the two of them, it seemed that relationship had received a bit of a jumpstart in comparison to the original timeline. It made sense though; whatever attracted them two years from now was probably already present. And Cedric visiting her in the hospital was a nice gesture — especially since Cho was smart enough to realise that he couldn’t have had anything to do with the attack on her.

They would still make a handsome couple, Harry reflected. He knew that his disastrous ‘relationship’ with Cho had floundered as much from his miscues as hers. Neither of them had been great boyfriend/girlfriend material, but that didn’t put either of them in the wrong. He sighed. Just one of a great many things that had gone wrong. He turned back to his food and noticed Ginny looking at him. He raised a questioning eyebrow at her, but she just shook her head and looked down at her plate. Harry couldn’t help but notice that she was really only picking at her food.

As they split up to go to class, Harry wondered what he should do. He knew something was bothering her at times, but she didn’t want to talk about it. He’d even considered asking Hermione, but didn’t feel it would be fair to put her in the middle.

For that matter, Harry was a little conflicted as well. He’d begun feeling a little funny about his relationship with Ginny. At first, he’d merely acted to help her deal with the shyness and embarrassment that had marred her first years at Hogwarts, and left her vulnerable to the Diary’s blandishments. With that accomplished, they’d also grown a lot closer. He still remembered how she helped him when he’d been so wound up after Pettigrew’s capture. She wasn’t the same Ginny he’d known before; the differences were subtle, but they were there nonetheless.

But the Harry she knew was a lie, a façade he’d created to deceive everyone around him. No matter what his motives were, he knew she wouldn’t appreciate being lied to. He did warn her that there were things he’d had to keep secret, but there was no way she could anticipate the magnitude of those changes. Like his real age, whatever that was.

Harry himself had trouble sorting that one out. Immediately after the merger, he’d felt like he was Harry Potter, age thirty, stuck in the body of his younger self. He looked at Ginny and saw the reflection of his lost love, and vowed to make up what he owed her and make her happier in this timeline. But as time passed in an entirely new reality, Harry began to deal with and react to people who were different from what his older self remembered. This Ron seemed to have a better grasp of Harry’s problems, and he seemed to have lost the envy that had marred the early years of their previous friendship. This Hermione seemed to feel more accepted by her peers; she was more secure in her friendships and her self image. With those changes, some of them his doing, some of them unforeseen, he supposed it was inevitable that the two of them grew closer faster than he remembered.

This new Harry was also closer to more people. Fred and George were more than just team mates… co-conspirators seemed a better term. Just being fostered by the Weasleys and no longer being subjected to the Dursleys was brilliant, in his mind. He’d also fumbled into a much closer relationship with his head of house, though he supposed some of that stemmed from his confidence that her stern exterior was just an act. He’d deliberately cultivated a closer friendship with Neville, starting even before the sorting, and that investment had yielded wonderful returns. His arrangements for Luna, at first intended merely to protect her from harassment, had likewise earned him a new friend, albeit a disturbingly insightful one.

Harry’s mind wasn’t really on his work as Professor Binns began droning on about another Goblin Rebellion. Sorting out his own identity was proving trickier than he thought possible. All these new relationships, all the work with his new, younger body - was he a thirty year old Harry Potter, getting used to newer versions of his friends? Or was he a twelve year old Harry Potter, slowly assimilating the memories his older self died to send back as a warning of what could have been? Was it even important?

Maybe it was where Ginny was concerned. An adult Harry trying to rebuild his relationship with the younger doppelganger of his lost love was more than a little creepy. But was this Ginny even the same person? The old Ginny barely spoke to him until she was a fourth year student. This one was becoming his closest friend. For that matter, his older self was hardly experienced with boy-girl relationships. That particular section of his heart closed off forever after the Hogwarts Massacre. He still had Ron and Hermione, but a piece of his soul had been ripped from his body when he saw Ginny lying in the courtyard.

Harry inhaled and got a grip on himself before his magic began rattling desks. Boring as he was, Binns would not appreciate the interruption.

Perhaps the age disparity was less of an issue considering his older self never had another relationship after the age of sixteen. The fact that he was thinking ‘older self’ rather than ‘I’ was interesting as well.

Maybe the simplest course of action was to just let Ginny decide. He wouldn’t let things progress until she knew the whole truth. With the way their Occlumency was improving, it wouldn’t be long now. She deserved to be able to make an informed decision anyway, and knowing that he’d failed to keep his promises once before was only fair. If she hated him for his lies, or if the thought of him disgusted her, then his own internal debate was moot.

