Weasley Girl

By: Hyaroo

Fandom: harry potter

Summary: AU: The first wizarding friend Harry made wasn't Ronald Weasley... it was Veronica "Ronnie" Weasley, first-born daughter in the Weasley clan for generations. And suddenly the future of the wizarding world, not to mention Harry's first year at Hogwarts, looked very different. Not a canon rehash, not a romance. STORY COMPLETE, SEQUEL POSTED

Status: Completed

Fic type: Books/Harry Potter

Pairings/Main char.: Harry P., Ron W., Hermione G., Neville L.

Published: 2012-06-10

Last updated: 2013-12-17

Words count: 107,263

Chapters count: 15

Converted using www.FF2EBOOK.com
Date: 2020-12-10

1. Veronica Weasley

So many stories have asked the question: "What if Harry Potter was a girl?" Few stories, however, seem to bother with the question "What if Ron Weasley was a girl?" So, just to be contrary, this story will. Everyone else here is going to be their canon genders, but Ron's going to be a girl, and then we'll see how this might change the story.

WEASLEY GIRL

Based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling

CHAPTER ONE:
Veronica Weasley

"— packed with Muggles, of course —"

Harry turned around to see a plump, red-haired woman talking to five children, three boys and two girls, and all of them with the same flaming red hair. Each of them, apart from the smallest girl, was pushing a trunk like Harry's — and (Harry's heart almost skipped a beat when he saw this) on one of the carts, in a cage much like Hedwig's, an owl was sitting on its perch and looking out at its surroundings.

The mother — she had to be their mother — was chatting away, and so none of them seemed to notice when Harry, heart hammering, pushed his cart after them, making sure to stay just close enough that he'd hear what they were saying.

"Now, what's the platform number?" said the mother.

The smallest girl (who looked rather minuscule next to the others) looked like she was about to answer, but the tallest girl answered first. "Nine-and-three-quarters, Mum," she said. "It's always been nine-and-three-quarters. It hasn't changed just because I'm going this year. It was nine-and-three-quarters last year, and the year before, and it was nine-and-three-quarters the year before that, and the year before that —"

"Congratulations, dear sister, you pass the memory test," said one of the boys.

"Now comes the big question," said his brother (the two looked completely identical; Harry guessed they must be twins). "Did you remember to pack your dolly and your blankie? You're going to be all alone in your dormitory, you know, no Mum or Dad to run to if you have a nightmare —"

"I'll give you a nightmare!" the dear sister hissed, clenching her fists.

"Stop it, all three of you!" said the mother firmly.

"I still think it's unfair that I'm not going," said the smallest girl.

"How d'you think I feel, Ginny?" said the taller one rather sourly. "You're at least gonna be home with Scabbers, you'll have some decent company. Look what I'm supposed to have for company."

Unexpectedly, the twins laughed.

"You know, we can't argue with that," said one. "If I had to choose between the two of us and a pet rat who only wakes up once a decade, I'd choose the rat too."

"Our dear little sister's starting to show some wisdom at last," said the other, pretending to wipe a tear off his cheek. "They grow up so fast."

"Percy," said the mother, interrupting them in order to address the tallest boy (a rather pompous-looking teenager wearing horn-rimmed glasses). "You go first."

Percy, who hadn't said anything so far, nodded and marched towards platforms nine and ten. Harry watched him carefully, but as bad luck would have it, just as the boy reached the barrier between the two platforms a large crowd of tourists walked past, obscuring Harry's view. It only took ten seconds or so for them to pass, but it was enough; when they'd passed, the boy had vanished.

"Fred, you next," said the woman, completely undisturbed by the fact that one of her sons had vanished.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the closest twin. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother, can't you tell I'm — Ow! Ronnie, quit it, I still have a bruise there!" He rubbed the arm his sister had poked.

"That proves you're Fred, then," said the girl sweetly. "George doesn't have that bruise. Told you I'd get you back."

The boy-who-by-all-accounts-had-to-be-Fred sighed dramatically. "Sisters. No respect at all for the delivery of a good joke. Mum, be honest, she's adopted, isn't she?"

"Don't be silly, Fred," said the woman, shaking her head. "Go on, off you go."

"All right, but I thought you'd know by now that asking me not to be silly is like asking Ginny to be tall!" With that (and accompanied by a yelp of protest from the smallest girl), Fred took his cart and pushed off towards the platform barrier. This time, Harry was determined to keep his eyes peeled to see where he went, but... all of a sudden, the boy was just gone, just like his brother, and Harry couldn't tell where he'd gone off to at all.

Now the third brother took his cart and went off in the same direction — and then he, too, was nowhere to be seen.

Harry gathered up his courage and stepped closer to the plump woman. "Er, excuse me," he said.

She turned around and gave him a warm smile. "Hello, dear," she said. "First time at Hogwarts, is it? It's our Ronnie's first time as well." She motioned to her older daughter, who was almost half a head taller than Harry but just as skinny; which combined with her long hair and mass of freckles gave her an awkward, almost comical, look.

"Yes," said Harry, feeling both relieved that it seemed he wouldn't have to explain himself, and surprised that the tall girl was no older than him. "The thing is — the thing is, I don't know how to—"

"How to get onto the platform?" she said kindly. "Not to worry. All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop, and don't be scared you'll crash into it; that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ronnie."

"Er — okay," said Harry.

He pushed his trolley around and began walking towards the extremely solid-looking barrier.

People went past him, jostling him as he sped up, getting closer and closer to the barrier. He pushed on, and the heavy cart went faster and faster, the barrier rushing towards him, and he closed his eyes, bracing himself for the unavoidable crash —

— except the crash never came.

When he opened his eyes again, he was met by the sight of a scarlet steam engine waiting next to a platform packed with people, adults and children, most of them dressed in the kind of wizard-style clothes he'd seen back at Diagon Alley, a lot of them hauling carts and trunks just like his. Cats of all colours and sizes were slinking about between the people, owls were hooting, and Harry could even hear the odd toad croaking. Overhead, a sign proudly declared that this was the Hogwarts Express, due to leave at eleven o' clock, and as Harry turned back to look at where the barrier had been, he saw only a wrought-iron archway with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it.

He'd made it.

Harry allowed himself a brief moment of relief and awe before he began pushing his cart off down the platform. The first few carriages on the train were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats... Harry kept walking, past laughing students and crying parents, past a round-faced boy who was telling his grandmother he'd lost his toad, past a tall boy with dreadlocks who seemed to be carrying some kind of monster spider in a box (with friends hanging around him saying "go on, Lee, give us a look!"), past dozens if not hundreds of others. There had to be an available seat somewhere on this train, right?

Finally, near the end of the train, he found an empty compartment, and could begin unloading his things. Hedwig's cage was easy enough to get onto the train, but the trunk proved worse; it was extremely heavy, and while he could haul it around all right, lifting it up to get it inside the train door proved near-impossible.

"Hey, need a hand with that?" Harry turned to see the red-haired girl from before — Ronnie, wasn't it? — standing next to him.

"Er —" Harry hesitated. Somehow, it didn't seem right to ask for help from a girl, even one that was big for her age and taller than him. But Ronnie, without asking further, reached down to try and haul the trunk up onto the steps — "tried" being the key word, because though she grunted and strained, she had no more luck than Harry in hauling the trunk all the way up to the steps.

For a moment, Harry just stood and watched her in amazement. Then, a pang of guilt hit him because he was letting her fight with his truck all alone, and he grabbed the other side of the trunk to help lift it.

Together, they managed to haul the heavy trunk up on the first step. Panting heavily, Ronnie grinned at Harry with an expression of pride on her face — an expression that vanished very quickly as she looked at the steps and realised there were two more of them. "Damn," she panted. "What have you got in that trunk? Solid gold bars?"

"Er, no, I —" Harry began.

"Never mind. We need more help," said the girl, taking a few deep breaths and then turning to call: "Hey — Fred, George — over here!"

Seconds later, the twins appeared. The family resemblance was clear; they had the same red hair, the same blue eyes, the same freckles, and even the same open, easy-going looks on their faces. Of course, the twins, while not much taller than their sister, were notably stockier and sturdier-looking, and luckily they didn't need any convincing in order to lend a hand.

Between the four of them, they managed to get the trunk into the compartment and stocked away into the corner.

"Thanks," Harry panted, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

The three siblings suddenly stared at him. It took perhaps a second before Harry understood that they were staring at his lightning-bolt scar.

"Blimey!" said one of the twins. "Are you —?"

"He is," said the second twin. "Aren't you?"

"Er, aren't I what?" said Harry, feeling a little confused.

"Harry Potter!" said Ronnie. "You're Harry Potter!" She looked awestruck.

"Oh, yeah, him. Er, I mean, yes, that's, that's me," said Harry, and felt himself turning red as they gawked at him.

Just then, to his enormous relief, the sound of their mother's voice came from outside. "Fred! George! Ronnie! Are you there?"

"Coming, Mum!"

With a last lingering look at him, the three redheads exited the compartment and went outside to join their mother.

Harry sat down by the window, where, half-hidden, he could watch the red-haired family on the platform and witness what had to be the last family farewell. Ronnie looked slightly uncomfortable as her mother hugged her tightly and called her "my little girl" (which was a little funny, because Ronnie was almost as tall as her brothers), but the twins were joking and laughing, and completely dismissing their mother's warning that they'd better behave themselves this year; and as the third brother, Percy, showed up, already dressed up in the flowing black Hogwarts robes and a red and gold badge with the letter P on his chest, they spent a bit of time teasing him for taking such obvious pride in having been made a Prefect.

He probably shouldn't be spying on them like this, Harry thought, but it was, well, nice to see what looked like a completely normal family. They were bickering and teasing one another, true, but it wasn't like he was used to with the Dursleys. There was such an easy-going and unspoken fondness between them, easily visible behind the arguing, that Harry found himself rather liking this family, even if he didn't know them.

"Hey Mum, guess what?" one of the twins suddenly said. "You know that black-haired boy who asked about the platform? Know who he is?"

"No, dear. Who is he?"

"Harry Potter!" the twin announced in a dramatic tone. "Our little Ronnie went to help him with his trunk, and of course George and I had to give them a hand. And we saw his scar! It's really there — like lightning."

"Oh, why didn't you call for me too?" said the youngest sister, looking betrayed. "I wanted to see him as well!"

"Didn't know it was him, did we?" Ronnie murmured.

"You already saw him, Ginny," said the mother. "The poor boy isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Poor dear, that explains why he was all alone. I did wonder. He was ever so polite when he asked how to get onto the platform —"

"Never mind that," said the twin excitedly, "d'you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?"

The mother looked sternly at him. "I forbid you to ask him, Fred! No, you don't dare! As if he needs reminding of that on his first day at school!"

"All right, all right, keep your hair on."

"Good! And you take care of your sister, you hear?"

"Mum, I'll be fine," said Ronnie. "I'm going to school, not to war."

"Oh, I don't know," said the other twin. "The two things have quite a bit in common if you ask me."

The conversation might have gone on longer, but now a whistle sounded, and the mother ushered her children towards the train, telling them to hurry up. A lot of hugs and kisses were exchanged, Ronnie picked up her younger sister and spun her around, and then everyone who was going on the train was on board, and the train began to move.

From his place by the window, Harry could see the mother waving and the smallest sister running along by the train, laughing and crying at the same time.

The train rounded a corner, and picked up speed; houses were flashing by faster and faster, and Harry felt a thrill. He was really going. It was really happening.

The door to the compartment opened, and Ronnie peeked in. For some reason, she looked a little shyer now than she had, but she still smiled at him. "Hello again," she said. "Er — I don't have anywhere else to sit. You don't mind if I —?"

"Er — yeah. I mean, no. I mean — I don't mind!" said Harry, and Ronnie gratefully slid down in the seat opposite him. She met his eyes, smiled nervously, and then became very interested in Hedwig, who was still sitting in her cage and watching the newcomer with interest.

"Oh, is this your owl?" she said, looking at Hedwig with adoring eyes.

"Er, yes," said Harry. "Her name is Hedwig."

"Oh, she's beautiful! Hello there, girl!" Ronnie cooed at the cage. Hedwig let out a friendly-sounding hoot, of the kind she usually greeted Harry with, and closed her eyes in satisfaction as the girl carefully stuck a finger into the cage and stroking her feathers lightly.

The door opened again, and the twins peeked in.

"Hey, Ron," said one of them. "Already making friends with the local wildlife, are you? Listen, we're going to the middle of the train. Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there, and we'd like a chance to see it before you show up and begin cuddling it."

"I won't —" Ronnie, alias Ron, pulled slightly away from Hedwig's cage, but then apparently decided not to say whatever it was she had planned on saying. Instead, she just flopped back down in her seat and murmured "Right, then."

"Harry," said the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is our little sister, Veronica. Try anything unseemly with her, and you answer to us." (This last bit was, it must be admitted, delivered with a smile and a wink, so Harry wasn't particularly intimidated — but Ron, alias Ronnie, alias Veronica, turned a bright shade of pink and glared at her brother.) "See you later, then."

The door closed again, and Veronica turned back to Harry. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, and then took a deep breath. "One of these days, I'm going to kill them, I swear," she said.

"It's okay, they were joking," said Harry. "They were joking, right?"

"Yeah, but still," Veronica sighed. "My sister Ginny and I are the only girls in the family, and we're the youngest, so they think they have to play bodyguards for us. When they're not teasing us for being girls, that is. I hate it."

"I wouldn't know, I've never had siblings," said Harry, who wouldn't count Dudley as a sibling if his life depended on it. "Wish I had three brothers that were wizards."

"Five brothers, actually," said Veronica. "Bill and Charlie's left Hogwarts already, thank goodness, or I'd have five bodyguards at school. It'll be enough with Percy, Fred and George. And poor Ginny's going to be all alone at home..." She paused and blinked, as if suddenly remembering something. "You're really Harry Potter!" she blurted out.

"Er... yes, I think we've established that by now," said Harry, wondering how many times they were going to go through this.

Veronica's pink colouring had begun to fade, but now it came back, full-force. "I'm — I'm sorry," she said. "It's just that I've heard stories about you all my life, and — you probably have girls gawking at you all the time."

"No, not really," said Harry.

"No?!" Veronica looked dumbstruck, but then a look of understanding dawned on her face. "Oh, right! You were sent to live with Muggles, weren't you? Of course they wouldn't know — What are they like? The Muggles, I mean?"

"Terrible," said Harry. "Well, not all Muggles are terrible, but my aunt and uncle and cousin are."

"Oh." Veronica was silent for a second or two. "I'm sorry," she said.

"What for?"

"For, you know. Everything. Your parents dying. You having to live with terrible Muggles."

"But that wasn't your fault!"

"No, but —" She looked like she was grasping for words. "Everyone talks about you, you know? How if it wasn't for you, You-Know-Who would have killed us all. And, well, your parents died for it, and — that's terrible," she finished sheepishly.

An uncomfortable silence spread in the compartment, and Veronica, still that bright colour of pink, studied her fingernails.

"I don't even remember any of it," Harry finally said. "Just a flash of green light, and then — nothing. And now I'm supposed to be something special, and everyone knows my name, and I don't know anything. I bet —" he said, and this was something he'd been thinking of for a long time, "I bet I'm going to be the worst in the class!"

Veronica looked up again. "Oh, you won't be," she said. "Loads of people come from Muggle families, and they learn quick enough. Hey," she added, suddenly looking a bit happier, "why don't we go have a look at Lee Jordan's tarantula?"

"Er," said Harry. "You really want to?"

"Yeah, why not? It might cheer us up. You're not afraid of spiders, are you?"

"I'm used to them," Harry answered, thinking of the spiders in the cupboard back at Privet Drive. He looked over at Hedwig's cage, but the owl had fallen asleep and would probably not miss them if they went off for just a little while. "Yeah, all right then."

"Cool." Veronica raised herself, and then, after a moment's hesitation, held out her hand. "Might as well introduce myself properly," she said. "Veronica Weasley. Just call me Ronnie, or Ron. Everyone does."

Harry raised himself as well. "Harry Potter," he said. "Just call me, er, Harry."

They shook hands and smiled to one another.

"I think I'd like to have a spider as a pet," said Ronnie as she moved towards the door. "Just to be different, you know. Of course, what I'd really like is an owl, like Hedwig, but Percy got one from Mum and Dad for being a Prefect, and so they couldn't aff— I mean, there are owls at school, if I need to send a letter I'll just borrow one of those. Percy said I could have his old rat, Scabbers, but he doesn't seem to like me all that much, so I gave him to Ginny instead, that way she'll at least have some company while I'm gone —"

She kept talking as they made their way through the corridor of the moving train. As they moved past the compartments, students turned their head and looked at them — and in some cases, one of the students took an extra look at Harry, got very excited and began pointing at him. Harry wasn't quite sure how he felt about this, so he decided to ignore it.

"Here we are," Ronnie finally said, pointing to one compartment. Through the windows, Harry could easily make out Fred and George Weasley, and the dreadlock-haired boy he'd seen on the platform. There were several other students in there as well, mostly boys but also a couple of girls, all of them looking to be about the twins' age or older.

Ronnie walked up to the door and opened it. The students in the compartment all stopped their conversation and turned their heads to look at her.

"What's up, Ron?" said one of the twins. "Someone being mean to you?"

"No, you git," said Ronnie. "Harry and I want to look at Lee's tarantula."

The word "Harry" got the attentions of all the people present, and they all looked past Ronnie and over to Harry. Before he knew it, both he and Ronnie were inside the compartment, and he was surrounded by people who wanted to greet him.

It was like the Leaky Cauldron all over again, but as he found out, the students were a lot less inclined to tell him what an honour it was and a lot more inclined to ask questions.

"Is it true about You-Know-Who?"

"D'you remember anything at all?"

"Does that scar hurt?"

"What House do you think you'll be in?"

"Do you play Quidditch?"

Harry tried to answer all the questions best as he could, but the sad fact was that most of the questions were of the kind he didn't know the answer to. When he admitted he didn't know anything about Quidditch beyond what Hagrid had told him, this caused an explosion of disbelieving gasps, followed up by a torrent of explanations of the sport, the four balls, the broomsticks, the teams, the different players and their tasks, It was all very interesting, but when a discussion broke out among the Weasley twins and the rest about which player was the most important one, and which team had the best Seeker, Harry found that he couldn't follow it any longer.

Ronnie met his eyes, looking both guilty and annoyed, moving up to him and lowering her voice. "Sorry about this," she murmured. "Should have realised..."

Harry shook his head. "It's okay, it's just... weird."

"Quidditch is not weird!" said a tall, burly boy whose name, Harry remembered, was Oliver Wood. "It's the best sport in the world! I'm Captain of the Gryffindor house team, you know! The best Quidditch team at Hogwarts, which is just fitting for the best school house at Hogwarts!"

Harry nodded, adding "Gryffindor" to his mental list of school houses. He already knew about "Hufflepuff" and "Slytherin," so that made at least three houses.

"And Fred and George here, they're the team Beaters," Oliver Wood went on. "Brilliant players, the both of them, and of course there was their brother Charlie, could have made it professional if he hadn't quit the sport to focus on those dragons of his... What about you?" he added, looking at Ronnie. "Got any of the old Weasley talent?"

"Oh, she doesn't play Quidditch," said one of the twins (possibly Fred) dismissively. "She's barely even been on a broomstick."

"Much too busy with her dollies and her tea parties," said the other twin (who might be George).

"Shut up!" Ronnie snarled.

"Hear that, Oliver? Such anger, and towards her own brothers too." said probably-George.

"Not very ladylike at all." said likely-to-be-Fred.

"You just wait!" said Ronnie hotly. "I'll make the team, see if I don't!"

"Oh, but Ronnie-honey," said almost-definitely-George.

"Don't call me that!" snapped Don't-call-me-Ronnie-Honey.

"Ronnie-honey," George-until-proven-otherwise repeated. "You forget one vital thing. You may not even be in Gryffindor. "

"He's right," said almost-certain-to-be-Fred. "All Weasley boys end up in Gryffindor, but you're not a boy, are you? First girl born into the family for seven generations. You broke a long streak of boys only. Stands to reason you'll break an equally-long streak of Gryffindors only." He smiled innocently at her. "Hate to break it to you, but here's every chance you'll go straight to Slytherin."

Ronnie went green. "I — you — shut up!" she exploded, in a voice suggesting that she was close to tears. "You don't know anything! You don't —" and then, with a sound that could have been a growl, or a sob, she tore the door to the compartment open and ran out.

Everyone stared.

"That was mean, Fred," said one of the girls in an accusing tone, looking at the twin who had made the Slytherin remark.

"It was a joke, I thought she could take a joke..." now-confirmed-to-be-Fred murmured, but he did look rather guilty.

Concerned, and mildly surprised at himself for worrying so much about a girl he'd just met, Harry excused himself and exited the compartment as well.

He found Ronnie at the end of the corridor, leaning her forehead against the window, her shoulders shaking. When she heard him approach, though, she straightened herself and turned towards him.

"I wasn't crying," she said, even though her face was suspiciously red.

"Er, no, of course not," said Harry.

"I was just admiring the scenery."

"Right."

"It's much more interesting from this window!"

"Yeah, absolutely."

There was a short pause. Then Ronnie took a deep breath. "What if they're right?" she said in a soft voice. "What if I'm not in Gryffindor?"

"Er, I don't know," Harry admitted. "I don't really know anything about the school houses. Er, except that Slytherin was Voldemort's old house?"

Ronnie gave a start and almost lost her balance.

"What?" said Harry, concerned.

"You — you said his name!" she gasped.

"Oh. Right," said Harry, suddenly remembering what Hagrid had said about wizards didn't like mentioning Voldemort's name. "Sorry, I forgot."

"Forgot?" Ronnie gaped. "Forgot that — well, you're sure to be in Gryffindor, then!"

"Oh? Why?"

"Because —" Ronnie wiped her eyes with her hand. "Well, Gryffindor's the house you go to if you're really brave, see? Gryffindor's the house of the brave, Ravenclaw's the house of the smart, Hufflepuff's for the loyal, and Slytherin —" She made a face and shook her head. "Dumbledore himself was in Gryffindor, and all my family's been in Gryffindor. Mum, Dad, my brothers... What if I'm not? What if I really do end up in Slytherin? I'd really hate that."

"I don't think I'd like Slytherin either," said Harry, stepping a little closer. "I wouldn't like to be in the same house as Vol— as the one who killed my parents," he corrected himself.

"Who would?" Ronnie swallowed. "But what if I am? Mum'll kill me."

Harry could only shrug. He'd like to comfort Ronnie somehow, but couldn't think of a way. "I — don't know. How do they decide what house you're in, anyway?"

"Dunno," Ronnie murmured. "Some kind of test, I think. Fred said something about wrestling a troll."

"What?"

The voice came from behind them. Harry and Ronnie turned to see a girl their age, already dressed in her new Hogwarts robes and with large front teeth and a bushy mop of brown hair. She was accompanied by the round-faced boy Harry remembered from the platform, who looked at them both rather timidly.

"They wouldn't make us wrestle trolls!" the girl said in a voice that was turning increasingly shrill. "They wouldn't send first-years up against a troll, it would be completely irresponsible and, and dangerous! We're not supposed to learn the proper spells to deal with a troll until our third year, none of our course books for this year mention trolls, and I've read all of them, several times, and no, they wouldn't! Would they, Neville?" She turned to the boy for confirmation.

"I... don't know..." he answered. "My Gran wouldn't tell me..."

"Well, they wouldn't!" said the girl, though she sounded a little less certain of the fact than her words indicated. Then, her eyes fell on Ronnie. "Have you been crying?" she said, rather bluntly.

"No!" Ronnie snapped.

"Well, you shouldn't, I mean yes, it's strange to leave home like this, but it's ever so exciting to be off to study magic, and I'm sure we'll be so busy learning new things that we won't even have time to get homesick," said the girl, probably intending to sound encouraging. "Nobody in my family's magical at all, so it was a huge surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard, and I'm so looking forward to learn everything and my parents are ever so proud of me, and I've learned all our course books, of course, but I'm sure there'll be so much more to learn — oh, and by the way, my name is Hermione Granger. And this is Neville Longbottom, from a long line of wizards." All this came at a great speed.

"Hi," said Neville Longbottom, from a long line of wizards, timidly.

"We're looking for his toad," said Hermione Granger. "Have either of you seen it?"

"Er — no," said Harry. "Ronnie?"

"Can't say I have."

"Well, thanks anyway," said Neville, looking disappointed.

"We'd better continue looking then. Don't worry, Neville, we'll find him," said Hermione, taking Neville's hand and more or less dragging him along. She did, however, stop by Ronnie and give her an encouraging smile. "And don't you worry either, Hogwarts will be ever so much fun, and I bet that within a week — no, within a day — you'll have forgotten all about how frightened you were, and once you've found out what house you're in, you'll settle down and you'll think you were silly for crying."

"I wasn't crying!"

"Oh, of course not, don't worry, we won't tell anyone, will we, Neville? See you later!" And with that, Hermione dragged Neville off and vanished, leaving Harry and Ronnie standing there gaping.

"I think," said Ronnie slowly, "I think I'd like to go back to our compartment now."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Good idea. But you know, we never even saw that tarantula."

"I think I'll pass," said Ronnie. "I don't want to talk to Fred and George right now."

On their way back to the compartment, they passed a smiling, dimpled woman pushing a cart with all kinds of wizard-type sweets and snacks. As she'd apparently already passed their compartment, and as Harry for the first time in his life had lots of money in his pockets (and just remembered that he hadn't had breakfast), he grabbed the chance to buy as many different foods as he could. Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, Ice Mice, and loads of other strange goodies he'd never heard of before.

Ronnie's eyes were huge as Harry carried off the huge load. "Hungry, are you?" she said.

"Starving," said Harry. "Want some? There's more than enough for us both."

"Well... No, thank you, Mum sent with me some sandwiches, I should probably eat them before they get too dry..." Ronnie murmured, though Harry could tell that she really wanted to say yes.

"Go on, I've got loads," said Harry, and discovered in that very moment how good it felt to have something to share... and even more importantly, someone to share with.

In the end, they ended up sharing the lot, and Ronnie's mood improved drastically as they sat in their compartment, making their way through the considerable pile of snacks and sweets, and chatting away like old friends.

Time flew as she told him all about what the different sweets were and what he could expect from them, and when Harry pried, she talked about her family, who were all wizards (except for one second cousin of her mother's that apparently was an accountant, but Ronnie had never met him), she told him stories her brothers had told her about life at Hogwarts, about wild pranks Fred and George had pulled, and about her sister Ginny, who wasn't going to start school until next year and had been very angry about that.

Harry, in return, told her about life in the Muggle world (though he decided to refrain from mentioning he'd slept in a cupboard for most of his life; somehow he felt mentioning such details would make it look like he was fishing for sympathy), and Ronnie seemed to find Muggle life just as fascinating as Harry found wizard life.

"You've got to meet my Dad sometime," she said. "He's wild about everything Muggle. Keeps bringing home all sorts of Muggle devices and trying to make them run. Drives Mum up the wall."

She was in the middle of telling him about a motorised lawnmower that her father had brought home, which he'd somehow managed to get going and lost control over, the result being that the carpet in the Weasley's living room now had a bare stripe on one side, when the compartment door slid open and Hermione Granger peeked in.

"Hello," she said. "I'm still looking for Neville's toad. Have you seen it since last we spoke? Oh, and how are you doing, are you feeling any better?" This last part was to Ronnie, who opened her mouth to answer, but then apparently thought better of it and just nodded. "Good, because I was thinking about what you said about wrestling a troll, and I think —"

But what Hermione thought, Harry never knew, because at that moment three boys appeared behind her, two of them large and hulking brutes not unlike a couple of junior trolls, who made even Ronnie look tiny by comparison, and the third a much smaller and paler boy that Harry recognised from before; it was the same boy he'd met at Madam Malkin's.

Hermione shrieked in surprise as one of the brutes grabbed her shoulder and pulled her away from the door to make way for the pale boy, who strolled into the compartment as if he owned the entire train.

"So," he said, looking at Harry with much greater interest than he had at Madam Malkin's. "It's true, then? They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter is in this compartment. That's you, is it?"

"Yes," said Harry, looking at him, and then at the two others, who were flanking him like bodyguards.

Another shriek came from Hermione, who poked her head back into the compartment. "You're Harry Potter?" she said excitedly. "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise, I've read all about you in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and —"

"Nobody asked your opinion," said the pale boy coolly, turning to look at her through narrowed eyes. "Who might you be?"

Hermione looked a little put out by his tone, but nevertheless answered in a reasonably polite tone: "Hermione Granger."

"I don't know any Grangers," said the pale boy. "Who are your parents? They're not —" (and here he made a disgusted face) "— Muggles, are they?"

"Not that it's any of your business," said Hermione stiffly, "but my parents are quite successful dentists, and —"

"Just as I thought. Stay out of this, Mudblood," the pale boy sneered, turning away from her to focus on Harry again.

Ronnie had gone white. She raised herself and glared at the pale boy. "You did not just say that!" she snarled.

If the boy was intimidated, he didn't show it. "And you're a Weasley," he said. "I know all about your family. Red hair and disgusting, Muggle-style clothes — not even new, disgusting Muggle-style clothes. Heard you were bawling in the corridor earlier. Can't say I blame you; if I belonged to such a pitiful excuse for a wizarding family, I'd probably cry too. Potter," he said, once again focusing on Harry as Ronnie sputtered and snapped for her breath with anger. "Take this as a friendly bit of advice. You don't want to get mixed up with riff-raff like these two. Look at them, they're not even remotely pretty by any standards - one looks like a beaver with a bushy wig, and the other's a beanstalk with red hair. If you want lady friends, I can introduce you to some proper witches, of good family. I assure you, they'll be a lot more stimulating company than —" (he looked at both Ronnie and Hermione with disdain) "— this."

Both Ronnie and Hermione exploded at the exact same time, though in different ways.

Ronnie let out a loud roar of anger and lunged for the pale boy, just as Hermione began yelling: "Oh, and you're one to talk, are you, I've met pigs that had better manners than you, you appalling, chauvinist, excuse for a human being —"

She didn't get any further, because one of the brutes grabbed her and, with an ugly expression, clamped a gigantic hand over her mouth, silencing her. The other brute, meanwhile grabbed Ronnie before she could even get close to the pale boy, hauling her off the ground and holding her tight.

The girls squirmed and struggled, Ronnie kicking and snarling like a wildcat, but the brutes were too strong for them.

The pale boy, completely unmoved by this, merely shook his head and looked at the struggling girls. "Pitiful. No class whatsoever, you'd think they were Muggles. Now, Potter —"

"Get out!" Harry commanded a— lot more bravely than he felt, because he was the smallest and skinniest person in the room and did not exactly have high hopes about his ability to fight off even one of these boys, let alone all three. "You just let those girls go, and get out!"

"Or you'll do what, Potter?" said the boy, his eyes narrowing. "You'll fight me? This is my last piece of friendly advice, and I do hope you'll take it: Watch your step. If you don't wise up and begin treating the proper wizarding families with a bit more respect instead of hanging out with scum like this, you'll end up just like those parents of yours."

Just then, there was a loud cry from the brute holding Hermione, who pulled his hand away from her face.

"Let me go or I'll bite you again!" she demanded once her mouth was free.

"Let me go or I'll kick your balls!" Ronnie snarled to the brute still holding her.

Hedwig, who had slept through it all, now woke up and started screeching indignantly.

Harry braced himself. It looked like it was going to come to a fight, and he was absolutely certain that he would lose, but seeing Ronnie and Hermione both in the grasp of boys the size of young trolls, he couldn't not do anything. Just as he was about to make his move, though, he saw four familiar figures appear behind the pale boy.

"What is going on here?" said Percy Weasley.

The three boys all turned to see the three Weasley brothers, plus Neville Longbottom (who looked completely terrified) standing in the corridor just outside the compartment.

The two brutes quickly let go of the girls, while the pale boy got just slightly paler. "More Weasleys," he sneered, obviously trying, and just as obviously failing, to keep the cool contempt in his voice.

"That's right," said one of the twins. "More Weasleys."

"Weasleys who don't like what they're seeing," said the other twin.

"And one of whom happens to be a Prefect," said Percy rather pompously. "You're Lucius Malfoy's son, aren't you? And these must be — oh yes, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. What do you think you're doing?"

Ronnie, who had fallen to the floor when she had been dropped, got rather unsteadily to her feet. "They came in here and began insulting our family, and they called her —" (she pointed to Hermione) "— an ugly word that I don't want to repeat, and then these two trolls attacked us!"

Percy's mouth tightened. "Rest assured, I will be speaking to whomever your Head of House turns out to be," he said to the three boys. "And I will keep my eye on you three from now on."

"And if he's too busy —" said one twin.

"— then we'll be more than happy to do it for him," said the other.

"You stay away from our sister!"

"Yeah, and her friends!"

"Or we'll make sure you regret it!"

"That's enough, you two," said Percy. "And you three, get out."

Seeing that they were outnumbered, and not prepared to risk getting into even more trouble, the three boys turned and slinked out of the compartment. Lucius Malfoy's son, however, couldn't resist glaring at all the Weasleys, and at Hermione, and last of all at Harry. "This isn't over, Potter," he sneered. "But don't say I didn't warn you!"

"Scram!" the twins chorused, and then both Lucius Malfoy's son and his two friends were gone.

All at once, the three Weasley brothers entered the compartment. One of the twins went straight up to Ronnie and brushing off some dust that had gathered on the girl's shirt after her unexpected trip to the floor. "Are you all right, Ron?" he said. "Look, I didn't mean that part about Slytherin, you know that, right?"

"Gerroff, Fred," Ronnie snapped, trying to twist away from him. "I'm all right!"

"What about you two?" said Percy, looking at Harry and Hermione. "Are you all right?"

Hermione nodded. She looked a little shaken, but unhurt.

"Thanks for the rescue," said Harry, going over to Hedwig's cage to make sure the owl was all right too. "I don't even know what that was about."

Percy's face darkened. "There are certain wizard families, the Malfoys among them, who insist on holding onto the outdated belief that the only thing that matters is purity of blood," he said.

"Pure wizard blood, that is," Fred-according-to-Ronnie explained when he saw Harry's confused expression. "No Muggles anywhere on the family tree."

"My parents are both Muggles," said Hermione, uncharacteristically silent and subdued. "Is that what 'Mudblood' means?"

"That's a nasty and dirty word," said Ronnie, looking at Hermione. "Anyone ever call you that, you just come to me, and I'll kick their arses for you!"

"Yeah, you were doing a really good job of that, dear sister," said George. "You can thank Neville here for the timely rescue." (Neville smiled nervously.) "He noticed that Malfoy and his cronies were up to no good and came to alert us —"

"— of course, we were already on our way over here," Fred added. "Just to see if you were doing all right. And Prefect Percy was doing his Prefectly duties and doing a bit of patrolling, so he was going the same way."

"Well." Percy cleared his throat rather pompously. "I was really just going around to see if everyone was changed into their robes. We'll be at Hogwarts soon. In fact, you two had better put your robes on," he added to Harry and Ronnie. "The first-years always take the scenic route to Hogwarts. You'll enjoy that, no doubt. Come on, Fred. George. There'll be carriages waiting for us."

As the three Weasley brothers left the compartment, a voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

"Damn," said Ronnie. "Percy's right, we'd better get into our robes!"

"Er —" Harry wasn't at all certain that he wanted to take off his clothes with two girls around, but Ronnie caught this and grinned at him.

"Just put the robes on over your Muggle clothes," she said. "That's what I'm doing."

"Oh," said Harry, relieved. "Right, then."

As he opened his trunk and fished out his long, black robe, he heard Ronnie walk up to Hermione and say: "By the way, nice biting. I hope that git gets a nice big scar."

"I didn't really mean to bite him," said Hermione, sounding a little embarrassed. "I just got so angry... I mean, I've read about prejudices against Muggle-born witches and wizards, of course, but all the books made it out that it was a thing of the past."

"Not as past as it should be," said Ronnie.

"It looks like I still have a lot to learn about the wizarding world," Hermione sighed. "I knew I should have ordered more books, I was just afraid that if I got too many, I wouldn't have time to read them all before I got to Hogwarts."

"Well." Ronnie suddenly sounded a little awkward. "You know. Books are nice and all, but they don't tell everything."

"Oh, of course they do," said Hermione. "You just have to find the right book, that's all. And I must have missed one or two of them. I didn't know I'd have to face such... er... such..." she trailed off, uncertain what to say.

"Look, there are gits everywhere," said Ronnie. "But real, decent wizarding folks, they don't care about blood or anything like that. Er. The important thing is that you, you know, do your best and all that... Right, er, Neville?"

"What?" Neville sounded a little startled that Ronnie had addressed him, but managed to say: "Oh. Yes. Right. My Gran says that some of the best wizards and witches around are Muggle-borns."

His robes finally fully on, Harry turned again to see the three others standing by the door. Ronnie was now in her robes as well, though Harry couldn't help but notice that they were slightly too short for her.

The train was slowing down. It was getting dark outside; mountains and forests were silhouetted against a deep, purple sky.

Harry took a deep breath as the train finally came to a halt. "Okay," he said, hoping that they wouldn't notice how much his voice was quaking. "This is it, then."

"Off to school," Ronnie agreed. She had gone rather pale underneath her freckles. "Moment of truth. Never mind about Gryffindor, but if I'm in the same house as that Malfoy git, I'm going home! Wouldn't mind being in the same house as you three, though," she added, a little shyly.

"Let's hope we all manage the fight against that troll, then," Harry tried to joke.

"Well, you already have been fighting two trolls, haven't you?" said Neville. "Three if you count Malfoy..." He blushed as the other three laughed — more out of nervousness than because the joke was particularly funny.

"Right," said Hermione. "Let's go, then."

"I still don't know where my toad is," said Neville anxiously.

"Er, wait," said Ronnie, looking down at her feet. "This wouldn't happen to be him, would it?"

They all looked down to see a large toad sitting on Ronnie's foot. It looked back up at them with a rather confused expression.

"Trevor!" said Neville, bending over to pick his pet up. "Where have you been? Oh, thank you for finding him!" he beamed at Ronnie.

"Actually, he seems to have found me," said Ronnie, a little embarrassed. "I just now realised something was sitting on my foot, and, well, there he was."

"We're all set then," said Harry as Neville happily slid the toad into his robe pocket. "See you at school, Hedwig," he added to his owl, who hooted from her cage and shook her wings a little, in a way that he hoped meant that she agreed.

And so, Harry Potter and the first three friends he'd ever had walked out into the night and off towards the future.

THE BEGINNING...

Author's Notes: If you've read this before and think it looks a little different... it is. When I posted this story to Ao3, I polished and revised it a little, fixing a few typos and awkward phrases, adding and subtracting a few sentences, that sort of thing. I decided that you people here on Fanfiction-dot-net deserved the improved version too, so I'm posing the altered chapters. Don't worry, the changes are mostly cosmetic and don't affect the actual story.