Harry supposed that he’d arrived at the best solution, but it didn’t make him feel much better. He tried to focus on the lecture and take better notes, but his stomach ached as he found himself dreading that conversation even more.

After their last class, Harry decided that advancing his other plans would be a better way to occupy his time than pointless brooding. He stayed behind after Transfiguration class and asked Professor McGonagall if he could have a moment of her time.

It was completely true that Harry knew very little about his parents, and asking their head of house, who’d dealt with them for seven years as they grew up, seemed only logical. Professor McGonagall went very still when Harry made his hesitant request. Then her eyes softened and she told Harry to have a seat.

Minerva McGonagall spent the next two hours telling Harry stories about his parents that he’d never heard before. He was impressed by how well informed she seemed to be, as well as her memory for details. Harry suspected that, despite their troublemaking ways, Lily and the Marauders had been favourites of hers.

"But I think that story shall have to wait for another day, Harry," she finally said. "I still have these second year essays to mark, and I know you want me to have time to evaluate them properly," she continued, in a not unkindly tone.

Harry shrugged and gave a rueful smile. "I don’t want you to have to rush. I’ve pretty much given up trying to beat Hermione on an essay.

She smiled primly. "It is true that Ms. Granger has an exceptionally well-organized writing style, though you tend to do better when required to think on your feet," she said.

"At least all that recklessness is good for something," Harry agreed, with just a hint of a smile. Then he looked thoughtful. "You mentioned that my mum was one of this Professor Slughorn’s favourite students. Is he still alive? And do you think he’d be willing to write to me?"

Professor McGonagall’s nostrils whitened a bit, but she gave no other hint as to her feelings. "Though he did not respond to my inquiries, the owl did take the letter, so I suspect he is still alive. Perhaps he would be willing to accept a letter from you."

Harry didn’t have to question her emphasis on the last word. In addition to his fondness for Lily, the influence-monger lurking below the Slytherin’s affable exterior would leap at the chance to make the acquaintance of the Boy Who Lived. "I think I’ll do that," Harry said, the real purpose of the conversation accomplished. "Thank you for taking the time to tell me about them," he added, with real sincerity. He wondered why he’d never thought of asking Professor McGonagall about his parents before. "Though I’m a little scared when I think about what you’ll be able to tell our kids someday," he added with a smile.

OoOoO

Once Harry had a plausible reason for contacting Professor Emeritus Horace Slughorn, he wasted no time in contacting the man. Predictably, his owl was answered immediately, and he began an almost daily correspondence with the retired Potions teacher.

Harry never deluded himself about the round little man’s motives. He was in it for himself just as much as Rita Skeeter was. But excessive self-interest was a lot easier for Harry to deal with than outright malevolence. All Harry had to do was make it worth Slughorn’s while to secure him as an ally. But the man was still a Slytherin, and he’d be expecting to be taken advantage of. Better to bait the hook subtly, until Slughorn made the suggestion himself.

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So he began to ask Slughorn about his mum, and happily learned more about a woman he barely remembered. At the same time, he made an offhand observation that people seemed to enjoy themselves a lot more in Potions back then. When Slughorn asked what he meant by that, Harry touched on the inter-house feuding and favouritism that was most prevalent in the Potions lab. Harry was careful never to say too much, and even recruited Hermione to read over the later ones, giving her a very abbreviated explanation of what he was trying to do, and glossing over why he seemed hopeful it would work.

Clearly intrigued by what appeared to be going on in his absence, Professor Slughorn slowly dragged the whole story out of Harry. When Harry explained that he hadn’t pressed the formal complaint because of a lack of a qualified replacement, Slughorn responded that he’d had no idea things were so bad when he received McGonagall’s owl, but that he’d be in contact with her directly.

Two days later, Professor McGonagall asked Harry to stay after class. Harry waved his friends off and said he’d catch up to them at dinner.

McGonagall had a tightly rolled scroll in one hand, and tapped it lightly against her palm. "I received an owl from Professor Slughorn today," she said. "I wonder what you had to do with this."

Harry shrugged. "When I owled him about my mum, he asked me how things were going at Hogwarts. I tried to be careful in what I said, but he was specifically interested in how his old class was being taught."