On to my original thoughts about this chapter:

After reading the umpteenth "Harry as a girl" fic, I just felt like seeing what might happen if I changed the gender of one of the other main characters, and so I began writing my version of Harry and Ron's first meeting, with a female Ron. Before I really knew it, I'd written almost eight thousand words, so I suppose you can say I got carried away.

Now, Harry's life has been as in canon, as have Hermione's, Neville's and Malfoy's, but the Weasley dynamic is changed a bit with two daughters instead of one, and so the entire chapter took a different turn (partly because I didn't just want to do the canon meeting scene with a few changed pronouns, and partly because it just happened that way).

Veronica Weasley is very close to her male counterpart in personality; blunt, sarcastic, temperamental and liable to act before she thinks - with five older brothers, she'd turn out a bit of a tomboy - but she's slightly more sensitive and emotional, though she pretends not to be, and her hang-ups and insecurities are a little different, if similar, to Ronald Weasley's. She's had quite a few "you're just a girl" comments thrown at her over the years, and so she's a little pushier and more determined to prove herself, but with five older and massively talented older brothers she's still worried she'll never reach their level - and this is made even worse because she thinks everyone expects the first Weasley girl in generations to be brilliant. She's closer to Ginny, because they're the only girls in the family, and her brothers are a lot more protective of her, though equally prepared to cheerfully give her a hard time, in the name of sibling rivalry.

Also, she's not afraid of spiders, or at least not as afraid of spiders. Because in this universe Fred didn't turn her teddy bear into one. This universe's Fred didn't have the heart to do that to his baby sister, even if she did break his toy broom.

2. Potter's Gang

Well, since a reviewer named Veronica (with the penname "DumbyLvr") threatened to hunt me down with her doggie unless I continued this story of Veronica Weasley... and a reviewer made BBauzzie threatened me with, uh, some mysteriously twirling fingers... well, I suppose I'd better continue it, then.

WEASLEY GIRL

Based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling

CHAPTER TWO:
Potter's Gang

After only a few days at Hogwarts, Harry Potter was utterly convinced that there was no greater place on Earth.

Oh, he'd be the first to admit that it wasn't perfect. While the stares and whispers among the students whenever he entered a room or walking down one of the corridors ("That's him!" — "Next to that tall redheaded girl!" — "Did you see his face?" — "Did you see his scar?") were much better than the hostile glares and nervous looks he'd get at Privet Drive, they were still very distracting. Especially when he was trying to navigate the huge and unpredictable castle that was Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Whose idea had it been to make staircases with vanishing steps, or doors that you had to tickle in order to open, anyway?

Also, lessons were much harder than he'd ever thought they'd be. There was a lot more to magic than Harry had ever imagined, and though most of the teachers said it was all a matter of practice, it was a little discouraging to spend an entire class of Transfiguration (taught by Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House) trying to turn matches into needles and getting absolutely nowhere. Still, it was a comfort to learn that Ronnie had been right; Harry was not the only one to have problems with the subjects, and he did neither better nor worse than most of the others.

Not all the teachers or other members of the Hogwarts staff were helpful, either. Professor Quirrell, who hadn't got any less nervous since Harry had met him in Diagon Alley, spent more time stuttering and cowering than teaching. Professor Binns, despite being something so unusual as a ghost teacher, still managed to officially be the Most Boring Person Ever. The caretaker, Mr. Filch, was a nasty old man who seemed to delight in catching students breaking some rule or other and threatening to lock them up in the dungeons or some other harsh punishment. And the librarian, Madam Pince, viewed students as a nuisance who shouldn't be allowed in her precious library and took any excuse to throw them out.

And of course there was the ghosts, Oh, great heavens, the ghosts. Harry had very quickly grown used to their presence, and a number of them were even friendly, but every so often one of them would get upset or angry over something and begin shouting and pestering a student — and Peeves the Poltergeist, the most malicious spirit in the castle, needed absolutely no excuse to prank, inconvenience or menace any of the students. His only redeeming quality was that he'd often provide a distraction for students cornered by Mr. Filch, who hated the poltergeist more than anything and would often drop everything in order to chase after him.

But really, all these things were minor annoyances at worst, and they were nothing at all compared to the many, many great things about the school.

Harry liked the Great Hall, where everyone would gather at mealtimes, he liked the food (which was usually less varied or extravagant as it had been at the welcoming feast, but even the everyday meals were ten times better than anything he'd received with the Dursleys'), he liked the school grounds, the castle and the lake, he liked the large four-poster bed he got to sleep in — and more than everything, he liked being a Gryffindor.

Because of course he had become a Gryffindor. He hadn't even needed to fight any more trolls (literal or figurative ones) to become one, all he had to do was put on a talking hat and suffer through a few nerve-wrecking minutes as it decided which house to place him in.

Even better; Ronnie, Neville and Hermione were also Gryffindors.

Ronnie, who had been one of the last students to be sorted, had been so relieved when the Sorting Hat had called out "Gryffindor!" that she had almost started to cry again, and had spent several minutes during the welcoming feast telling everyone that she wasn't crying at all and that her face was only red because she was feeling hot, wearing full Muggle clothes under her robes.

Fred and George, perhaps still feeling bad about upsetting her on the Hogwarts Express, congratulated her repeatedly and assured her that they'd never really doubted for a second that she'd end up in Gryffindor. In fact, they said it so many times that Ronnie eventually got fed up with it and threatened to punch them both if they mentioned it one more time — and after that, things were back to normal between the three siblings.

But the Sorting seemed like ages ago now, and though he still had vague memories of being afraid that he'd end up in Slytherin — or worse, be told that he wouldn't fit into any of the four houses and that he'd have to leave immediately — it all seemed like it had happened in another lifetime, and now he could barely even remember what it felt like to not be a Gryffindor.

All in all, there were ten students who had been sorted into Gryffindor that year, four boys and six girls ("Which just goes to prove that girls are braver than boys," Ronnie had said, and had been promptly told to shut up by all three of her brothers). Harry didn't know all of them well enough to make up a final opinion of them yet, not to mention all the other Gryffindors, which had to be more than a hundred in number and seldom remained still and in one place for long enough to get a proper overview... but he was certain of one thing: There wasn't one among them that he wouldn't rather have for company than Dudley Dursley. Or, for that matter, Lucius Malfoy's son (whose first name turned out to be "Draco"), who along with his friends Crabbe and Goyle had become a Slytherin.

The three boys he shared his dorm room with were all perfectly friendly. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan had hit it off with each other very quickly and were always together, but were nice to Harry as well — and Neville might be timid and accident-prone, but he didn't have a mean bone in his body and was actually very friendly once he overcame his shyness.

The girls, he didn't know as well.

The exception, of course, was Ronnie, who was probably the easiest person to talk to that he'd ever met. She had a casual attitude to most things (unless they angered or upset her, and then her fiery temper would explode) and loved to joke around — they were getting along so well, in fact, that Fred and George, now back to normal, had asked when the wedding would be, and pretended to start an argument over what to name the first-born child.

Ronnie had gone pinker than ever at that, and for a few minutes she refused to meet Harry's eyes while she called the twins the nastiest names she could think of.

Most of the other first-year Gryffindor girls seemed a little shy around Harry, though this did not apply to Hermione Granger, who probably didn't even know what it was like to feel shy. The girl had bonded with Ronnie after the incident on the Hogwarts Express, and would often be found hanging around Ronnie (and by extent, Harry) whenever she wasn't sitting with her nose in one of the five thousand books she appeared to read on a daily basis.

"I dunno why," Ronnie had confessed to Harry one evening, while Hermione was off reading her current favourite book, Hogwarts: A History, and was oblivious to anything else, "I have absolutely nothing in common with her. She's dead clever, mind — absolutely brilliant, really. Comes from a Muggle background, only known about magic for a few months, and still knows more spells than I do! Did you see her at Transfiguration?"

Harry nodded. Hermione was the only one in their year who had managed to turn a matchstick into a needle during their very first lesson.

"Absolutely brilliant," Ronnie repeated. "But barking mad. She spends more time reading than Percy does, she's obsessed with homework, she shows off during lessons, the thinks everything has to be done her way... and she even thinks Quidditch is silly! It's just because she's never seen a game, of course, but honestly! What sort of person doesn't like Quidditch?"

Harry could only shrug his shoulders. If he was to be honest, Quidditch sounded rather confusing to him, even with Ronnie's numerous enthusiastic attempts at explaining the game, but the way everyone was going on about it he couldn't wait to actually see it played, just to find out what the fuss was about. "She's all right," he said diplomatically. "Bit bossy, but — you like her well enough, don't you?"

"Yeah..." Ronnie murmured. "I dunno, I think it's impossible to end up in a fight with a couple of trolls alongside someone and not end up liking them at least a little. And, well, it's weird, really, but... 's just that when I'm with her I don't miss my sister as much."

"Hermione reminds you of your sister?" said Harry.

Ronnie pondered this for a bit. "Not really, no."

"...Okay," Harry finally said.

Ronnie gave him a half-smile. "Ginny and I used to do everything together, you know, being the only girls in the family... and now I'm here and she's back home..."

"But you'll see her again when the year's over, won't you?" said Harry. He himself didn't much like to think about how the year would eventually end and he'd have to go back to the Dursleys for the summer holidays, but he hoped that he could at least cheer Ronnie up a little. "Besides, she'll start Hogwarts next year, right?"

"Yeah." Ronnie's half-smile became a full smile. "I know, I'm being silly. Thanks, Harry. You know, you're a good chum."

Harry couldn't help but feel a little pleased at that. He'd never had any friends before, certainly nobody who would willingly call him a friend, but here Ronnie was calling him her friend just as if it went without saying. He had certainly come a long way in less than a week, he thought; from his lonely existence with the Dursleys he now had several friends, with at least one of them being a confirmed friend.

Together with Ronnie, and also Neville and Hermione, he had navigated through his first week at school, and was really feeling that they were getting the hang of school life, joys and annoyances and all.

He was even starting to get used to all the stares and whispers that seemed to follow him around wherever he went, and thought that if this was the worst that would come out of his fame, it might not be so bad.

That, however, was before his first Potions lesson, with the Head of Slytherin, Professor Snape.

Harry had anticipated his first Potions lesson with a sense of dread. He'd never talked to Professor Snape, had only seen him at a distance, but there was something about the man that made Harry uneasy. Possibly the looks Snape would occasionally send him from the high table at mealtimes. There was sheer hatred in those black eyes... but Harry didn't even know Snape; what possible reason would the man have to hate him?

(There was also the strange fact that the very first time Snape had looked at him, while sitting next to Professor Quirrel at the welcoming feast, Harry's head had started hurting. It had stopped as soon as it started, and hadn't happened since, so Harry hadn't mentioned it to anyone, but it was still odd.)

It didn't make it any better that the Gryffindors had Potions lessons together with the Slytherins, and that meant that Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle would be in the same class. Harry and the others had managed to avoid the trio since the Hogwarts Express, and he wasn't at all looking forward to having to spend two whole hours in their company.

His sense of dread deepened as he and the other Gryffindor first-years entered the Potions classroom, which was located in the basement and was really one of the dungeon rooms. It was cold and dark and foreboding, and almost impossible to enter without immediately thinking of starved prisoners and medieval torture. And the various jars placed on shelves around the room didn't exactly put the mind at ease, filled as they were with pickled, dead animals and nasty-looking things that Harry would rather not speculate on what was.

The Slytherin first-years were already there, peering at them through narrowed and haughty eyes (Malfoy was sitting at the front of the room, together with his two trolls, as Harry couldn't help labeling Crabbe and Goyle, all of them sending Harry nasty smiles), and Professor Snape was standing at the end of the room with a sour and impatient expression on his face, and with a sharp movement motioning for them to take their seats.

"You are late," he said. "I will give you this warning exactly once: In my class, I expect punctuality." He had a curiously soft voice, of the kind that constantly threatens to become an angry roar but never quite does.

Harry found a seat as far away from Malfoy as possible, and was joined by Ronnie on one side and Neville on the other, with Hermione taking the seat next to Ronnie.

There was almost complete silence as Snape took the roll call, and a particularly long and nasty silence followed after he'd called Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said. "Harry Potter. Our new celebrity."

Several Slytherins, most notably Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, sniggered behind their hands as Snape continued the roll call, leaving Harry to wonder just what he had done wrong to deserve such cold treatment from a teacher.

He'd continue to feel confused about this, as Snape, after finishing the roll call, began an extremely curious speech on his subject:

"— I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses..." he said, letting his cold, black eyes sweep over the room, lingering extra long on Harry. "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper on death... If!" he added with a sudden sharpness, "you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

His black eyes met Harry's and all of a sudden he was up close. "Potter!" he said. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry blinked. He had no idea what either of those things even were, and out of the corner of his eyes he could see that both Ronnie and Neville looked as clueless as he felt, though Hermione was raising her hand eagerly. "I... don't know, sir?" he said.

Snape smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile — in fact it was more of a sneer — but he seemed very pleased that Harry didn't know the answer. "Tut, tut," he said, in a voice that had more than a hint of self-satisfied smugness in it, "clearly fame isn't everything."

Harry said nothing. What could he say?

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"I — don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" said Snape nastily.

"That's bloody unfair!" Ronnie suddenly snapped from beside Harry. "Hermione's been sitting with her hand up all the time, why don't you ask her and leave Harry alone?"

Snape's head snapped towards her. "If I wanted to hear from Miss Granger," he said in a dangerously soft voice, "I would have asked Miss Granger. I would kindly have you refrain from commenting on the way I teach this subject - or am I perhaps in error, Weasley? Perhaps I'm not the one teaching this subject? Would you like to step up and take over?"

Ronnie had gone pink. Several of the Slytherins were laughing, and doing a very poor job at hiding it, but Snape ignored them and just stared intensely at Ronnie.

"Let me inform you of something," he said. "Earlier this week, your Prefect brother came to me with a story about how you, Potter and Granger had been assaulted on the train. He gave me the names of three students he claimed to be guilty - surprisingly enough, all three of them had just been sorted into Slytherin. He insisted that I punish them."

Ronnie opened her mouth to answer, and then apparently thought better of it.

"I told him in no uncertain terms that I would do no such thing," said Snape. "Unlike your brother, I saw your little escapade exactly for what it was: a laughably transparent attempt to get three innocent students into trouble."

"You can't be serious!" Ronnie blurted out. "That ponce and those trolls strolled right into our compartment and attacked us!" She pointed at Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, who were grinning at her with malicious smugness. "They're sitting right there, look —!"

"I will not tolerate you slandering your fellow students, Weasley!" Snape snapped at her. "If I hear so much as one more word out of you along those lines — one more word against innocent Slytherins — I'll personally see to it that you are expelled! That goes for all four of you!" he added, glowering at Harry, Neville and Hermione as well.

Neville let out a small squeak as Snape's eyes met his, and he looked like what he most of all would like to do was sink through the floor.

"I know a gang of troublemakers when I see one," Snape continued, still ignoring the exaggeratedly subdued laughter of Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy. "I will be keeping my eye on all of you. And you two," he added, turning his attention to Ronnie and Hermione. "If you insist on being in Potter's gang, I suggest you both remember your mothers' stories about what happens to foolish little girls who get seduced by promises of fame and glory!"

Both Ronnie and Hermione were absolutely speechless. Harry felt his cheeks grow hot.

"Now then," said Snape, turning to the rest of the class and fixing them all with a glare. "For your information, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful that it is known as the Draught of Living Death. And a bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, and it will save you from most poisons. Why aren't you copying this down?"

All the students, Gryffindors and Slytherins alike, hurried to get out their quills and parchments. "And you Gryffindors might be interested to learn," said Snape over the noise, "that you have Potter's gang to thank for the ten points I'm now taking from your house."

The rest of the Potions lesson was a complete disaster for anyone who wasn't in Slytherin. Snape had them work in pairs to make a simple potion that cured boils, but Harry, who was working with Neville, was so put out by sheer astonishment over the unfairness that he couldn't concentrate — and Neville was no help; he'd been reduced to a nervous wreck and couldn't even get a proper fire going under the cauldron, which resulted in Snape stopping by several times to call Neville an idiot. Hermione and Ronnie were working together in stunned silence, and were for the most part ignored, and the rest of the Gryffindors were subject to sour commentaries and hash criticisms from Snape — the Slytherins got off without so much as a reprimand, even though many of them did worse than the Gryffindors, and Malfoy (whom Snape for some reason seemed to like) was even held up as en excellent example for the other students.

Malfoy smiled in a self-satisfied way as Snape praised his excellently-stewed horned slugs, and glanced at the Gryffindors as if daring them to say otherwise.

"That was the worst lesson I have ever been to!" Hermione fumed as they finally left the dungeon. "What kind of a teacher is he? Insinuating that we — that Ronnie and I — that Harry — oooooh, I have a good mind to go to the Headmaster with this, I'm sure that sort of behaviour isn't allowed —"

"Snape's been at school for years," said Ronnie glumly, "and he's always been horrible. You wouldn't believe the stories my brothers have told about him, and he's never been sacked. I think I officially hate Fridays now. Are you all right, Neville?"

Neville, who hadn't said a word other than the occasional squeak after the dressing-down Snape had given him, just shook his head.

It was a relief that none of the other first-year Gryffindors blamed them; most of them seemed even more confused at Snape's severe antipathy towards '"Potter's Gang," as he called them, than Harry himself was.

Indeed, Lavender Brown — one of Ronnie and Hermione's dorm-mates, normally a rather giggly and silly girl — came up to them immediately after the lesson was over to give both Hermione and Ronnie big hugs and tell them that she thought that Snape was being completely horrid, and that she believed them about that awful Malfoy and his ugly trolls. (Harry was a little afraid that she'd try to hug him as well, but luckily she didn't, though she did give sympathetic looks to both him and Neville.)

"Well, at least now we know why he's been glaring at me all week," said Harry after Lavender had gone off. "Seems like he thinks I'm, or well we're, out to discredit three of his students. Maybe Malfoy's his nephew or something, seemed like they knew each other."

Neville shook his head, but didn't say anything more.

"Well, if you ask me, he's completely out of line," said Hermione, who just seemed to have gathered more steam after Lavender's burst of sympathy. "Professional educators should not let their personal biases stop them from providing an education of decent quality. Did anyone from Gryffindor properly learn how to make that boil-curing potion, I don't think so, what if it's part of the end-of-year exams, then you know none of us Gryffindors are going to pass, and all because that — that man was too busy making insults and threats — why are you looking at me like that?" That last part was directed to Ronnie, who was staring incredulously at her.

"Hermione," the taller girl said. "Not that I don't like to hear you berate that git, but it's just the first week of school. Isn't it a little too early to think about end-of-year exams?"

"It's never too early to think about end-of-year exams," said Hermione.

Ronnie paused and then turned to Harry, tapping her forehead with her finger a few times to indicate what she thought of Hermione's state of sanity. Hermione gave her a hurt look and opened her mouth, and to stop her from going on what looked to be another tirade, Harry hurried to say: "You know, Hagrid sent me a letter inviting me to tea this afternoon! Would you three like to come along? I'm sure he won't mind!"

"Yeah — yeah, all right then," said Ronnie.

"Thank you, Harry, that's very kind of you," said Hermione, and as Harry had hoped, she didn't begin to berate Ronnie after that - apparently she felt the moment had passed.

And so it was that all four of them, at five to three, left the castle and made their way over the school grounds towards Hagrid's hut; a small, wooden cabin at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Already before Hagrid opened the door, they could hear the noise and commotion from inside; a few loud, barks sounded from inside, accompanied by Hagrid's rough, booming voice: "Back, Fang, back!"