The stern-faced professor nodded. "I see that even a vague description of the situation could have led to this." She frowned, a concerned furrow appearing above her brow. "Mr. Potter, I want you to be very careful in how you deal with this man; Horace Slughorn has a very genial exterior, but he is also very adept at using people to get what he wants."

Harry nodded. "I sort of got that impression from him," he agreed. "But at least there seems to be some mutual benefit involved in these transactions. Lockhart wants me to sacrifice my studies so I can prop up his career."

"That’s Professor Lockhart," McGonagall corrected him automatically.

"If you insist," Harry said in an agreeable tone, "though I have yet to see him teach anything."

The corner of his head of house’s mouth twitched slightly at that, but she gave no other reaction. "It is important to follow the proper forms of address while he is still on staff… though that may not be for much longer. I’ve also received an owl from a Daily Prophet reporter who seems to be researching some sort of exposé on the man. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, would you? Especially since this Skeeter woman also wrote that story about your godfather?"

Harry gave her the blandest smile he could muster. "I might have suggested a profitable subject for her to investigate. If what she discovers is true, isn’t it better that the facts be discovered?"

That earned him an actual glare. "While I can understand your reasons for disliking the man, the fact remains that it is very difficult to find qualified individuals willing to apply for that position, especially with the rumours about that ridiculous curse," Professor McGonagall said.

"I happen to know of at least one qualified candidate who is applying for the position," Harry replied, "a former student of yours and friend of my father’s."

McGonagall gave him a measuring look. "Remus Lupin," she concluded, but then let out a sigh. "I never thought I’d say this Mr. Potter, but your recent actions sound more like those of a Slytherin than a Gryffindor."

If she’d been expecting an explosion from Harry, he was determined to disappoint her. "I suppose they might. After all, that was the Sorting Hat’s second choice for me," he admitted, watching her eyes widen as he truly caught her off guard. "But with everything stacked up against me," he continued, "I don’t think I really have the time to play fair. Lockhart isn’t teaching me anything useful for when I have to face Voldemort, and nobody else is learning how to defend themselves. Mr. Lupin will do a far better job of it, so if I can arrange for him to take that fraud’s place, why shouldn’t I?"

Professor McGonagall gave him a long look, and Harry resisted the urge to fidget. "Sometimes," she finally said, "I forget how young you really are, Harry. You act far older than your years, though I suppose you can’t help it, with the burdens that have been placed upon your shoulders."

"The prophecy?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice as level as possible.

"Among other things, yes," she said quietly. "I can’t say I completely understand the pressure that places upon you, but I will say that you need to consider your actions carefully. One’s character is best defined by one’s deeds, and I don’t want you to do things in a manner that would shame your parents, as well as your house."

Harry ruthlessly quashed a surge of anger at her words. "I see that my candour was a mistake," he said stiffly. "I should go now."

Professor McGonagall’s lips compressed even further. "Harry, you need to understand that -"

"No," Harry snapped. "You need to understand! He talked to me, remember? Before I forced him out of Quirrell’s body. He’s not gone though — he’s going to figure out a way to come back, and when he does, he’s going to kill you, me, and everyone in this school if I don’t stop him!"

His head of house raised an eyebrow at his vehemence. "Mr. Potter, I assure you Professor Dumbledore and I will -"

"Professor Dumbledore can’t stop Voldemort," Harry said, letting out a sigh. "Don’t you see? That’s what the prophecy means - I have to stop him. If you or Dumbledore meet him, the best you can do is a stalemate — provided he doesn’t kill you."

The older woman regarded him for a long moment. "Then this Duelling Association of yours…?"

"He’s threatened to kill my friends, everyone I care about," Harry said, his past and future memories mixing. "If he returns, he’ll also have people who are still loyal to him. We have to be ready to deal with them as well."

"You mean the Death Eaters will return?" she asked sceptically.

"They never left, Professor," Harry said scornfully. "They just lied and bought their way out of Azkaban. Do you honestly think Lucius Malfoy did what he did only because of the Imperius curse?"

Minerva McGonagall didn’t appear eager to answer that question. "I… understand your concerns, Mr. Potter," she finally said. "That being the case, I believe I will be making some additions to the DA curriculum, starting this weekend. I will also speak to some of the other professors about encouraging attendance."

"I appreciate that," Harry said, sincerely, feeling his sudden anger draining away, leaving him tired and tense.

OoOoO

As the Easter Holidays approached, Harry was once again faced with the choice of what subjects to take next year. Recalling all the problems he had setting up the Temporal Transit Field equations, Harry immediately signed up for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. After giving it some careful thought, he didn't sign up for Care of Magical Creatures. He felt a little guilty he hadn’t been able to spend as much time with Hagrid as he wanted, and he hoped he could stave off some of the problems that plagued the poor man in his classes. But students were normally limited to two electives

Hermione, of course, was delighted that Harry wanted to take ‘some really challenging courses’ too. This made it a little easier for him to persuade her to not try and take everything as she had planned, reminding her that it might cut into her DA or martial arts time. He also hinted that he’d read that Arithmancy was really difficult, and that they needed to be ready to spend extra time on it.

As before, Neville had lots of conflicting advice delivered in letters from various relatives. He decided to just sign up for the same courses as Harry and Hermione with an audible sigh of relief.

As expected, Ron was planning to take Divination and Care of Magical Creatures because he heard they were the easiest. Discovering he would probably be alone in Divination made it a bit less attractive, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to replace that class with both Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. While they were studying in the library, Hermione tried to persuade him, explaining how fascinating and interesting those classes were likely to be. This, of course, had nearly the opposite effect on Ron, who began to look quite intimidated by the implications of her enthusiasm. Hermione tried to reassure him that she’d help him, but it came out wrong and the red-headed boy got his back up about it.

Harry gave Hermione a quelling look and pulled Ron aside.

"I just said it sounded like a lot of extra work, I didn’t say I wanted her to do all my homework for me," Ron growled.

"She didn’t mean it like that, Ron," Harry soothed. "She just gets… well, awkward when she’s enthusiastic about something. You know how she is."

"Why does she care so much about me taking those ruddy classes, anyway?" Ron demanded sourly.

"Maybe she prefers we all keep taking the same classes," Harry whispered, glancing back over his shoulder. "Maybe she wants you to study with us, or rather with her — you know, to spend time together."

Ron clamped his mouth shut, but his ears turned bright red. When Harry led him back to their table, Hermione gave him a questioning glance. Harry just shrugged at her.

"I suppose it couldn’t hurt to know what Bill is always nattering on about when he comes home for holiday," Ron said affably.

Hermione’s answering smile made the poor boy’s ears go pink again.

OoOoO

The Duelling Association slowly gathered new members each week. A few came out of curiosity and a few came because they knew they weren’t getting much out of their Defence classes. Some older students came because they wanted to challenge Harry. Understanding that he needed to establish his bona fides, Harry obliged them — provided they were willing to duel with nothing more lethal than a stunner.

The martial arts had drastically improved Harry’s footwork, and thus his mobility. That alone made him a novelty for the older students, who couldn’t seem to hit a rapidly moving target. That, combined with Harry’s almost reflexive use of stunners, disarms, and shield charms made him practically unbeatable. It also won the DA a lot of converts.

Professor McGonagall also began taking Harry aside for an hour before each class to go over his lesson plans and show him any new charms or techniques she thought it might profit the DA to have included in the curriculum. Harry was careful not to pick up these ‘new’ spells too quickly, but occasionally she taught him something he hadn’t seen before.

Harry couldn’t suppress a smile when Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang appeared, hand in hand, right at the beginning of a DA session. He welcomed them in and gave a quick explanation of the club’s purpose. Cedric knew most of the spells they were covering, but during the drills he was a bit slow on his feet. Cho was agile and fairly hard to hit, evidently having fully recovered from her injuries the previous term, but her accuracy needed work. Harry ended up partnered with her when she was the odd one out for a sparring drill, and he actually had some trouble catching her with an Expelliarmus. She couldn’t tag him at all, and they were both almost laughing out loud, as everyone else, who’d concluded their duels, were watching them duck and dodge. Finally, Harry nicked her upper arm, causing the wand to fly out of her hand.

After they broke for the night, the Ravenclaw girl lingered after most of the students had left. Harry was shifting the desks back to their normal places when she spoke.

"Harry, might I have a word?"

"Uh, sure, Cho," he replied, unsure what she wanted.

"Cedric told me about what you said to him," Cho said, moving slightly closer.

"That was very sweet, and it meant a lot to him. That means a lot to me, too." She quickly leaned forward, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Harry stood rooted in place as the ebony-haired girl smiled again at him and then spun and left the room. He finished re-arranging the room before he got his blush under control again. When he returned to the Gryffindor common room, Hermione told him that he just missed Ginny, who had gone to bed early complaining of a headache. Harry wondered if she’d been waiting for him in the hallway outside the classroom.