And then the door opened, and there was Hagrid; just as huge and lumbering as he'd been when Harry first saw him, firmly holding the collar of an enormous black boarhound, who was barking and struggling to get loose, paws scraping against the wooden floor. "Hello, Harry!" the giant man beamed. "Jus' one moment — back, Fang!" he added to the overeager dog as both Neville and Hermione shrank back.

"Hello, Hagrid!" said Harry. "I brought a couple of friends, I hope that's all right?"

"The more, the merrier!" said Hagrid. "Don't worry abou' Fang here," he added to Hermione and Neville, "he's friendly, he won't hurt yeh. He's jus' eager ter meet new people. C'mon in!"

They entered a surprisingly large room — Hagrid's hut had only one room, Harry realised, which served as kitchen, living room, bedroom and storage room all in one. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, the walls were covered in shelves and filled with all sorts of odd things, at the end of the room was an open fireplace where a copper kettle was on the boil, chairs were set around a sturdy wooden table, and in the corner stood a huge bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home!" said Hagrid, motioning over to the chairs and at the same time accidentally letting go of Fang, who immediately jumped at Ronnie and began licking her face while wagging his tail furiously.

"Ah — no, stop it!" Ronnie laughed, trying to push the friendly boarhound away. "Yeah, I — I'm glad to see you too, but — ack! Gerroff!" That last word almost drowned in loud fits of giggling.

"Ticklish, are you?" said Hermione, looking a little calmer, and with what Harry thought looked like a wicked gleam in her eyes.

"Yes!" Ronnie squeaked between her giggles. "Get 'im off me — oh, thank you!" she breathed in relief as Hagrid effortlessly pulled Fang away from her and told him to go and lie down. The boarhound reluctantly obeyed, and Ronnie wiped her face with her sleeve.

"Sorry abou' that," said Hagrid, picking up a towel and handing it to her. "Sometimes he fergets he's not a puppy anymore. 'Ere now, you're a Weasley, aren't yeh?"

Having got her breath back under control, Ronnie nodded. "Veronica Weasley," she said.

"'Course, now I remember it!" said Hagrid. "Yer brother Charlie talked abou' yeh often enough. An' there was this great fuss when yeh were born - firs' Weasley girl born in centuries. Caused a bit of a stir there, yeh did. Think there was even a small bit about yeh in the Daily Prophet."

"Yeah, I've seen it," said Ronnie, handing the towel back to him. "Mum cut it out and saved it. It was during the war, and apparently they were desperate for any news that weren't about You-Know-Who. Fred and George say I became a girl just because I knew I'd get more attention that way."

Hagrid chuckled. "Pleased ter meet yeh in any case. Sit down, sit down all o' yeh, I'll get yeh some tea."

As they flocked round the table, Harry introduced Hermione and Neville to Hagrid, and he greeted them warmly, as he poured boiling water from the copper kettle over into a large teapot.

"So how's yer toad doin'?" he asked Neville. "Seem ter remember yeh had a bit of trouble with him on the boat ride."

"T-Trevor's fine, I think," said Neville, who still seemed a little intimidated. "He keeps getting away from me, though. I-I don't think Hogwarts agrees with him. Ronnie's been good at finding him, though."

"More like he keeps finding me," said Ronnie. "I think he gets confused about which dorms are the boys' and which are the girls'."

"Well, if yeh got any more problems with 'im, bring him ter me sometime, an' I'll see if I can do somethin' for him," said Hagrid as he laid out mugs for them. "He wouldn' be the firs' toad havin' problems with adjustin' ter belongin' to a wizard... one o' the reasons why they went out o' style, really."

"Oh," said Neville, and looked like he didn't know whether to be relieved that he wasn't the only wizard to have such problems with his toad, or embarrassed that he had a toad to begin with.

Hagrid smiled at him. "Don' worry about it. They always come aroun' in the end. Difficult pets, toads, bu' with a bit o' patience they make great companions. "So," he added, addressing the whole group, "how's yer firs' week at Hogwarts bin, then?"

"It's been —" Harry hesitated. If Hagrid had asked that question before the Potions lesson, he would have enthusiastically claimed that he was having a great time, but at the moment Snape with his off-putting behaviour was still a little too fresh in his memory. "Mostly, it's been great."

"Mostly, eh?" After placing the teapot down onto the table, Hagrid grabbed a large tin which stood on a shelf by the fireplace and removed its lid, before fishing out a number of shapeless lumps that might, with some goodwill, be called rock cakes, which he put onto a plate. "'Course, there's always a lot ter get used ter, firs' week. Tha's ter be expected."

"I didn't say I didn't like it!" said Harry hurriedly, in case Hagrid had got the wrong idea, but Hagrid merely chuckled again as he placed the plate onto the table.

"I know yeh didn't," he said. "But I know how it can be, suddenly livin' in a new place, totally different from yer old one. Yeh might think it's great, might even think it's the best place yeh've ever known, bu' yer still not used ter it. Tha' part still takes a bit o' time. So, tell me abou' —" here he stopped and looked towards Ronnie again.

Fang, having grabbed the opportunity while Hagrid was busy, was back by Ronnie, tail still wagging fiercely (though at least he hadn't tried to jump up on her this time) as the girl scratched his ears.

Hagrid beamed. "Ah, he likes yeh!" he said. "Charlie was right, yeh do take after him. He was always great with animals too."

"I like dogs," Ronnie said, scratching Fang's chin. "Well, when they're not trying to drown me in slobber, anyway." Somehow, she seemed a little embarrassed at the affection Fang was giving her, but it was also obvious (at least to Harry) that she rather liked it as well. At least she never took Hagrid's advice to "jus' shoo him off if he starts annoyin' yeh," because the dog remained firmly at her side through the rest of their visit.

Hagrid poured the tea for everyone, and though the rock cakes turned out to be exactly as edible as they looked — which is to say not at all — the tea itself at least was decent. Harry, Ronnie, Hermione and Neville sipped at it and pretended to enjoy the cakes as they told Hagrid all about their lessons.

He didn't seem surprised at all that they'd got into trouble with Snape. "Snape's not what yeh'd call friendly ter the students," he said. "Dislikes most of 'em, an' the ones he does like tend ter be in Slytherin. Gryffindors always get the wors' of it, too, so tha's another reason. Ol' house loyalties an' rivalries, see? "

"Why's he even allowed to teach?" Hermione blurted out.

"Well, man's a bloomin' genius when it comes ter potions," said Hagrid. "Not many people alive that know their way 'round a cauldron better than Snape does, an' yeh can take that as a fact. Much as students like ter complain about 'im, they still got Severus Snape ter thank fer some o' the mos' useful potions invented in the las' decade. Some of 'em he invented himself, some of 'em people who were his students at Hogwarts thought up."

"All right, so he's brilliant at stirring cauldrons," said Ronnie, scratching the adoring Fang's ears some more. "He's still a git. Threatened to expel the lot of us."

Hagrid raised his bushy eyebrows at this, so Hermione took over and told him about the events at Potions, and how Snape had first singled Harry out in order to put him up against the wall, and then had gone off on all four of them. Pouring them all some more tea, Hagrid wrinkled his brows as he listened.

"Well, now, I admit that's extreme, even fer Snape," he said in a contemplating voice, as if trying to choose his words carefully. "Reckon that, er, he wasn't happy abou' that incident at the Hogwarts Express an' jus' overreacted. Didn' like ter have three o' his own students accused o' somethin' like that."

"But you believe us, right?" said Harry hopefully, while trying to pretend he was enjoying the cakes. "I mean, they really did come into our compartment and start making trouble, for no reason at all. If Percy and Fred and George hadn't shown up when they did..."

"Course I believe yeh!" said Hagrid. "That Malfoy family, Harry. Nasty folks. Were on the side o' You-Know-Who durin' the war, as I remember, bu' got away with it by pretendin' they'd been under a spell. Absolute rot, o' course, reckon they were right in his inner circle. Don't surprise me in the least that a Malfoy would be up ter no good. An' those two others... same sort, by the sound of it." he looked at Ronnie and Hermione. "They didn't hurt yeh, did they?"

"The only thing that was hurt was our pride," said Hermione with a slight grimace.

"Apart from the bruise I got when Crabbe dropped me to the floor, " Ronnie added. "But that's gone now." (Fang looked at her with sympathetic eyes - or maybe he was just hoping she'd give him another scratch behind the ears, it was hard to tell.)

"Brutes," said Hagrid. "They do anythin' like that again, to any of yeh, yeh jus' go to ter one o' the teachers — or if yeh can't find any, come ter me. I'll set 'em straight!"

"Thanks, Hagrid," said Harry.

"Yeah, thanks," said Ronnie. "Knew it wouldn't do to go to Snape with it..."

"Woof," said Fang, as if wanting to add his thoughts to the conversation. Ronnie stroked him few times.

"Well, I wouldn' worry too much about those threats," said Hagrid soothingly. "Snape can take points an' give detentions, bu' he's not yer Head o' House, so he can't expel yeh withou' gettin' Professor McGonagall ter agree to it."

Harry felt relieved; Professor McGonagall was strict, to be sure, but she seemed fair — surely she wouldn't follow up on Snape's threats. Hermione looked notably relieved as well, but Neville, who had barely said a word since he entered the hut, looked skeptical.

"I don't know," he said silently. "I saw how he looked at Harry. That wasn't just dislike, that was hate."

"Nonsense. What'd he hate Harry fer?" said Hagrid, though Harry could have sworn he didn't quite meet Neville's eyes when he said that. And then, before anyone else could say anything more on the subject, he turned to Ronnie and asked: "By the way, bin meanin' ter ask — how's Charlie doin'? Las' I saw 'im, he was talkin' about goin' off ter Romania ter study dragons."

Harry, Hermione and Neville exchanged glances, but as a startled Ronnie began telling Hagrid about Charlie's work with dragons, they came to a silent agreement to drop the subject for the time being.

All in all, though Hagrid was less forthcoming on the subject of Snape than Harry might have wished, it ended up a very nice visit. The difference between Hagrid's cosy and cluttered cabin and Snape's cold and forboding dungeon could not have been greater, and if his cooking left a lot to be desired Hagrid was a warm and friendly host that was easy to talk to. Even Neville eventually warmed up to the situation and began taking more part in the conversation.

It turned out that Hagrid knew quite a few people that Ronnie and Neville also knew — which made sense, given that all the people Ronnie and Neville knew were wizards and most of them had been at Hogwarts. Hagrid knew not only Ronnie's parents and brothers, but a large number of Neville's relatives as well (Neville had no siblings, but he seemed to have an endless stream of elderly relatives with whom Hagrid was at least on greeting terms). He could also tell quite a few stories about Harry's parents from when they'd been at Hogwarts, which Harry listened to eagerly — it was the first time he'd had anyone talk much about his parents, other than degrading comments about how they were freaks and deadbeats, or lies about how they'd died in a car crash.

"Yeh really look almost exactly like yer Dad did at eleven, Harry," said Hagrid fondly. "'cept yer eyes, o' course. Those are yer Mum's eyes."

The only person Hagrid didn't know anyone related to was Hermione, who as far as she knew was the only witch in her entire family.

"Don' know a lotta Muggles," Hagrid admitted. "Well, mos' wizards don't. 'Most of us find it hard ter always remember keepin' our magic a secret, so we don' go inter the Muggle world 'less we have ter. Y'know," he added, almost as an afterthought, "I reckon tha's where yeh Muggle-borns win out in the long run."

"Really?" Hermione perked up.

"Yeh know how ter act around Muggles. Yeh can go places an' do things we others can't — leastways, not without callin' too much attention to ourselves." Hagrid chuckled. "Right, Harry? Yeh remember me tryin' ter get around in the Muggle world, don't yeh?"

Harry nodded — and since Hagrid was laughing, he laughed too. "He got stuck on the escalators, didn't know how to get Muggle money sorted out and couldn't figure out what parking meters were."

"What are parking meters?" said Ronnie, looking interested.

"There now, y'see?" Hagrid grinned.

Hermione looked rather pleased at this — between people like Malfoy, who detested Muggle-borns, and Ronnie, who said that it didn't matter if you were a Muggle-born, Harry thought this had to be the first time Hermione had been ever told that being Muggle-born might be an actual advantage.

All in all, Harry thought as he and the others walked back to the castle for dinner (pockets filled with rock cakes they hadn't had the heart to refuse, and Ronnie wiping her face free of dog drool after Fang's enthusiastic goodbye), this hadn't turned out to be such a bad day after all.

His visit at Hagrid's had given him a bit to think about, though; Snape's hatred was still nagging at him, and he was almost certain that Hagrid knew more about this than he was saying. What could it be, and why didn't Hagrid want to share?

As they came into the Great Hall, where most of the students had gathered for dinner, Seamus Finnigan waved to them from the Gryffindor table. "Hey, it's Potter's Gang!" he called in a cheerful voice, causing several of the other Gryffindors to look up. "Where've you been? Haven't seen you since Potions ended!"

"We've been having tea with a friend," said Hermione primly, moving to find an available seat. "And we're not Harry's gang, thank you very much."

However, as they would soon find out, this protest came far too late, and probably wouldn't have done much good in any case: The name that Snape had accidentally given the group during that Potions class had somehow stuck in the students' minds, and after a few days, everyone at Hogwarts was referring to them as "Potter's Gang."

Hermione spent quite some time trying to rectify this, and several times she'd be heard going off on another tirade on how they were not a gang, and even if they had been, they certainly didn't belong to Harry, and Snape was a lousy excuse for a teacher who shouldn't be allowed to make up such insulting names anyway - but in the end, all she accomplished with this was to stop a few of the students from using the name in front of her, and being docked five points from Gryffindor from an annoyed Slytherin Prefect who told her to stop insulting Professor Snape.

Harry found the entire thing rather embarrassing, but as Ronnie said, they couldn't really control what people called them. The word "gang" wasn't a slur or insult, and it wasn't against the school rules to use, so there wasn't a lot the teachers could do to stop calling them that.

"Besides," Ronnie added, placing an arm around Hermione's shoulders to give her a one-armed hug, "it could be worse. Just look at the group name they've given Malfoy, Grabbe and Goyle."

Hermione didn't try to return the hug, but neither did she shy away. She just turned her head to look at Ronnie. "What are they calling them?"

"You didn't hear?" said Ronnie in surprise, and then her lips quirked up in a sweet smile. "Well, for some reason, no idea why, people have started to call them —" (and here she giggled a little) "— 'the Trolls.'"

Even Hermione had to laugh at that.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's Notes: Okay, don't get too used to such quick updates; I just got a big burst of inspiration and had some extra time to write - but this is actually surprisingly fun, trying to figure out what changes from canon and what stays the same. Turning Ron into a girl actually changes quite a bit, because the small changes bring on more, possibly bigger, changes.

Some of the changes are good, such as Hermione being accepted as a friend much earlier, and the inclusion of Neville in the group. (It makes sense that Harry, as an eleven-year-old boy, would want at least one male friend around to counterbalance the two girls - and Neville has not only made a slightly better first impression, but he's the one most readily available at the time.)

And some of the changes might be a little unnerving. Wasn't Harry supposed to find the newspaper cutting under Hagrid's tea cosy in this chapter, the one that would have clued him in on the robbery at Gringott's? And for that matter, wasn't he supposed to learn about that robbery from Ronnie in the last chapter, and get the Chocolate Frog card featuring Dumbledore which contains the important clue about Nicholas Flamel?

But because things are happening differently in this universe, Harry has now missed out on no less than three clues about what's going on behind the scenes. Ronnie didn't tell him about the robbery because their conversation never took that turn, and they instead went to look at Lee Jordan's tarantula. He never got the Dumbledore Chocolate Frog card because he wasn't in the compartment when the trolley witch came past, and when he bought the sweets and snacks off the trolley later the particular Frog with the Dumbledore card had already been bought by someone else. And he didn't spot the newspaper clipping because he had two more people there to talk to and was too distracted throughout.

This might make it a little more difficult for our heroes to solve the mystery of the Philosopher's Stone...

3. Private Flying Lesson

I'm on a roll here! But before we start this chapter, I want to take a moment to thank everyone who's left a review; some of them have been very insightful about not only this story, but the canon universe as well (and at least one review brought up a very good point I hadn't really thought much about).

WEASLEY GIRL

Based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling

CHAPTER THREE
Private Flying Lesson

The next morning, which was a Saturday, most of the students slept in. But Harry, who even during the weekends had usually not been allowed to sleep late (there were, after all, chores to be done and breakfast to be made), woke up just as early as always, and found that now that he could lie in if he wanted to, he didn't really want to.

In the end, as none of the other boys in his dorm room showed any signs of waking up, he silently got dressed, exited the room and went down the long spiral staircase to the common room to see if anyone else was out and about this morning.

They weren't. The common room was dead quiet, which felt strange. Usually there were so many Gryffindors here, playing Exploding Snap or Gobstones, arguing about Quidditch, complaining about homework, going through the lessons for the day, or just talking and laughing. Right now, however, only one student was sitting there, hunched over the table and writing something — and it came as no surprise that this student was Hermione.

What was a little surprising was that Trevor the Toad was there as well, sitting on the table next to her and staring at her with his customary confused eyes.

Hermione was completely absorbed in her writing and didn't look up from she was doing until Harry was only a couple of feet away from the table.

"Oh," she said, lifting her quill from the parchment. "Good morning, Harry."

"Good morning," said Harry. "Having a good time with Trevor?"

"Hmm?" Hermione looked over at the toad. "Oh, no — but he was in our dorm room again when I woke up. I found him trying to hop into Ronnie's bed, but when I tried to wake Ronnie, she just shoved me away, called me 'Ginny' and went back to sleep. So in the end I decided to take Trevor with me down here so I could give him back to Neville when he showed up."

"Well, that's nice of you," said Harry. "So what are you doing, then? Getting in some homework before breakfast?"

"No, I finished all my homework yesterday," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "What I'm doing is writing a formal letter of complaint to the school about Professor Snape."

"...oh?" said Harry, turning his head to try and see what she was writing. "...and with this I want to point out why he is not a worthy teacher," he read. "Worthy teacher?"

"Well, he's not," said Hermione, a tad defensively. "You were there, you saw how he acted. Blatant favouritism, refusal to give the proper aid to those who needed it the most, broadcasting things a Prefect told him in confidentiality, using bullying and intimidating tactics to make students he dislikes look bad, insinuating that one student is, is, seducing two others — I mean, we're eleven! What does he think we're doing, does he think we're... er..." she hesitated, apparently trying to think of an example that was sufficiently ludicrous and not too embarrassing to say.

"I have no idea what he thinks, and I don't think I want to know either," said Harry. "Bad enough that I have to spend at least two hours with him every Friday without trying to find out what goes on inside that greasy head."

"This isn't a joking matter, Harry," said Hermione disapprovingly. "A teacher should not be allowed to act like that around his students, genius with potions or not, and Hagrid did say Snape always had it in for Gryffindors, so who knows how many other students have done poorly at Potions over the years just because they had him as a teacher!"

"All right, all right," said Harry, holding his hands up to stop her from going on another tirade. "I'm not saying I disagree with you, but do you really think a letter's the best way to solve this?"

"At first I thought I'd go to Professor McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore and just state my complaint," Hermione admitted, "but then I thought it would be a lot more orderly if I did it in writing. They have to at least listen to me."

Having avoided one tirade and not wanting to risk another one, Harry didn't tell her that he thought she was being a little too optimistic. But he too remembered how he'd been told that Snape always had it in for Gryffindors, and if he had been allowed to teach here for several years despite that, it didn't seem likely that a measly letter of complaint would change anything. He himself had had a few awful teachers over the years (none of them as awful as Snape but still), and none of them had ever lost their jobs, much as they had deserved to.

And it did seem like Hermione's letter of complaint, once she had sent it, ended up being ignored — at least none of them heard anything more about it for several days.

But to be honest, Harry didn't mind this so much, as he had other things to think about — and it was something a lot more exciting and promising than any letter of complaint could hope to be, even if it was against Snape: The coming Thursday, the first-year Gryffindors (together with the first-year Slytherins) would have their very first flying lesson, and they were to meet with flight instructor Madam Hooch on the lawn in front of the Quidditch pitch for an introduction to broomsticks and flying techniques.

Flying was the one thing that Harry more than anything else had been looking forward to. Ever since the glimpse he'd had at that fabulous racing broom at Diagon Alley, he had longed for the day he himself could grab a broomstick and rise up in the sky. More than half the other first-years had already been flying for years; the way some of them were talking, you'd think they had been born on a broomstick, and they were all more than happy to share their stories of high-speed aerial acrobatics and long flights over the countryside.

Draco Malfoy was, unsurprisingly, one of the worst. His stories were taller and fuller of amazing heights and daring dives than anyone else's and always seemed to include at least one part where he narrowly escaped Muggles in helicopters. If only half of these stories were true, he had to have encountered all the helicopters that existed in the country, plus a few that didn't.

Annoying and unlikely as the tall tales were, though, what was worse than anything was Malfoy's utter glee in berating anyone who hadn't been on a broomstick before. Somehow, he had snapped up the knowledge that neither Harry, Neville nor Hermione had ever flown before — and whenever they encountered him after that, he got very eager about telling whoever he was with at the moment how everyone knew that eleven was really much too old to be learning how to fly.

"You have to start riding brooms almost before you can walk, or you'll never be a good flier," he'd say loudly to Crabbe or Goyle or one of the other Slytherins as Potter's Gang walked past. "Oh, you might be able to hover along for a bit if you're desperate enough, but it won't be like real flying. You might as well be a Muggle for all the good you'll be on a broomstick."

While Harry for the most part wouldn't trust anything he'd heard from Malfoy, he couldn't help but feel a small pinch somewhere in his stomach whenever the insufferable boy began bragging; a tiny part of him that wondered whether it was all true, and whether he'd make a total fool of himself come the flying lesson.

But Harry's small pinch of insecurity was nothing compared to the effect Malfoy had on Neville and Hermione. Neither of them had ever so much as touched a broomstick all their lives; Hermione because she was Muggle-born and Neville because his grandmother had strictly forbidden him to even go near a broom. (Not without cause either, given how accident-prone he managed to be with both feet on the ground.) And as the day of the flying lesson grew closer, Neville in particular got more and more nervous about it, something Malfoy quickly caught on to.

"They say if you're clumsy on the ground, you'll be a complete disaster in the air," he hollered after Neville. "Wonder what happens if you're already a complete disaster on the ground? Looks like we'll find out on Thursday!"

Ronnie, the only one of Potter's Gang who had actually been on a broomstick before, clenched her fists every time she passed the Trolls — but whether it was because she was afraid of Snape's threats or whether she didn't want to be picked up and restrained by Crabbe or Goyle again, she didn't try to attack them like she had on the Hogwarts Express. Instead, she spent quite some time telling Hermione and Neville what a brainless git Malfoy was and how she wouldn't believe him if he said the sky was blue.

"Flying's brilliant," she said. "And it's dead easy too. Ginny and I have been doing it since I was seven. Don't tell Mum this," (and here she lowered her voice and whispered conspiratorially, as if afraid her mother would somehow hear) "but we used to break into the family broom shed and borrow the broomsticks without anyone knowing."

Harry chuckled at this and Hermione looked disapproving, but Neville just sighed and didn't seem to find any of it encouraging at all.

The round-faced boy was clearly taking Malfoy's words more to heart than he wanted to admit; each morning, at breakfast time, he'd unnerve the rest of Potter's Gang with predictions about the inevitable accidents he'd have while in the air; predictions that just got gloomier and gloomier for each passing day. And Ronnie's constant reassurances that he was extremely unlikely to fall off his broom and break both his legs, or accidentally kill himself and come back as a ghost to haunt the Quiddidtch pitch for all eternity, weren't much help.

Neither was Hermione, who was already tetchy because she had yet to get a response to her letter of complaint, and whose nervousness about flying was starting to make her rather high-strung. And though broomstick flying was one thing she couldn't learn by heart from a book, she was still making an honest attempt, borrowing all the books she could from the library that so much as mentioned flying or even Quidditch, and would sit around with Neville, listing up all the flying tips she'd read in Quidditch Through The Ages in an increasingly panicked voice.

Tuesday afternoon, two days before the flying lesson, Ronnie pulled Harry aside while Hermione and Neville were sitting in the Gryffindor common room and getting one another more and more worked up with flying tips and lamenting everything that could go wrong. (A couple of the other Gryffindors turned their heads and watched as Ronnie all but dragged Harry over to an empty corner — but since no heavy snogging took place, most of them seemed to lose interest and went back to their individual activities.)

"Look," the red-haired girl said in a hushed voice. "We've got to do something about those two. If they continue like this, they'll be nervous wrecks by the time the flying lesson comes around, and I don't trust the Trolls at all."

"You think they'll try something?" said Harry.

"Don't you?" said Ronnie. "Malfoy's been chipping away at Neville's self-confidence all week, and Hermione's not much better. Ten to one the Trolls have something planned."

Harry sighed and nodded; Ronnie's predictions were altogether too plausible, and if there was one thing that made him look forward to the flying lesson slightly less, it was knowing that he'd have to share it with the Slytherins, and particularly the Trolls.

"But what can we do?" he said, looking towards the table where Neville and Hermione were still memorising segments from Quidditch Through the Ages. "We can't force them to calm down. Unless you wanted to smuggle some of that Calming Draught into their pumpkin juice or something..."

"Nah, you're not supposed to fly if you've had one of those," said Ronnie, "I was thinking something else."

"What?"

"Private. Flying. Lesson." All three words in Ronnie's short sentence was punctuated with a thrust of her finger. "Just a simple introduction course, mind," she continued, lowering her voice a little further. "For all three of you. Get those first-time-flight nerves out of your systems, away from everyone else. No jeering Slytherins, no troublemaking Trolls."

"Er -" said Harry. The idea had some merit. "But do you really think we could get Madam Hooch to agree to give us private lessons?"

"Are you joking? Of course not," said Ronnie. "But we don't need Madam Hooch! I can teach you!"

"You can —!"

"Yeah! I told you, I've been flying since I was seven! I know all the tricks!" Ronnie grinned as if this was the best idea ever. "I know where they keep the school brooms, and I'm sure we can find some place on the school grounds where we won't be seen, long as we're careful!"

Harry looked at the girl's eager face. He was pretty sure that this was a tremendously stupid idea, and suspected it was very much against the school rules, but — well, the thought of flying was extremely tempting.

"Well," he finally said. "We can at least ask Neville and Hermione if they want to try it."

"Absolutely not!" Hermione hissed. "I can't believe you'd even suggest such a thing, Veronica! It's dangerous, it's against the rules —"

"It's not dangerous, I know what I'm doing!" said Ronnie. "And nobody'll even know! Look, I know you're nervous about flying, so —"

"So you thought that since we obviously weren't trusting a professional adult who teaches flying for a living, in controlled and legal forms, we'd jump at the chance to be instructed by an eleven-year-old child who's entirely self-taught, and break several school rules in order to do so?" Hermione glared at her. "Where do you keep your brains, Veronica Weasley? Because wherever they are, they're obviously not in your head!"

"Er —" said Neville timidly.

"What?" Hermione's head snapped towards him.

"I— I'd like to try it," said Neville.

Hermione gaped at him.

"If we can find a good place, and if Ronnie promises that we'll stay low, then — then I want to do it!" said Neville. "If there aren't any Slytherins there, I think I can manage... get a general grip on things before the lesson..."

"Neville..." said Hermione pleadingly. "It's too dangerous! You could get killed! Or worse, you could get expelled!"

"I've made up my mind," said Neville, and straightened himself in an obvious attempt to look resolute and firm — though since Neville didn't really have the figure or the general traits to pull off such a look very well, he looked more like he was thinking about something mildly nauseating.

"That's the spirit," said Ronnie, patting him on the back. "See, Hermione, it's gonna be perfectly all right! Besides, we're Gryffindors, we've gotta take some chances now and then, don't we? I'll go over the school grounds before dinner, I'm sure I can find a perfect place!"

"I ought to tell Professor McGonagall about this," said Hermione, narrowing her eyes.

"But you won't, will you?" said Harry. "Come on, Hermione, if you don't want to do it, at least give Neville a chance!" And give me the chance as well, he didn't add.

"I refuse to be a part of this," Hermione huffed. "If you boys want to encourage her and go through with this idiotic idea, you're just asking for trouble. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go read Quidditch Through the Ages once more, and pretend we never had this conversation. And I suggest you all do the same."

"Hermione...!" Ronnie pleaded.

"Actually, no, I'm not going to forget this conversation!" said Hermione. "If you do this, then — then I might just go to Professor McGonagall and tell her everything! And if she expels the lot of you, don't come crying to me!" With that, she turned on her heels and marched off back to the table, where Quidditch Through the Ages was still waiting for her.

A few of the other Gryffindors turned their heads again at this uncharacteristic display of quarreling within Potter's Gang, but as Hermione ignored them all they quickly went back to their own games, conversations and homework.

"She's not really going to do it," said Ronnie, though she sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince Harry and Neville. "She's a teacher's pet, but she's not a tattletale."

Harry looked towards the table, where Hermione was sitting with her back to them, and he couldn't help but feeling a twinge of unease and perhaps the start of a guilty conscience. Maybe Hermione was right, and they shouldn't do this. Ronnie meant well, but it would probably be better for Neville to just take the flying lesson together with everyone else, if they were just a little extra observant around the Trolls.

He was about to open his mouth and tell Ronnie this, when he caught a glimpse of Neville's nervous-yet-hopeful expression and immediately knew that they couldn't back out of it now.

And so it was that Ronnie went out alone and was gone for almost an hour before she returned just in time for dinner, and with the whispered information that she had found the perfect place.

Hermione refused to speak to her, or to Harry and Neville, for the rest of the evening.

Early next morning, long before the sun was even up, three of the four members of Potter's Gang were making their way over the school grounds, carrying broomsticks borrowed from the school broom shed. (The shed hadn't even been locked — no wonder, Ronnie said, because anyone wanting to steal those old brooms would be completely mental.)

Everything was quiet. The school grounds stretched out before them, huge and grayish-green in the early morning light, hills and trees and grassy fields with well-trodden paths taking on an almost mystical feel in this empty, half-lit world — and there, on the horizon ahead loomed the Forbidden Forest like a black, jagged mass. The sky was brightening slowly, anticipating the sunrise, and the cold September air did a lot to chase away the initial sleepiness they felt at being up so early.

Harry had wondered if the Quidditch pitch wouldn't be the best place for the practice, but Ronnie said no. "Fred and George are always going on about how Wood makes them practice at all hours, wouldn't wanna risk the team coming out for an early training session," she said.

"I thought they said they didn't have a full team yet?" said Harry, trying to remember the details of all the Quidditch conversations he'd tried to follow along with over the last two weeks.

"They don't have a Seeker yet," said Ronnie. "They got the rest of the team, but not a Seeker. 'Course, Fred and George say they never had any good Seekers after Charlie quit the game, so I expect they'll want to hold tryouts soon."

"Well, don't they need a complete team to practice?" said Harry.

"Nah. Seeker's a very important part of the team, mind, but it's the easiest to practice without. And Wood wants to really build up the team this year, so it's just better if we don't take chances." Ronnie paused for a few seconds, and then added: "Other than the ones we're taking by doing this in the first place, I mean. You all right, Neville?"

Neville, who had barely slept all night (and Harry knew, because he himself hadn't slept much either) nodded in a rather unconvincing way.

"All right then," said Ronnie, pointing out in the distance towards the Forbidden Forest. "There, that's the place I picked out."

"The Forest?" Neville squeaked.

"No, not the Forest," said Ronnie impatiently. "Look there. There's a patch of trees between us and the Forest, see? I checked yesterday, there's at least fifty more feet of grass before the Forest begins proper. If we just keep behind that patch of trees, they won't be able to see us from the castle. Even Hagrid wouldn't see us from his cabin, long as we don't fly too high. And we want to avoid flying high anyway, right?"

Neville nodded and took several deep breaths, clutching his borrowed broomstick so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

Harry felt a little sorry for him, but only a little; the feeling of excitement was so big in his mind now that it didn't leave much room for anything else, including sympathy for his friend: Soon, in only a few minutes' time, he would know what it was like to fly. Besides... Ronnie had kept saying that Neville would feel quite differently once he'd actually tried flying, so his nervousness would soon end anyway, wouldn't it?

The small patch of trees turned out to be a little larger than it had seemed from a distance. Ronnie might have exaggerated a little about its distance from the Forest proper, but the grassy field in between, sloping slightly up towards the dark gloominess of the Forest, was wide enough that Harry saw no reason to worry that they should enter the forbidden area by accident.

It wasn't exactly the ideal spot for someone wanting to learn to fly, but for not being seen it was almost perfect. To one side of them, the Forbidden Forest stretched out, gigantic and dark and gloomy, and to the other side a much lighter gathering of trees, through which they could vaguely make out the castle, the greenhouses and the vegetable patches, obscured by branches, trunks and yellowed leaves. The only way anyone would see them here was if they were watching from inside the Forbidden Forest (a thought that Harry, immediately after he'd thought it, desperately wished that he hadn't!).

"All right," said Ronnie again, in a voice so low that it was nearly a whisper. "Are you ready? First thing we're gonna do is make the brooms hover in the air so we can get on 'em. It's dead easy, all you gotta do is place the broomstick on the ground, and then you hold your hand out above it, er, at about the height you want it to hover, and then you command it to rise up!"

Harry and Neville looked at her. "H-How?" said Neville.

"You just — look — you have to want it to hover, and it will," said Ronnie, somewhat feebly. "I mean — er — oh, just look at me. Up!" she commanded, holding her hand above her own broom... which twitched, made a slight jump off the ground and then fell down and was still again.

They waited for a few seconds in case the broom should make another attempt and stay in the air this time, but this did not happen.

"Lousy school broom," said Ronnie, who had turned very pink. "No wonder Fred and George are always complaining about them. Up, or I'll get an axe and chop you up into tiny pieces!" she snapped at the broom. And whether it was the threat or just that the broom needed some time to respond, Harry didn't know, but this time, it rose up in the air and stayed there, hovering neatly beneath Ronnie's outstretched hand.

She smiled, breathed out in relief, and afterwards tried to look like she hadn't been worried at all. "See, it's easy," she told Harry and Neville, pulling her hand back and letting the broom hover beside her. "Now you try it!"

"Up!" said Harry — and discovered to his amazement that his broom immediately shot up in the air and into his outstretched hand.

Neville gaped at him.

"Er, yeah, just like that," said Ronnie. "Well done, Harry! Neville, you try it now."

Neville closed his mouth. He looked at Harry's broom, which was hovering beautifully next to him, He looked at Ronnie's broom, which was hovering almost as beautifully next to her. Finally, he looked at his own broom, which was still lying on the ground. He swallowed, stretched his hand out and said, in a voice that was almost a squeak: "Up."

The broom didn't even budge.

"Up?" Neville pleaded.

The broom remained where it was.

"You have to be firm with it!" Ronnie instructed. "You're in charge, not the broom. Just hold your hand out again and tell it 'up!' No nonsense!"

"Up!" said Neville. "No nonsense! Up! Up! Up!"

No change. Harry wondered briefly if brooms, like horses, could sense if you were nervous. In which case, any broom would have refused to obey, because Neville was practically radiating nervousness.

Ronnie took a deep breath, slowly let it out again and placed a hand on Neville's shoulder. "Neville," she said in a soothing voice (though Harry wasn't sure whether she was trying to soothe him or herself). "Breathe. Stop panicking. Everything's all right. We're all friends here, nobody's going to make fun of you, nothing bad's going to happen. Calm down, and then try again. Take it slow, and take it easy. Okay?"

Neville nodded. His shoulders sank, and he was quiet for a few seconds. Then, he raised his hand out and said, in a somewhat firmer voice: "Up!"

And this time, the broom reacted. Slowly, much more slowly than Harry's or Ronnie's, it rose off the ground and up towards Neville's outstretched hand. Neville let out an excited cry, but this unfortunately seemed to break his concentration, and the broom fell back down to the ground.

"Oh, bad luck — but you almost had it!" said Ronnie hurriedly when she saw Neville's disappointed expression. "Try it again!"

After a couple of false starts, Neville did manage to get the broom to stay in the air. It hovered, a little more unsteadily than the others, but showed no signs of falling down even when Neville allowed himself a big smile of pride and relief.

"I did it!" he beamed. "It's hovering!"

"That's great, Neville," said Harry encouragingly. He'd tried not to get impatient while all this was going on, but now he thought the look on Neville's face had been more than worth all the waiting. This was, as far as Harry knew, the first bit of magic Neville had got completely right since beginning school, and now he looked as if Christmas had come early.

Ronnie looked almost as excited and proud as Neville did. "You did it!" she cheered. "I knew you could! Am I a good teacher, or am I a good teacher?"

"You're the best teacher in the world!" said Neville, staring admiringly at her.

Ronnie went pink again, and there was a pleased undertone in her voice as she continued: "Now, what we do is get on. You just grip here and here, and then swing one leg over the broom like this — be careful not to fall over, Neville, that's excellent... Like that!" Neville's success seemed to have awakened a new and hitherto unknown passion for teaching in her, and she demonstrated how to mount and hold onto the broom no less than twice, getting off her own broom twice more to check that Harry and Neville were on theirs properly.

"And now," she said when she was finally satisfied, "now comes the fun part! Watch me now! You just kick off the ground like so —" She placed her sneakers down and pushed off hard, and all at once she shot up in the air, coming to a hovering halt about five feet off the ground.

She grinned down at them, and Harry had to admit that she made it look easy. "Go on, then!" the called.

"Er — you first," said Neville to Harry.

Harry nodded and kicked off the ground like Ronnie had said. All of a sudden he was floating up, higher and higher. The ground vanished from underneath him, and already he was higher than Ronnie. His stomach soared with joy as he went higher and higher, this was great, it was freedom, it was like nothing he'd ever felt before.

At the slight yelp from Neville, he leaned slightly forward, and the ascent slowed down. Harry felt his stomach do another joyful leap as he discovered that he could steer the broom exactly as he wanted; left or right, up or down, it was all in how he moved. It was so easy! For the first time since he'd began Hogwarts, he'd found something he could do without hours of frustrating trial and error!

He longed to pick up speed and start racing through the air, over the school grounds and maybe beyond, he was certain he could do it... but as this was still supposed to be a secret flying lesson, he managed to reign in the desire and instead just made an elegant turn in the air, lowering his broom again to come to a rest beside Ronnie.

"Bloody hell," said Ronnie in an awed voice. "Harry, you're a natural!"

"C'mon, Neville!" Harry called, suddenly eager to share this marvellous experience. "This is great! You've got to try it!"