Ginny was quiet the next morning as well. Harry wondered if she’d seen him with Cho, but he didn’t know how to ask without making things even more awkward.

OoOoO

The morning of the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff match dawned soggy and rainy, not to mention unseasonably cold. Harry could have sworn it had been a sunny day in the previous timeline, but he supposed random factors could have altered the weather over nearly two years.

Whatever the reason, Harry wasn’t looking forward to flying in that mess, and picked at his food. Hermione, of course, was urging him to eat a good breakfast to fortify himself against the chill rain.

"You lot might want to stay inside the castle," Harry said after a loud crash of thunder echoed from outside the Great Hall.

"Not likely," Ron said firmly. "Besides, Oliver would bounce us from the reserve team if he didn’t think we could take a little rain."

Neville nodded at this. Under Fred and George’s expert tutelage, he was actually becoming rather adept with a Beater’s bat. Needless to say, Harry was surprised. Harry had no idea that once Neville mastered his fear of flying, the boy would have a talent for Quidditch.

"Professor Flitwick showed me a water-repelling charm," Hermione said. "We’re going to cast it on a couple of sheets and see if it will keep us dry."

Harry sighed. He was hoping the others could avoid the nasty head cold he was sure to get. He remembered needing several pepper-up potions before he got over a bad one his second year, though his memories of that term were mostly occupied by that whole ‘Heir of Slytherin’ business. Ginny was frowning as well, which reminded him that she was also on the reserve team in this timeline. Harry decided to drop the subject before he dug himself in any deeper.

"It would be handy if you caught the Snitch quickly though," Ron added with a cheeky grin.

That proved to be much easier said than done. By the time Madam Hooch’s whistle blew to start the match, the driving rain reduced the visibility to barely a handful of yards. Despite multiple warming charms, the freezing rain had Harry shivering so hard he could barely hold onto his broom.

Cedric immediately began running a systematic search pattern, evidently hoping to locate the Snitch quickly as well. Harry just concentrated on staying out of everyone’s way. The Bludgers were hard to keep track of, but at least the Beaters couldn’t launch them towards him as often.

The Impervius charm on his glasses was keeping up with the rain. But even with that, he could only scan a sixth of the pitch without moving. The Chasers on both teams had trouble scoring, frequently dropping the icy Quaffle.

The score was tied at forty each when Harry had to swerve to avoid a Bludger coming from an unexpected direction. Looking back the way it came, he saw Fred waving his bat and pointing down the field.

Following the direction of Fred’s finger, Harry saw George hovering almost motionless in mid-air, his bat held loosely in his right hand. Harry started to head toward his team mate, wondering what the problem was, when the Snitch zoomed out from under the boy’s broom.

Harry immediately accelerated his Nimbus to the best speed he could manage. Icy droplets seemed to drive into his cheeks like needles as the stands erupted with shouts. Everyone had seen the Snitch now, and Cedric was making for it as well. Fred sent a Bludger toward Cedric, but the boy just leaned farther forward on the shaft of his broom and the iron ball skimmed right over his back. Their brooms were evenly matched in the heavy rain, but Harry had started moving vital seconds before the older Hufflepuff Seeker.

Without a Bludger handy, George had to drop away from the Snitch. If he blocked or impeded Cedric in any way, he’d be called for a penalty, and Harry’s capture could be negated. The winged ball moved slower than usual, and Harry wondered if it was having problems with the rain as well.

As both Seekers closed on it, the Snitch suddenly dropped into a steep dive. Harry tracked it smoothly as it veered towards the ground. His fingers closed around the cold metal ball a half-second before Cedric’s, and Harry hauled back on his broomstick with his right hand.

Unfortunately, the sodden broom did not respond with its normal agility. The waterlogged bristles fishtailed on the pull-up, striking the surface of the pitch. Harry suddenly found himself catapulted off his broom and tumbling across the rain-swept pitch. He whacked against the base of the stands with a dull crack that sent a thunderbolt of pain shooting up his left leg.

Harry lay on his back, blinking up at the iron grey clouds, and trying not to yell at the agony throbbing from what he knew had to be a broken leg. He lifted his left hand again, hoping the Snitch hadn’t escaped during the crash. A bent metal wing protruded from between two of his fingers, vibrating impotently.