Neville, still on the ground, looked up at them with wide eyes. Then, with a deep breath, he too kicked off the ground and shot up in the air. There was a thrilled expression on his face as he rose to Harry and Ronnie's level, an expression that quickly turned to worry, then fear, as he kept rising, further and further up. Harry realised at once that he'd lost control.

"Oh, no!" said Ronnie, her face paling slightly underneath her freckles. "Neville! Don't let go of the broom, whatever you do! Lean forward and slowly come down... No, not like that!" she yelped, but it was too late: Neville, still with a tight grip on his broom, had thrown his body forward with a sharp movement, and then everything happened extremely fast.

The broom went in for a sharp dive, and in panic Neville threw his head back just before crashing into the ground, and this in turn caused the broom to flatten out and zoom forwards at a breakneck speed. With Neville clinging on for dear life, it flew straight into the Forbidden Forest and in between the trees, and then both rider and broom were swallowed up by the darkness.

Harry and Ronnie stared. For one horrible second, that was all they could do.

Then, almost without thinking, Harry edged his broom forward and shot after Neville. He heard Ronnie's startled voice behind him, calling out his name, and then the dark gloominess of the Forbidden Forest closed in around him and he was surrounded by the huge, ancient trees.

If the Forest had seemed dark and forbidding from the outside, it was worse from the inside. The trees, black and twisted and thick, spread their branches out over him, blocking out most of the sky and cutting off the pre-dawn light. The only sound was the wind whipping in Harry's ears as he flew forward, but even at the speed he was going he could feel the eeriness around him, and the feeling that the Forest was watching him, like dozens of invisible creatures were studying him from afar, told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn't welcome here, that he should immediately turn around and fly back out.

But he had to find Neville.

So, ignoring the feeling, he sped up, moving in the direction he'd seen his friend fly, darting this way and that to avoid the trees that came towards him at a huge speed. (If he hadn't been so busy worrying about Neville, he might have marveled at how easy the broomstick was to maneuver; it was as if he already knew what to do with it.) Deeper and deeper into the forest he went, resisting the urge to call his friend's name just in case someone less friendly would hear him.

After several minutes, and almost without warning, the trees parted Harry once more found himself under the open sky. It might be because his eyes had been used to the darkness, but the sky seemed a lot brighter than it had, and Harry had to squint in order to see.

He was in a large clearing in the forest, open and airy, with a thick carpet of grass and one single, very large tree in the center - and underneath it lay Neville's broomstick, and on one of the thicker branches sat Neville himself looking shaken but none the worse for wear. Apparently he had managed to avoid all the trees until he came to the clearing, upon which he had crashed into the one tree that was there.

"Neville!" Harry called. "Are you all right?"

Neville looked at him with mortal terror on his face. "H-horses!" he squeaked, pointing down. "Look — big, black horses with bat wings!"

"What?" said Harry, confused. The clearing was completely empty; apart from Neville and himself there was nobody there, much less any big black horses with bat wings. "Where?"

"You can't see them?" Neville's look of fear was mixed with one of confusion. "There's three of them, standing right there! They're looking up — oh, no..."

Harry looked down again. There was absolutely nothing on the ground. "Right," he said. "Can you get to your broomstick? Maybe you can call on it like you did before?"

"Not with that one horse standing almost on top of it, I can't!"

Harry looked at the broomstick, which was definitely not almost underneath any horse. Neville must have hit his head when crashing into the tree and was seeing things. "Right, I'll get it." he said, urging his broom to land.

A loud, whinnying-like sound rang out, and Harry felt something invisible bump against him. He almost fell off his broom in surprise, but managed to straighten himself and rise back up in the air, out of reach from whatever invisible creature he'd collided with.

"Er — I felt that!" he said, straining his eyes to look towards where the creature must be, but seeing nothing. The horses were clearly there, just like Neville had said, but somehow they were invisible to Harry. Feverishly, and mentally kicking himself for forgetting, Harry recalled how no Muggles had seen the Leaky Cauldron, and Harry himself almost hadn't either, but Hagrid had spotted it at once. This had to be something similar.

"You still can't see them?"

"No! Er — Neville, do they by any chance look angry?"

"Little bit," said Neville, clutching the branch he was sitting on.

"Right. Er." Harry tried to sound more confident than he felt, but it wasn't easy, knowing that an invisible monster horse was probably angry at him. "You don't have your wand, do you?"

"I can't do anything with it!" said Neville. "Most I ever got out of it was a couple of sparks!"

Harry's mind raced. He barely knew any spells himself; after one and a half week at school the only thing he could do with his wand was make the tip of it light up, as well as halfway transform a matchstick into a needle — neither of which seemed particularly useful at the moment. The only thing he could do right now was fly, but he couldn't leave Neville behind.

"That horse is raising its wings...!" Neville swallowed. "Harry! Fly away before they attack you! I'll be all right!" (His voice was trembling so much that Harry was absolutely certain he wouldn't be.)

"I'm not gonna leave you! Look, why don't we —?" Harry had no idea what he was going to suggest, but just then, the trees rustled at the end of the clearing, and out from the darkness, flying on her broom, came Ronnie.

The girl had obviously decided that she couldn't just wait outside the forest, and had followed Harry, but hadn't been able to fly as fast as him. Now she was half-closing her eyes and squinting at the light much as Harry had done (it was closer to sunrise, making everything brighter), which was probably why she didn't seem to see them at once.

"Ronnie! Stay back!" Harry called before she could fly closer.

"Harry?" Ronnie blinked and squinted, pulling her broom down to land softly on the grass. Then, her eyes seemed to adjust to the light, because now she looked at both Harry and Neville with an expression of relief — though it didn't look like she could see the horses either. "There you are! Are you all right? What happened?"

"Stay back!" Harry warned her. "There's some kind of invisible horses here!"

"Invisible —? Where?" Ronnie blinked again, this time in surprise, turning her head this way and that to search the clearing for invisible horses.

"Harry can't see them, but I can!" said Neville. "Three of them! They're big and black and bony with bat wings, and they look angry — and two of them are eyeing you now!"

"Oh," said Ronnie in a small voice. Then, a look of understanding dawned on her. "Oh! It's gotta be Thestrals!"

Harry had no idea what Thestrals were, but this information seemed to greatly upset Neville. "Those things are Thestrals?" he yelped, looking (if possible) even more afraid than he had before. "They're really dangerous!"

"I know! Charlie had a book on them, and —" Ronnie gulped and didn't finish the sentence. "Are - are they doing anything?"

"They're looking at you..." Neville gulped.

"Right!" Ronnie's voice was thin, breathless and squeaky, and it would almost have sounded comical if she hadn't so clearly been terrified. "I'll distract them, then! You, er, get your broom and get out of here!"

"They're going for you!" said Neville in a mortified voice. "All three of them!"

"Harry — Harry, get his broomstick!" Ronnie cried, dropping hers in alarm.

Harry didn't waste a second. He swooped down with his own broom, and this time he didn't bump into anything invisible. Flying low to the ground, he was able to reach out a hand and snatch Neville's broom up, holding it tightly as he rose up again. Just as he was up by Neville again, he heard Ronnie shriek loudly behind him.

"They've got her!" said Neville. "Give me the broom, Harry, we've got to help!"

But just then, Ronnie's shriek dissolved into laughter. Harry turned around to see the girl standing there, seemingly by herself, overcome by fits of giggles as her body jerked around, just as if something invisible was prodding her. For one brief and brainless second Harry wondered what in the world was so funny about this, but then the sudden recognition hit him: This was exactly how Ronnie had acted back at Hagrid's hut, when Fang had got a little too enthusiastic with his greeting, and she wasn't laughing because anything was funny, but because she was incredibly ticklish.

"I don't believe it," said Neville, giving voice to Harry's recognition. "They're not attacking her, they're... they're nuzzling her! I think they like her!"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Well — that's good, right?"

"It's not good at all," said Neville. "Everyone says Thestrals are bad luck! If they like Ronnie, it could mean something really bad is gonna happen to her!"

"No — no, stay away from my face!" Ronnie laughed, her hands waving about in the air in order to try and push away creatures she couldn't see. "Blimey, I can't even see you! Just don't — ah!" There was a slightly panicked edge to her voice.

Harry gulped and ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach. "We have to get her away from them and get out of the forest, right now," he said. "Can you fly?"

"I'll have to," said Neville, eyeing his broom. "But Thestrals can fly too!"

"If they're as big as you say, they won't be able to fly in between the trees," said Harry, hoping against hope that he was right. "Where are they? In front of her or behind her?"

"Front," said Neville. "They're fighting for her attention — what are you doing?"

"Just get ready to follow me!" With that, Harry pulled his broomstick sharply up so that he shot up in the air. He was only going to get one shot at this.

"HOLD ON, RONNIE!" he shouted, and swooped down on the girl, grabbing her by the hand. He felt himself brush against something invisible and heard a surprised whinny, and then Ronnie was shrieking again as they both shot up in the air, with her hanging from his grip.

With some difficulty, because the broom was harder to steer with only one hand, Harry shot forward and flew back towards the trees. He heard the strange whinnying of the Thestrals and Neville shouting something incomprehensible behind him, and then they were back in the dark gloom between the trees, flying wildly here and there to avoid crashing into them. It was a wild and almost uncontrollable ride, with Ronnie (who thankfully had enough presence of mind to grab onto his arm and cling onto it) swinging wildly from side to side, pulling them off-course and a couple of times making Harry feel like his arm was being pulled out of its socket, but through some miracle they avoided crashing until Harry managed to get some control back.

They sped through the Forest again, past the trees, but unfortunately, the broom did not seem to be made with two riders in mind, and Harry couldn't keep it up at a decent height for very long. He tried his best to go up, but the broom flew lower and lower, and then all of a sudden —

Everything was a wild mess of trees, grass, dirt, dead leaves, arms, legs, robes and flaming red hair, and then Harry was lying in a pile of dead leaves together with Ronnie, who was still clutching his hand tightly and halfway lying on top of him. He looked up just in time to see the broom, freed from its riders, continuing in a straight line and vanishing out of sight.

Getting his breath back, he carefully untangled himself from Ronnie, who was staring at the vanishing broom... before she flopped down into the leaves with a rustling sound, and lay still with her face down.

"Are you okay?" Harry managed to say, trying to ignore his aching body (his arm felt the worst).

"I don't know," said Ronnie, somewhat muffled because she was still lying with her face in the leaves. "I think every tree in this bloody Forest is out to kill me." She raised her head again and groaned, rubbing her forehead. "Must have been beaten by at least a hundred branches. That was some flying, mind you... I've never seen anyone do anything like it, and I'll probably be very, very grateful when it stops hurting. Where's Neville?"

Harry looked behind him, but nothing was there; no shadows moving about, no thumping of invisible hooves, and worst of all - no Neville. "I don't know."

"Oh no," Ronnie groaned. "You don't suppose the Thestrals got him?"

Harry could only shrug helplessly. "Are they really as bad as all that?" he said hopefully. "Maybe they won't hurt him. They seemed to like you."

"Yeah, but that was me," said Ronnie nervously. "I mean — no guarantee they'll like Neville too. Told you Charlie had a book on them, he always had all sorts of books on animals. They're really savage and aggressive, and they're invisible to most people, except those who —" Ronnie tried to raise herself, winched and flopped back down. "Ouch."

"Are you hurt?" said Harry.

"No, it's just — ow!" said Ronnie, wincing again. "When I fell, I landed on my arse, and it sort of hurts... I'll be fine."

"Oh."

"Never mind that. We've got to find Neville!" With another wince, Ronnie got to her feet, wobbling and wincing a little but managing to stay upright. "If anything happens to him, I'll never forgive myself!"

"He has his broomstick..." said Harry, struggling to get to his feet as well.

"Which he can barely fly!" Ronnie's freckled face was a study in fear and guilt. "And we've lost our broomsticks! And there are worse than Thestrals in here, Fred and George were talking about trolls and werewolves...!" She trailed off, as if it was suddenly dawning on her that Neville wasn't the only one currently in the Forest.

The feeling of being watched returned. Harry had barely noticed it while flying around, dealing with Thestrals and worrying about Ronnie and Neville, but now, once more he felt as if the entire Forest was watching them, and very much disapproving of their presence. Was it just Harry's imagination, or did everything around them seem to grow a little darker?

"Harry," said Ronnie in a forced casual tone. "You wouldn't happen to remember which way leads back to the school grounds?"

"Well, I think it's —" Harry began, and then stopped. He had no idea. He wasn't even certain if they had been flying in the right direction after they'd escaped the Thestrals, and nothing around him gave any sort of clue as to in which direction Hogwarts was.

"I was afraid of that," said Ronnie in a small voice.

"The broomsticks!" said Harry. "If we find them, we can use them to fly up above the trees and see which way we have to go!"

"My broomstick is still in the clearing," said Ronnie, "and the way yours was going it's probably halfway to London by now. Let's just hope that Neville has his... And that we can find him... Harry, next time I suggest flying lessons by the Forbidden Forest, just do me a favour and kill me!"

"Kill you...? That can be arranged, little girl...!" a sudden voice called out from the darkness, an icy cold voice that made Harry's blood run cold.

All of a sudden, he felt a sharp pain in his forehead, around the area of his scar; it was as if someone had lit his head on fire, and the world blurred around him. He doubled over and clutched his head, seeing through his pain a dark, shadowed figure that came out of the darkness.

"First-years... in the forest..." the icy voice hissed. "And look who it is... how very pleasant to see you here, Harry Potter..."

Ronnie shrieked again, and clutched Harry, beginning to shake him. "Harry — Harry! Come on! Run!" But Harry could barely move. He would have fallen to his knees if Ronnie hadn't been holding him up, and he could only watch through a haze as the shadowed figure slowly came closer...He felt Ronnie pull on him, trying to drag him along, but he couldn't run, oh, why did his head hurt so much?

Then, still, through his pain, he heard the surprising sound of hoofbeats against grass, the rustling of dead leaves and the characteristic whinny of the Thestrals. The shadowed figure stopped in its tracks and made a sharp turn towards where the sound had come from.

Harry could make out, just, the form of Neville Longbottom coming flying through the air towards them — but, no, the pain must be making him hallucinate, because Neville wasn't sitting on a broomstick but on nothing at all, clutching onto something invisible and looking completely terrified.

Almost as suddenly as it had arrived, the pain in Harry's forehead vanished, leaving behind it only a dull ache. Then, he heard a snort and a strange sort of whiffle, and felt something invisible nudge him. He blinked, and as the fog cleared away from his eyes he saw Neville, with a rumpled robe and messy hair, sitting on thin air just above him, looking halfway scared and halfway proud.

And now, Ronnie was giggling again. "Okay — okay! Fine! Fine!" she squealed. "There... There you go, nice Thestrals... Harry, are you all right?"

Harry nodded. "I think so... just got a terrible headache. Don't know what happened... I'm all right now. Where's that shadow bloke?"

"Shadow bloke?" said Neville.

"You didn't see him?" said Ronnie. "He was just here!" But the shadow bloke was gone, without a trace, almost as if he had never been there.

"The Thestrals must have scared him away." said Harry, and suddenly felt a huge pang of gratitude towards the invisible horses. "What are you doing with them, Neville?"

"Er," Neville looked a little sheepish. "Turns out they're not as angry as I thought. Pretty friendly, actually. Don't know if that means I'm going to suffer terrible bad luck or not, but — wow, they really like you, Ronnie."

"Yeah," said Harry, rubbing his forehead to ease the dull ache as he looked at Ronnie trying to pet three invisible horses at once and not doing a very good job of it. "Fang was like that around you too. Didn't leave your side the whole time we were at Hagrid's. And Hedwig adored you the moment she laid eyes on you. And Trevor, who always gets lost from Neville, never has a problem finding you. Is there something you want to tell us here?"

Ronnie turned a little pink. "All right," she said, sounding more embarrassed than anything else. "Animals... they tend to like me. Not all animals, and not all the time — I mean Ginny's rat Scabbers doesn't care about me at all, and, er, if it's a bloodthirsty predator, then all bets are off... but it looks like we're all right with these. Yeah, we are, aren't we?" she added to the Thestrals, who were snorting in what what was probably meant to be an affectionate way. "Oh, you're cute... At least you sound cute. I think."

"Er — have you always had this, er, effect on animals?" said Neville, looking like he was trying to follow this.

"Well, it's not like I ever asked them to like me, they just do!" said Ronnie. "I don't know why! Charlie's the same way! I don't mind, exactly, it's just that —"

"Well, I'm not going to complain," said Harry hurriedly, deciding not to look a gift, er, Thestral in the mouth. "Neville, do you still have your broomstick?"

Neville looked down. "No, I lost it. Sorry, everything just happened so fast."

"Well, er, we lost ours too," said Harry. "And I don't fancy looking through the entire Forest for them, do you? Not with that... whatever it was... around. Ronnie, d'you think you could get the Thestrals to take us out of the Forest? They've gotta know their way around if they live here, right?"

"Worth a try," said Ronnie. "Dunno if I can make 'em understand me, though."

But it turned out that the Thestrals understood perfectly and were more than willing to cooperate. In the end, Harry, Ronnie and Neville ended up riding one each, and though it felt excessively strange to Harry to ride something he couldn't see, the Forest did seem a lot less scary and forbidding when he was on top of an invisible monster that, by the sound of it, was a savage predator that most other monsters would leave alone. At least nothing else bothered them during the few minutes' brisk trot it took to get to the edge of the Forest, and the school grounds opened up in front of them, blessedly bright and unthreatening.

Dawn had come properly now, and the sun was rising on the Eastern horizon in a spectacular pink and yellow sunrise. It looked like it was going to be a fine September morning, and it seemed doubly fine to Harry because he was out of the Forbidden forest, with nothing worse to show for it than a few scrapes and bruises - and what's more, there still didn't seem to be anyone up and about. With a bit of luck, they could get back to the castle, maybe have a hot shower, and then join the rest of the school for breakfast, and nobody needed to know what they had been doing.

(A shame about the three lost broomsticks, of course, but maybe nobody would notice that they were missing... or maybe Harry could anonymously donate some gold to Hogwarts so they could be replaced. It wasn't as though he couldn't afford it, with the huge pile of Galleons in his Gringotts vault.)

The relief was somewhat subdued, however, by the memory of the shadowed figure. Who, or what, had that been? Why had it known its name? And why had it made his scar hurt so terribly? The scar had hurt once before with no explanation, back at the welcoming feast when Snape had glared at Harry, but this had been ten times worse.

"Well," Ronnie finally said, "that was fun. Let's never do it again. In fact, when we learn how to, please feel free to hex me for ever having this stupid idea."

"On the bright side," said Neville slowly, "I don't think I'm afraid of the flying lesson anymore. Whatever happens there, I'm sure it can't be worse than this."

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's notes: Hmm, sharper turn away from canon in this chapter, though hopefully it's still within the realm of the possible and can be traced back to the butterfly effect. Is it a little too early for Harry's first unwitting encounter with Voldemort? It might be, but even in canon Voldemort was possessing Quirrell at this point and trying to find a way to steal the Philosopher's Stone, so it seemed plausible that they'd skulk around the Forbidden Forest, looking for Dark creatures to aid them or unicorns to kill - but given Voldemort's weakened state, they wouldn't be quite up to fighting three Thestrals at once. We'll see how, or if, this brief early meeting between Harry and his arch-enemy will affect the overall plot.

Ronnie's way with animals is actually based on an idea I had when reading the books and noticing how, every now and then (mostly for humourous effect), an animal would take an inexplicable liking to Ron. I just took this hinted-at trait and exaggerated it because it seemed to fit Ronnie - besides, I thought it was funny and could be useful both for the story and for distancing Ronnie a little further from canon Ron. Don't worry, she's not going to start taming wild dragons with a single word or anything like that - after all, the Hogwarts Thestrals are quite tame, even if Potter's Gang didn't know this.

I still haven't decided whether Harry should end up playing Quidditch in this universe or not, by the way. On one hand, it is a good way to showcase his one exceptional talent, namely flying, and the sport is a very big part of the wizarding world... but on the other hand not having to deal with all the Quidditch would free up a lot of time and attention that I could spend better on plot-related things.

Any of you readers have any suggestions there? (I can't promise I'll follow them, but I can promise that I'll at least listen to them.)

4. Being A Girl

Thanks for all the reviews you've left me! It looks almost like Weasley Girl is shaping up to be my most popular story on this site. I've had the subjects of shipping brought up a couple of times - but to be honest, I haven't really decided anything about that as of yet. Like Hermione said in the last chapter, they're only eleven, so for the moment there won't be anything serious at least. What may happen later on is anyone's guess, though.

WEASLEY GIRL

Based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling

CHAPTER FOUR
Being A Girl

The Forbidden Forest loomed around Harry, even darker and creepier than he remembered it. The trees rose like black silhouettes around him, impossibly huge and with branches that stretched out around and above him; it felt almost like giant wooden arms with long, crinkly fingers were trying to grab him, to drag him off into the darkness.

"Harry Potter..." The icy-cold voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. "How happy I am to see you..."

Harry wanted to run, but wherever he turned, another tree was blocking his path; he was surrounded. Surrounded and alone — this time there was no Ronnie to hold him up and attract Thestrals to save them, no Neville to show up for a last-minute rescue.

"How long I have been waiting for this moment..." The icy voice grew louder and colder, making Harry's blood feel like it would freeze solid. "The moment... when I finally kill you!"

Harry wanted to scream, wanted to run away, wanted to fight, but he couldn't move a finger.

The shadowed man rose up before him, and it looked almost like he was being formed from the shadows themselves, and Harry's forehead exploded in pain as a strange green light filled his vision, blinding him, as the cruel, mocking laughter filled his ears —

Harry opened his eyes, panting heavily. Though everything was still slightly blurry because he wasn't wearing his glasses, he could see well enough to recognise his own dorm room, with the big four-poster bed and the early morning sunlight streaming in through the window.

A dream. It was all a dream.

Sitting up, Harry grabbed his glasses from his nightstand and put them on, letting the world come into sharp focus again as his breath slowly calmed down. It had all seemed so real — the Forest, the shadowed figure, the pain in his forehead...

Clearly, the events of yesterday had left their mark. Harry sat up in bed and pulled the curtains a little further apart to look out at the rest of the room, where his three dorm-mates were still apparently asleep; he could hear Neville's and Seamus's snoring, and Dean's silent, almost inaudible breathing. It was early, but it looked like it was going to be a clear, sunny day — not a cloud in the sky and no dark, shadowed figures anywhere.

Relief turned to contemplation. The worst part of it all was that Harry still had no idea what that shadowed figure had been, or how it knew his name, or why it had made his scar hurt.

He could perhaps ask Hagrid about it, since Hagrid had to know all about the Forbidden Forest and what sort of creatures lived in there... but he didn't really want to tell Hagrid, whose job it was to keep students away from the Forbidden Forest, about that little excursion (even if it had been mostly by accident), so that idea was out.

He could go down to the library and find some books on Dark creatures - but he didn't really know what he should search for; neither "dark shadowy bloke," "cold voice," "knew my name" nor "made my scar hurt" seemed like very reliable search criteria.

He could ask Hermione, since Hermione read a lot of books and might by chance happen to know what Ronnie and Neville had not been able to say (they knew all sorts of monsters that might live in the forest, like werewolves, trolls, giant spiders, hippogriffs, Erklings or Red Caps, but none of them fit the description of the shadowed creature) — but Hermione was still angry at him and not very likely to be helpful. The bushy-haired girl wasn't exactly refusing to talk to Harry, Ronnie or Neville, and luckily she hadn't made good of her threat to talk to Professor McGonagall, but she had spent most of the day yesterday avoiding them. Even Ronnie's attempts at apologies, which had almost become groveling in the end, had fallen on deaf ears.

Harry sighed; he was out of ideas. He pondered taking his glasses off and going back to sleep for another half-hour, when a sudden noise came from Dean's bed, and all of a sudden the tall black boy was on the floor, looking wide awake and incredibly excited.

"Yippeeeee!" he cried. "Today's the first flying lesson!"

"Someone put a sock in him," grunted Seamus from his bed.

"C'mon, Seamus!" said Dean cheerfully. "I know you're an old pro with the broomstick, but the rest of us haven't flown a single yard in our lives! This is a big moment for all Muggle-borns and Muggle-raised!"

"It'll be an even bigger moment this afternoon, when the flying lesson actually starts," said Seamus. "Until then, I repeat: Someone please put a sock in that bloke."

Harry, however, felt his spirits rise. He'd almost forgotten it after his nightmare, but Dean was right! Today was the day of the first official flying lesson! Though quite a bit of the unofficial one from yesterday had ended up being rather awful, the flying itself had been wonderful, and he couldn't wait to do it again. The thoughts of the shadowed man suddenly didn't seem so big or looming, and he climbed out of bed to join Dean in his excitement.

After a few moments, Neville too got out of bed, yawning and looking rather tired.

"Hey, Neville," said Harry. "How's it going? Nervous about the flying?"

Neville shook his head. "Actually, no. I meant what I said... After yesterday, I don't think flying scares me anymore."

"Really?" said Dean curiously. "You've been a wreck about it all week. What happened yesterday?"

"Er —" Neville hesitated, just now realising that he had almost given away the story of the unofficial flying lesson, and clearly not being able to come up with a good story to serve Dean.

"We passed Professor Snape in a dark corridor!" said Harry. He heard himself how ridiculous that sounded, but it was the only thing he could think of at such short notice.

Dean looked at them both like they were weird. Then, he shrugged. "Well, he is a pretty scary bloke, can't argue with that. Hey, Seamus!" he called, marching up to his best friend's bed. "Get up! Come on! Flying! Fun! Excitement!"

"Sleep! Bed! Pillow!" Seamus countered, pulling the covers over his head.

Harry laughed and went to get dressed, all thoughts of dark and shadowed people forgotten for now.

That afternoon, at exactly three-thirty, the first-year Gryffindors made their way over the school grounds to their first official flying lesson, which was to be held on one of the grassy lawns on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, not too far away from the Quidditch pitch.

Most of the Gryffindors were rather excited at the prospect; Dean was almost sprinting, and Seamus — a lot more awake now — was chatting amiably, full of helpful tips for first-time fliers, while Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were giggling at the things he said, and Fay Dunbar (the biggest Quidditch fan of all the Gryffindor girls; she surpassed even Ronnie in her enthusiasm) was adding completely unhelpful information about various stunts she had seen at Quidditch matches.

The rest of the students were slightly more subdued - particularly Hermione, who walked on her own and refused to acknowledge either Harry, Ronny or Neville.

"She can't stay mad at us forever, can she?" said Neville somewhat nervously, looking at Hermione's huffy expression.

"She'll get over it," said Ronnie, though she didn't seem too certain. "Er — Harry, you were raised by Muggles. It's not common for people in the Muggle world to stop being friends over something like this... is it?"

Harry had to think about that. He'd never actually had any friends in the Muggle world; to them he was simply the "freak orphan" whom Dudley's gang hated, but from what he'd seen of other kids' friendships, they tended to make up again rather quickly. Certainly Dudley and his friends would often come to blows over something and be best pals again the next day.

"No, I don't think so," he finally said.

"All right then," said Ronnie, looking relieved. "It would be a shame if all that groveling I did went to waste."

And that was all they had time to say on the subject before they arrived at the lawn where the lesson was to take place.

The Slytherins were already there, as were twenty broomsticks lying in neat rows on the ground — and so, to Harry's surprise, was Percy Weasley with his Prefect badge, looking just as pompous as he always did, and getting quite a few sour looks from the Slytherins.

"Just doing my duties as a Prefect," he explained. "We Prefects are not only here to be authority figures or to keep other students in line, after all; we're supposed to be here to give aid to students in need. A pair of extra eyes and a helping wand can come in handy at any time, especially at such an unpredictable situation as the first flying lesson."

Ronnie went pink. "You're here to keep an eye on me, aren't you?" she hissed. "Did Mum put you up to this?" She said it perhaps a little louder than she'd intended to, because several of the Slytherins began sniggering at her. The Slytherin girls in particular looked gleeful over Ronnie's obvious discomfort, and Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass, the two most hard-faced Slytherin girls, began cooing at Ronnie in saccharine, babyish voices.

"Awww, poor Baby Weasley need her big bwother to keep her out of twouble?" said Daphne.

"That's Baby Weasley? I thought it was one of the broomsticks," said Pansy. "One of the oldest and ugliest ones."

"No, it's a baby," Daphne giggled. "A freakishly tall and ugly baby. Wook, it's about to cwy!"

Ronnie looked more like she wanted to punch the daylights out of both Pansy and Daphne, but Percy simply turned around and gave them all a stern look. "I am here to keep an eye on all of you," he said, and Harry thought he was giving the Trolls an extra suspicious glance.

It was hard to say whether the Slytherins took him as seriously as he took himself, but at that point Madam Hooch came walking up towards them and everyone became very busy looking alert and attentive.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked as a means of greeting. "Everyone stand by a broomstick! Come on, hurry up!"

Madam Hooch's teaching style was notably different from Ronnie's. She was a professional through and through; she spoke with a lot more certainty and with far less faltering, but also (Harry thought) considerably less unbridled enthusiasm. She certainly didn't beam with pride and joy for every student who got something right, just giving them short approving nods when they managed to follow her instruction perfectly and going in to correct them when they didn't.

Much like Ronnie had, she made the students call the brooms to them from the ground and spent quite some time teaching them how to mount them and what the correct way to hold onto them were - and Harry couldn't help but feel just a little satisfied that both he, Ronnie and Neville all got nods of approval while the ever-bragging Malfoy was told that he'd been using the wrong grip for years.

"Very common beginner's mistake," she said, to Malfoy's obvious displeasure. "We call it 'Muggle's Grip.' If you're going to use the broomstick to sweep the floor, it's a good grip, but for flying it's not quite optimal. What you want to do is grip it here and here —" (she physically took his hands and placed them in the correct spots) "— which lessens the risk of losing control over your broom at the first strong gust of wind."

"It's best to weed out such small mistakes in the beginning, before they become dangerous habits," Percy offered in his customary pompous way, something which made Malfoy look even angrier.

"Thank you, Mister Weasley," said Madam Hooch dryly. "If I may continue? Now!" she barked to all the students. "When I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle! Three — two —"

The whistle sounded, and the students all kicked off. Some of them, like Ronnie and (infuriatingly enough) Malfoy had control at once, while others, like Hermione, were struggling a lot more. Crabbe and Goyle, Harry noticed, were the worst; they barely got up off the ground.

Dean was overeager and shot up in the air faster than anyone; he almost lost his balance but managed to cling onto his broom, coming into a landing with the widest grin Harry had ever seen on anyone, exclaiming "That was so cool!" several times before his feet even touched the ground.

Neville, however, rose calmly up in the air and landed quite perfectly; it really did seem like yesterday's happenings had cured his terror for flying. He even got a surprised look of admiration from several of the girls, who clearly hadn't thought he would do so well.

And Harry - Harry felt the same thrill that he had before. Being on a broomstick just felt right; Ronnie had called him a "natural" and that was what it felt like as well. He knew with absolute certainty that he could make his broomstick do exactly what he wanted it to do, and he really had to control himself to come down straight away instead of making a few turns around in the air just to show off.

He did linger in the air a few seconds longer than he needed to, though, taking the extra time to just enjoy being on the broomstick. Soon, very soon, he would be flying all over the place, doing all sorts of wild and fun stunts — his stomach tingled in excitement just at the thought — but for the moment he was content just to stay in the air for a little longer... until he, as the last student, finally landed on the grass.

"Very good," said Madam Hooch approvingly. "Now, for the next attempt, I want you all to stay up in the air a little longer, and make a slow turn to the right —"

As the flying lesson went on, she had them perform simple maneuvers in the air, land and take off at different speeds, very basic things that Harry already knew he could master perfectly.

It was a strange sensation; even with this whole Boy-Who-Lived situation and the strange and slightly unnerving adoration and hero-worship, Harry had never been the best at anything before. Both at Muggle school and at Hogwarts, he had been a strictly average student, with nothing in particular to make him stand out in a positive or negative way. But on a broomstick... on a broomstick he could literally fly circles around everyone. The students who had wowed him with their tales of flying were all of a sudden completely outclassed by him. Even Malfoy, who as it turned out was a genuinely good flier, could not get his broom to obey him with such ease.

As the flying lesson went on, he got a little more daring, making slightly sharper turns, flying over longer distances just a little faster than the others, and when he was completely certain that he could, taking a chance and making a spectacular loop-the-loop in the air, one that earned stunned gasps and looks of admiration from several of the other students, and even an impressed look from Percy.

Madam Hooch, after warning Harry that loop-the-loops were not part of the first flying lesson, did praise him for the excellent execution of it and asked whether he was quite sure he was a beginner at this.

"When you're in your second year and have a bit more experience, you should see about joining the Gryffindor Quidditch team!" she said. "If you can fly like this with no training at all, then you should be an unstoppable Quidditch player."

"He can be the Boy Who Flew!" said Seamus with a laugh.

"How about the Boy From Krypton?" said Dean, only to discover that most of the others were looking at him like he'd gone mad. (Dean, Harry remembered, was Muggle-born.) "Fine," he muttered. "It was a lousy joke anyway."

Hermione — for once not the top of the class, as she didn't quite seem to trust her broomstick — gave Harry a rather sour look. Clearly she didn't like Harry receiving praise from a teacher for something he had "illegally" practiced at.

But Hermione's bad mood was nothing compared to Malfoy's. Several times the pale boy looked like what he would most like to do was knock Harry off his broomstick, but every time he looked like he was going to make good of those plans, or every time he tried getting closer to Neville in order to do the same to him, Percy was there and fixing him with a glare. In the end, he had to content himself with sending Potter's Gang some very nasty looks.

Towards the end of the flying lesson, though, he managed to get close enough to Harry in order to growl at him, out of hearing range of both teacher and Prefect: "Think you're all that, do you, Potter?"

"At least I don't grip my broom like a Muggle." Harry knew it was a childish answer, but Malfoy had at that point gone back to his old grip on his broomstick, and it was just too tempting.

Malfoy took a deep breath and looked closer than ever to throw caution to the wind and attack violently, but he managed to control himself. "You are going to pay for that, Potter," he said through clenched teeth. "You and your little gang. Especially those two ugly girlfriends of yours."

"What are you going to do, hide behind Crabbe and Goyle and try to sneer us to death?" said Ronnie, who came up to hover beside them.

Malfoy glared at her. "Nobody asked your opinion, Beanstalk! How much is Potter paying you to be his girlfriend, anyway? A couple of Knuts would be like a fortune to you, I suppose, so I'm guessing he just has to throw you a Sickle and you'll do anything he wants - ack!"

That ack was clearly not meant to be part of his insult, but it was probably all he could think to say when a furious Ronnie slammed into him with her broomstick, almost causing him to lose his grip and fall to the ground. As he flailed and clutched to his broom, Madam Hooch's whistle sounded, loud and sharp.

"Mister Malfoy! Miss Weasley! What are you two doing?" the teacher demanded loudly. "Come down on the ground, now! Both of you!"

"She was trying to murder me!" Malfoy gasped, clutching his broom tightly, his face even paler than normal.

"I'm sorry," Ronnie growled - and looked like the only thing she was sorry about was that she hadn't managed to knock Malfoy off his broom. "I lost control of my broomstick."

"Lost control, nothing! She's a raging loony! I'll get you for this, Weasley!"

Harry opened his mouth in order to defend his friend, but just then Madam Hooch snapped: "Five points from both Gryffindor and Slytherin! Now don't make me ask you to come down here again!"

Ronnie and Malfoy both sank to the ground, glaring at one another. The entire class were watching them now, hovering around on their brooms; the Slytherins for the most part scowling and the Gryffindors looking agitated.

"She attacked me for no reason!" said Malfoy as soon as his feet touched the ground, looking at Madam Hooch with an expression of hurt indignation. "When my father hears about this -"

"That's not true!" Harry called from his broomstick. "Madam Hooch, Malfoy was -"

"Silence!" Madam Hooch thundered. "I don't care what the reason was, you do not try to knock your fellow students off their brooms!"

Percy, who had been watching with a fairly neutral expression, now cleared his voice and said in a formal tone: "If you will allow me, Madam Hooch; I should point out that Malfoy here has been known to attack other students before, and I know for a fact that my sister has been one of his victims before. I am not saying Veronica is blameless in this situation, goodness knows she could use a few lessons in controlling her temper —" (Ronnie glared at him) "— but I have been watching Malfoy all through this, and he has made several moves that made me suspect he was trying to attack Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom in much the same way. The only reason he didn't was because I was watching him."

"I see." Madam Hooch's hawk-like eyes narrowed as she studied both Ronnie and Malfoy. "All right, you two. You are both grounded for the rest of this lesson, and for the next one I don't want to see you come within ten feet of one another. Miss Weasley — go, sit down over there and don't move until I tell you. Mister Malfoy — you go sit over there. And rest assured, I will be talking to your Head of House about your behaviour. I've heard a few too many stories about your little intimidation tactics towards the Muggle-borns this past week."

Malfoy looked like he was ready to kill both her, Ronnie and Percy, but in the end he simply sneered "Yes, Madam Hooch," and went to sit down on the grass as far away from Ronnie as possible.

He spent the rest of the lesson (what little there was left of it) glaring alternately at Harry, Madam Hooch, Percy and Ronnie - the latter two of whom were having a heated discussion while the rest of the class flew above them on their brooms.

"I don't need you to hold my hand all the bloody time!" Harry heard Ronnie hiss to Percy. "I am not a baby!"

"Maybe not, but you are my little sister," said Percy. "What would you have done on the train if Fred and George and I hadn't shown up? That oaf Crabbe could have seriously hurt you!"

"I'm not afraid of the Trolls! I can take care of myself!"

"No, Ronnie, you can't! You're only eleven! You and Ginny both think you can do everything, but you're wrong!"

"You're just saying it because we're girls! I bet you never said anything like that to Fred and George when they were eleven!"

"Ronnie, for your information —"

Harry didn't catch whatever information Percy was about to give Ronnie, because he suddenly realised he was listening in on a private family argument, and pulled away with some embarrassment, hoping they hadn't noticed him.

However the argument had gone after that, it had set Ronnie in a rather foul mood for the rest of the afternoon. As she walked back to the castle with Harry and Neville when the flying lesson was over, she was scowling a bit, muttering under her breath about the nasty things she would like to do to brothers in general and Percy in particular.

Hermione, who passed them by just as Ronnie was muttering the worst parts, just gave her a stern look. "It's your own fault, you know," she said. "You keep breaking the rules, you're just lucky that you haven't been expelled yet. First that ridiculous idea about a private flying lesson, now you start fighting with Malfoy, out in the open, no less —"

"It wasn't a fight, I just slammed into him," said Ronnie defensively. "Wasn't like he was hurt. Besides, that tosser deserved it. You didn't hear what he said."