An hour later Harry was warm, dry, and in considerably less pain as he left the Hospital Wing. No sooner had Madam Hooch’s whistle blown than his friends were down on the pitch. Hermione levitated him while Ginny and Luna wrapped one of the waterproofed sheets around him. Ron and Neville joined the rest of the Quidditch team as they escorted his floating body to visit Madam Pomfrey. He was pretty sure he felt Ginny’s hand on his shoulder for the entire trip. It was a nice feeling.

Fortunately, the school healer had Harry’s broken leg mended in but a moment, with only a mild ache to remind him it even happened. Of course, once they were all in her clutches, she refused to let anyone leave the infirmary without taking at least one Pepper-Up potion. With the soaking everyone had received, Harry actually didn’t think it was that bad an idea.

Nonetheless, it felt good to sit in the Gryffindor common room in front of a roaring fire to discuss the abbreviated game. Of course, there was one question in the forefront of Harry’s mind.

"Fred," he asked, "did you mistake me for Cedric or something when you sent that Bludger after me?"

"Nothing of the sort, old man," Fred answered with a smile. "I just wanted to get your attention. I could see George had gone completely still and knew only one thing that could cause that… at least during a Quidditch match anyway." He added the last while smiling and winking at Alicia Spinnet, who coloured slightly before taking another sip of butterbeer.

"Ahem," George interjected, raising an eyebrow at his brother. "I felt something hit my broom, and then I heard a rustling and buzzing from behind me. But I also saw that Cedric was a bit closer to me, so I didn’t want to give anything away by yelling."

Ron’s eyes went wide. "You mean the bloody Snitch ran into your broom?" he asked incredulously, ignoring the sharp look he got from Hermione.

"That it did, Ronniekins, that it did," George answered. "Perhaps it was trying to get warm."

"It felt like it was starting to ice up when I caught it," Harry said. "I don’t think they are made for flying in sleet."

"Neither are you," Fred pointed out.

"True," Harry agreed, laughing. The warm camaraderie with his housemates was a welcome balm after the chill weather outside. The small supply of hot butterbeer Fred and George seemed to have located didn’t hurt either. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, but Harry found his eyes drawn to Ginny. She was smiling, faintly, but the smile didn’t seem to reach her eyes.

Harry did his best to swallow his frustration. It wouldn’t be long before he could tell them everything, he reminded himself. He could only break through his friends’ Occlumency with a concerted effort over several minutes. Curiously, Snape’s reactions to this increasing resistance had not escalated as badly as he feared. The man treated them as abominably as usual, but he wasn’t showing signs of overwhelming frustration as he had before. This was both a relief and an additional cause of worry for Harry Potter. Did the head of Slytherin have another way of getting what he wanted?

Of course, this didn’t stop the man from abusing his power in the Potions classroom when the opportunity presented itself. The day before the re-scheduled Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw match, Draco jerked back from his cauldron with a startled oath. A puff of smoke burst out of the half-completed potion, filling the room with a foul stench. Harry stared, a little surprised. The blond Slytherin rarely botched his brewing, especially something relatively simple like a preserving paste.

In moments, everyone was coughing, but Professor Snape dispersed the acrid fumes with a wave of his wand. By this time, Draco’s face was scarlet with humiliation. "It’s Potter’s fault," he claimed in an aggrieved tone, "I saw him flick something into my cauldron out of the corner of my eye!"

"That’s a lie!" Ron replied hotly, "He never -"

"Silence, Weasley," Professor Snape grated. "Thirty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, and detention with me tomorrow."

Harry grabbed Ron’s elbow before the furious boy could escalate things. Ron turned back toward him, but the muscles along his jaw were twitching.

"And your potion will be graded in place of Draco’s," Snape continued. "These juvenile pranks need to come to a halt before you manage to release a lethal by-product," he sneered.

"As you wish, Professor," Harry said. As he turned away from his cauldron, his elbow jostled it hard enough to spill out the contents. He slowly turned back to regard the spreading puddle on the dungeon floor, along with the reddening face of the Potions Master. "Oops," he said, quietly.

"Don’t bother to clean that up," Snape snapped, "you’ll be spending the whole day tomorrow scrubbing and polishing the floors in here."

Harry deliberately locked eyes with the man, daring him to try and probe Harry’s mind, but he didn’t take the bait. The bell rang and everyone began decanting their potions for marking. Harry noticed the Slytherin students being particularly careless and messy, now that they knew Harry would be cleaning up their mess while they watched the Quidditch match.

Ron was furious by the time they reached the Great Hall for lunch. "I can’t believe you let him get away with that, Harry!" he growled.

"To be honest, Ron, I’m more comfortable when he’s being his usual nasty self," Harry said. "Then I’m not wondering what he’s saving up for. Now, did any of you feel him try to push past your Occlumency?"

Everyone shook their heads. "He pretty much ignored me yesterday," Ginny added in a quiet voice. Luna just smiled at Neville.

"Good," Harry said. "I think he must notice it’s getting harder and harder to read you lot. I’ve been anticipating some kind of confrontation with him about it, and it looks like he doesn’t want any eavesdroppers."

"Harry," Hermione gasped, aghast at his words, "you need to talk to Professor McGonagall, or Professor Dumbledore, right away. There’s no telling what he might do!"

Harry almost smiled at Hermione. Snape’s frustrated words to her last year pretty much guaranteed she wouldn’t be giving him the benefit of the doubt anymore, let alone nagging Harry to do so. "He can’t hurt me, or do any lasting harm. He knows Dumbledore would have his head. For once, you-know-what is working in my favour." He tried to avoid mentioning the prophecy at mealtimes. It was too easy for someone to overhear, not to mention what it did to his appetite. "He probably just wants to make a lot of gruesome threats, and then try to force his way past my shields. If he does, I’ll have a little surprise waiting for him, that’s all."

Hermione and Ron tried to talk him into going to their head of house, but Harry knew it was just their word versus Snape’s regarding Draco’s failed potion. He’d rather save his complaints for when it would do some good, and not just make people think he whinged a lot. He’d been looking forward to watching Cho face off against Cedric, since the Ravenclaw girl was now restored to her position as Seeker, but he knew Ron and Oliver would give him a play-by-play account afterwards. After all, he’d be facing her at the end of the season.

Ginny was still withdrawn and quiet though. Harry wished he knew what he could say to her, but things were so tangled up now. Once their Occlumency was solid, then he’d see.

OoOoO

Harry entered the Potions dungeon that Saturday morning expecting a confrontation, but he was disappointed. Of course, that’s not to say that Professor Snape wasn’t his normally nasty self. When Ron and Neville lingered in the hallway outside, Snape threatened them with a detention with Filch to make them leave. But once they were alone, he barely acknowledged Harry’s presence beyond indicating where the cleaning supplies were located. Then the lank-haired man returned to marking essays and muttering to himself. Harry opened the cupboard and retrieved a bucket and a couple of scrubbing brushes.

Partially-brewed potions, of course, still contained magically-reactive ingredients. This meant that most Wizarding cleaning procedures, such as spells and charms, could be very hazardous. One Scourgify could trigger a massive magical backlash if one was particularly unlucky. It was worse the more the residue was allowed to build up on a surface. The flagstones lining the floor of the Potions classroom didn’t appear to have had a thorough cleansing since the previous summer. What this all added up to was that Harry had a lot of scrubbing to do.

Harry was tempted to hurry, in the hope that he’d complete the task in time to see the end of the match, but he knew Snape would keep him longer if he finished early, just to spite him. So he worked steadily, amused that years of cleaning for the Dursleys would prove so useful in a magical classroom.

Ironically, the caked-on grime was so thick in some places that it actually helped. Whole sections would break free from the stones in one piece, saving Harry the effort of scrubbing it away bit by bit. When he was nearly done, he stood up on his knees, knuckling the small of his back. The clock on the wall showed ten minutes past one, so the game had just started.

"You seem unusually adept at scrubbing floors, Potter," Professor Snape sneered, but with a bit less venom than he usually displayed before an audience.

"I did this all the time for my aunt and uncle," Harry replied with a shrug.

Snape blinked at that. "I’ve had enough of your presence. Put everything away and get out of my sight," he said in a bored tone.

Harry just nodded, barely trusting his good fortune. Maybe Snape was coming down with something. He placed the cleaning supplies in the cupboard and left without another word.

The dungeons were silent as he strode down the dimly-lit corridors. Any Slytherins who might have been found near their common room were probably all at the game. Harry was half-way up the broad stairs that lead to the Entrance Hall when he heard a door creak open behind him. He was just starting to look back over his shoulder when a familiar voice called out "Stupefy!"

Harry felt his muscles lock into place as he tried to turn. Off-balance, he was helpless as he felt himself begin to fall backwards. The last thing he knew before the darkness descended was a very loud crack.