"No, but I wouldn't have lost my temper like that," Hermione huffed. "And it's rotten of you to blame Percy for wanting to make sure you're all right. I thought it was sweet of him, coming down here to keep an eye on you. Not everyone has an older brother who's always there for them, you know - maybe you should stop being so ungrateful."

"Ungrateful, am I? Yeah, I suppose I am! After all, who wouldn't want five older brothers who think you can't do anything?" Ronnie's blue eyes flashed dangerously. "Everybody's always telling me how bloody special I am, being the first Weasley girl in centuries, 'oh, we expect great things from you, Ronnie' — only then, when I try to actually do something, they're there to stop me and saying how I'm going to get hurt, and treat me like I'm a helpless baby! I can't imagine why I'm not more grateful for that!"

Hermione blinked several times, clearly not having expected a tirade like this. "Well." she said after a few seconds. "They're just doing it because they love you, and it's still rotten of you not to consider their feelings. A fine way to repay your family, to break school rules and risking your neck like that, just like that private flying lesson of yours —"

"Hermione," Ronnie groaned. "I already agreed with you that it was a horrible idea. I've promised not to do anything like it again. I said you were right about everything. What more do you want from me?"

"Not continuing to break rules would be nice! Now it you'll excuse me, I have some homework to do!" And with that, Hermione pushed past them and walked off.

Ronnie stared after her, looking halfway forlorn and halfway infuriated.

"Ronnie —" said Harry, and then realised he had no idea how to continue.

"You know what? I hate being a girl!" Ronnie suddenly snapped.

Whatever Harry had expected her to say, that wasn't it. "Er - what?" he said, exchanging a look with Neville, who looked just as confused as Harry felt.

"Nobody thinks girls can take care of themselves!" said Ronnie. "My family certainly doesn't! Why couldn't I have been born a boy? Maybe then they'd have some bloody confidence in me!"

"Er..." said Neville, turning rather red and looking at Ronnie. "I like you as a girl..." As Ronnie gaped at him, he averted his eyes and murmured: "Not that I, er, fancy you or anything, I just, er, like you as a girl... I think you make a very... er... nice girl...?"

There was an awkward silence.

"...Okay," Ronnie said, having gone pink and suddenly being very interested in looking everywhere but in Neville's direction.

"But that was a great lesson, wasn't it?" said Harry with forced cheerfulness. "We all did splendidly! And at least Malfoy didn't get away with anything this time."

"Yeah — yeah, that's true!" said Ronnie, who seemed just as eager to change the conversation topic as Harry was. "Okay, so Percy may have been good for something. Don't tell Hermione I said that."

"Can I tell Percy you said that?" said Harry wryly.

"Mmm... save it for an occasion when Fred and George are giving him a particularly hard time," said Ronnie. "What do you say, Neville? Think Malfoy's learned a lesson?"

Neville looked up again, with a face that clearer than words told them that he was trying to get his blush under control and not doing a very good job of it. " He — he'll probably make up for it in Potions tomorrow," he said. "Snape isn't Madam Hooch, he'll let him get away with everything."

Harry suddenly remembered the letter of complaint Hermione had sent to the school about Snape. It had been almost a week ago, but what with everything that had happened the last few days, he'd more or less forgotten it — and come to think of it, he hadn't really seen Snape around the last few days either, other than some short glimpses in the corridors or in the Great Hall.

It was too much to hope, really, that Hermione's letter of complaint had actually had some kind of effect — and given Hermione's current cold front, he didn't really want to ask her if she had heard anything more about the letter — but perhaps he had been too hasty in judging the man. Who knew, maybe the next Potions lesson would be better than the first one?

"You know," he said. "We shouldn't let Snape scare us like that. We've been to the Forbidden Forest and we came out in one piece, even with Thestrals and, er, that shadow bloke. What can Snape do do us?"

"The Thestrals were friendly and the shadow bloke vanished before he could do anything," Neville pointed out. "I didn't even see him."

"But you did see the Thestrals." said Harry. "You were the only one who did."

"Yes. Well." Neville squirmed a little, and looked like he didn't want to talk about that. Harry was about to ask him why, when he went on: "As for what Snape can do... He could make sure Gryffindor never got any House points, he could put us in detention every day of the year, he could convince the Headmaster to expel us, he could slip poison into our food —"

"You think he'd poison us?" said Harry.

"He seems the type. He could hex us when the other teachers weren't looking, he could set the Trolls on us and then punish us when we tried to defend ourselves, he could —"

"Okay, okay!"

"Neville," said Ronnie kindly, "you are the biggest pessimist I've ever met."

"Think I'm wrong?" said Neville hopefully.

Ronnie sighed. "No, not really."

The Potions classroom hadn't changed since the last time they had been here; the gloomy, slightly oppressive atmosphere was not at all lessened by the presence of Professor Snape, who, if possible, looked even more bad-tempered and disdainful than usual.

Harry hurried to find a seat together with Ronnie and Neville, in the most unassuming spot available, while Hermione sat in the back together with Fay Dunbar and made no sign of wanting to sit with the rest of Potter's Gang.

"Before we begin today's Potions lesson," said Snape, looking over at the first-year Gryffindors and Slytherins with icy-cold, black eyes, "I would like to spend a few moments talking about something that was recently brought to my attention."

Harry realised at once what Snape was talking about, as he saw the piece of parchment in his hand. His heart sank and his stomach twisted a bit; if the Potions master was going to bring up Hermione's letter right here in the classrom, it probably wouldn't be to to apologise and promise to behave for the future.

Harry's predictions turned out to be spot-on. "Apparently," said Snape, lifting the parchment up for the entire class to see, "there are those among you who have problems with the way I teach this subject. So I thought I would share with you the —" (and here his lips twisted into a sneer) "— letter of complaint the Headmaster received."

He slowly unrolled the parchment, gave them all an unnerving look, and read out loud: "As a new student here at Hogwarts, I regret to say that I find myself disgusted and horrified at the behaviour of one teacher in particular, namely the Potions teacher, Severus Snape. While I understand that I am new to the world of magic and may be missing some of the finer points of wizard interaction, I nevertheless strongly feel that Professor Snape, only after one class, is already overstepping several boundaries, and it with this I want to point out," Snape made a small pause in order to glare at the Gryffindors, and then continued, pronouncing the next words with an extra large amount of ice in his voice: "Why he is not a worthy teacher."

The silence in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Every single student was staring at Snape, hanging on to his every word.

"He plays clear favourites in the classroom, showing a distinct tendency to unjustly praise students belonging to his own house and likewise unjustly punish those from other houses," Snape went on."He outright bullies those students that he does not like, and on the whole shows far more interest in insulting or berating his students for not already knowing the subject they are in his class to learn, than he shows in actually teaching them said subject. Furthermore, he breaks the trust placed in him by Prefect, broadcasting things to the class that were clearly told to him in confidentiality, and he makes rather unseemly suggestions about his students, implying things about them that I wish not to repeat in a letter such as this. "

Lavender Brown suppressed a giggle at this part, but quickly grew somber again when Snape looked at her.

"Reliable sources —" (Snape looked like he wanted to strangle said reliable sources) "— have revealed that Professor Snape has divulged in such unprofessional and frankly quite disturbing behaviour ever since he started teaching at Hogwarts. If he had been a Muggle teacher, he would have long since been subject to a serious examination of his work, and would most likely have been in danger of losing his job. Signed, a concerned student."

There was a long silence as he rolled the parchment back up and placed it down on his desk. Then he looked up and down the rows of students, making several of them cower slightly under his lingering gaze.

"If anyone here does not like how I teach," he said, his voice raising a little. "they are welcome to leave." He pointed to the door. "Go on. Make both your own lives, and mine, a whole lot easier."

"But -" Hermione gasped as Snape sharply turned his head to stare at her. "But sir, Potions is mandatory... We can't just..."

So fast that they barely even had time to see him move, Snape was over by her side. "Quite correct, Miss Granger," he said. "If you quit Potions, you quit Hogwarts. But since you make it quite clear in your letter — don't even try to pretend this letter isn't yours! — that you think yourself more suited than Professor Albus Dumbledore to judge who is worthy to teach you and who is not... off with you."

Everyone was looking at Hermione now, some with disdain and others with sympathy — it seemed like none of the students were particularly surprised that the letter had been hers (after all, what other first-year would use the word "unseemly" in a letter?), but none of them dared say anything.

Hermione, for her part, simply sat there and looked mortified over the prospect of leaving Hogwarts. (Fay, who was sitting next to her, looked like she desperately wished she'd chosen to sit somewhere else.)

"Not leaving, are you?" said Snape, lowering his voice again. "Could it possibly be that my teaching style is not the real issue here? Perhaps you were simply upset that your little ploy to get three Slytherin students into trouble failed to work, and decided to instead go for the teacher who saw through your scheme?"

Tears began to well up in Hermione's eyes from the anger and humiliation, and this was too much for Harry. He very seldom got angry at unfair behaviour — at the Dursleys he pretty much just kept his head down, made the best out of things and made sure to duck whenever Dudley tried to slug him — but seeing Hermione, his friend Hermione, about to cry because of this man...

He raised himself from his seat, only barely registering through his anger that Ronnie had also raised herself and was standing next to him with her fists clenched. "Leave her alone!" he demanded.

"You are a bully!" Ronnie cried, almost at the same time.

"Sit down!" Snape snapped, turning towards them. "And unless you two are leaving, in which case I will no longer be your teacher, you will address me as 'sir.' Is — that — understood?"

Harry had never wanted so badly to yell profanities at someone, but he had just enough presence of mind to realise that this was probably the stupidest thing he could do. He flopped back down into his seat , reaching out and pulling Ronnie down with him.

"Yes, sir," he said.

Ronnie breathed heavily. "Yes, sir," she said through clenched teeth.

There was another long stretch of silence, and then Snape nodded, looking at Harry, Ronnie and Hermione with an unpleasant expression — and then turned to look at Neville, who had sat there with a terrified expression throughout. "Twenty points from Gryffindor, and a week's detention for all four of you. Yes, you too, Longbottom," he added as Neville made a surprised squeak. "If you're going to be in Potter's Gang, you have to learn to take the consequences. Well?" He turned to look at the students. "Are any of you leaving?"

Nobody moved.

"I trust that is the last I will hear on the matter, then," said Snape, moving away from Potter's Gang and back up to his own desk. He stopped halfway to look at Malfoy, who had raised his hand, and then said, in a much less disagreeable tone: "Yes, Draco?"

"Sir," said Malfoy with a wheedling smile. "I just wanted to say, on behalf of all of Slytherin, that we think you are a great teacher."

The rest of the Slytherins nodded, adding in silent murmurs: "Best teacher in the whole school!" - "Potter's Gang don't know good teachers when they see 'em!" - "Think you should be Headmaster!"

Snape didn't smile, because he hardly ever did, but there was a pleased gleam in his black eyes as he said: "Now then, we have wasted more than enough time on this. Today you're going to make a simple antidote for most common poisons..."

Malfoy sent Potter's Gang a smugly triumphant look.

If Harry was to look on the bright side, there was one good thing about Snape's mean-spirited unfairness: it had made Hermione forget that she was angry with the rest of Potter's Gang - or at least decide that her argument with them was not as important as she'd thought.

Strangely enough (or perhaps not that strange, given the general Gryffindor opinion of Snape) she had grown slightly in the esteem of many Gryffindors after the letter of complaint; after the Potions lessons all the girls in her dormitory were flocking around her to tell her that she was "completely mad" and "must be suicidal" to say such things about Snape and even put it in writing — but they said it in such awed and admiring voices that it was impossible to view it as anything other than a compliment.

And even though Hermione did squirm and mumble a little at this sudden attention, it wasn't hard to tell that she liked it at least a little.

But it was with a look of utter devastated betrayal she came to join the rest of Potter's Gang for dinner that evening.

"I — I talked to Professor McGonagall," she said, sitting down next to Ronnie and looking more miserable than she ever had before. "I told her everything Professor Snape had said and done, and how unfair it all was. She said — she said that she sympathised with me, but that Snape was within his full right to punish his students how he saw fit, that she had no authority to overturn any of his punishments, much less tell him how to teach."

She looked so upset that Harry didn't even have the heart to tell her that he'd more or less expected this.

"And I told her about today and how he was even worse than before," said Hermione. "And you know what McGonagall said to that?"

"What?" said Harry.

"Nothing! She just dismissed me! Just like that! She always struck me as a fair teacher, you know, strict but fair, but she didn't even reply to that, she just said I should go eat my dinner! And now I'm stuck with detention — I've never had detention in my life, and now I have an entire week of it, and I've lost thirty points for Gryffindor in one week, and I don't get it! What have I done wrong to deserve this? What if this goes on my permanent record, and I won't be able to get the job I want because —"

"Hermione!" Ronnie grabbed her by the shoulders. "Breathe!"

Hermione took a deep breath, which was good, because her face was turning red and once again, tears were forming in her eyes.

"Right," said Ronnie. "Look — at least you're not alone in this, right? Harry and Neville and I, we're right there along with you."

"But it's so unfair!" Hermione sobbed. "And you three didn't even do anything to earn that detention!"

"Hermione," George said from a little way down the table. "Chin up. Life isn't fair, and school is even less fair. Besides, Snape's horrible to everyone. I've lost count over how many points he's docked me and Fred, or how many detentions he's given us," said Fred from beside his brother. Really, it's like a rite of passage here for everyone not in Slytherin. Until you've got detention or points deducted from Snape, you're not really a Gryffindor."

"Even perfect Percy had a couple of points deducted from Gryffindor thanks to Snape," said Fred from beside his bother, leaning back with a nostalgic look in his eyes. Remember that? It was his first year, and after he'd been gone a few weeks he sent a long letter home complaining about how Snape had taken five points from Gryffindor because Percy had tried to correct him on how to spell 'asphodel.'"

"One of his finest moments," George agreed, casting a surprisingly fond look at Percy, who was sitting with the other Gryffindor Prefects. "The moments where we can truly say we're proud of having Percy for a brother are few and far between, but that was definitely one of them!"

"Shut up," said Percy and went back to talking to his fellow Prefects.

George sniggered and then turned back to Hermione. "Point is, Hermione, on one side you've got the teachers, and on the other side you've got the students. The two sides are sort of working towards a common goal — getting the students to one day leave school without too heavy injuries — but they're not the same side. Anyone who tells you differently is lying."

"Exactly, " said Fred. "It's why no teacher will ever openly talk bad about a fellow teacher in front of the students, and it's also why students who rat out fellow students to teachers are seen as traitors."

"Not seen as traitors, are traitors," George corrected him.

"Right," said Fred. "Silly me. Are traitors."

Hermione wiped her eyes with her sleeve and looked at the twins. "That," she said, "is no doubt the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

George shrugged. "Give it a couple years. When you're the ripe old age of thirteen, like us, and have been around Hogwarts a bit, we'll see if you still feel the same way."

"Ronnie," said Hermione as the twins returned to their dinner. "I don't want to insult your family or anything, but I'm seriously questioning your brothers' sanity right now."

"I've been doing that for years," said Ronnie. "But they're right about one thing. A week's detention's not the end of the world, and we'll face it together, right?"

"I suppose," said Hermione, looking a little happier. Then she looked from Ronnie, to Harry, to Neville, bit her lip, and said: "I'm sorry."

They looked at her. "Sorry for what?" said Harry.

"For — for being such a pain the last couple of days," said Hermione. "I just — I wanted us to be friends!"

Harry, Ronnie and Neville exchanged glances. "Hermione," said Harry. "We are friends. Aren't we?" he added, noticing how strangely hopeful his voice sounded at that.

She smiled at him. "I'd — like to be," she said, somewhat awkwardly. "But — I've been horrible. I suppose I wanted to protect you. I didn't want to see you get hurt, or expelled, and when you wouldn't listen to me I just got so angry... and then I couldn't stop being angry even when you apologised, and now you're all in detention because of me, and I'm really sorry — Ronnie!" she added, sounding a little shocked, because the red-haired girl had thrown her arms around her and was hugging her tightly.

"I'm sorry too!" said Ronnie. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you, and you were right about everything! We had an awful time, and if I hadn't just scoffed at you —"

"It's — it's — okay," said Hermione, looking a little panicked. "I — I should have been nicer about it — you can let go now."

"No," said Ronnie, continuing the hug, and Hermione finally just sighed and let her carry on, somewhat clumsily wrapping her arms around Ronnie to return the hug (and was that a small smile Harry could see on her lips?).

"Awww, look, they wuv each other," came a voice from father down the table.

"Shut up, Fred," said Ronnie without letting go of Hermione, to general laughter from the Gryffindors who were paying attention to the scene.

"I'd say 'let's never fight again,' " said Neville, looking at the two girls, "but that's not very realistic, is it? I mean, everyone fights every now and then, don't they?"

"How about 'let's promise to always make up after we fight'?" Harry suggested.

"That works," said Neville happily. "Are we supposed to hug too now?" he added, looking at Harry with a slightly nervous expression.

"Do you want to hug?" said Harry.

"Not really, no. Especially not here at the dinner table."

"Good, me neither. We could shake hands if you like."

"What, right here in front of everyone?" (Harry couldn't decide whether Neville meant this as a joke or if he was genuinely concerned about shaking hands with someone in front of a crowd.)

"Oh, you boys," Ronnie snorted. "I take back everything I ever said about wanting to be one. I'm glad I'm a girl."

Harry and Neville both laughed. After a few moments, so did Hermione and Ronnie. The four members of Potter's Gang were the best of friends again.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's notes: Hoo boy, this chapter caused a lot of controversy when it was first posted. I had at least two people tell me they quit reading the story because Snape was too horrible and Hermione's letter didn't have any visible repercussions for him.

I didn't really think I'd written him as meaner than in canon; I thought he was much worse in Prisoner of Azkaban, especially the scene where he forces Neville to feed his pet toad some of the potion he brewed up — and then gets all snippy when it turns out the potion works perfectly and nothing bad happens to Trevor. Trying to kill a student's pet in my mind tops everything Snape does in my story, and in that case he didn't even have the excuse that the student had affronted him personally. (He didn't get in any trouble for that either, as I recall.) But it seemed like I had unintentionally hit a nerve here, and a lot of people were seeing implications I hadn't intended to put there.

So, if you feel affronted by Snape in this story, I'll ask you to be patient. Things are happening between teachers that Harry isn't aware of and which won't come into play until much later because we're only seeing this story from Harry's point of view.

Also... the scene with Snape reading up Hermione's letter of complaint in front of the class may seem cruel, but it is in fact one of the few things in this story taken directly from my school days; someone wrote a letter of complaint about the unpopular chemistry teacher to the Headmaster (and yes, they used the phrase "worthy teacher," which I swiped for Hermione here). The next week said chemistry teacher was reading it the letter up in class and not being very nice about it. You may say that no teacher would ever act like this — but trust me, there are plenty of teachers who act very much like Snape and haven't been fired over it. If you haven't had any teachers like that, then you're luckier than I was.

On a lighter note, you'll see more canon changes here: Because Neville has had some practice with flying and doesn't lose control during the flying lesson, there is no Remembrall stealing, no McGonagall discovering Harry's talent, no Nimbus 2000, no "youngest Seeker in a century," no midnight duel, and no subsequent discovery of Fluffy! The kids are missing out on every single clue in the book! (It may change in the next few chapters, though. Just saying.)

I was going to get around to the actual detention in this chapter (and I have something planned for that!), but then that last scene, with Potter's Gang repairing the small tear their friendship got in the last chapter, just seemed like such a perfect note to end on that I decided to end the chapter there.

After thinking it over, I decided not to have Harry play Quidditch for his first year. It might change for later years, but since the fist flying lesson went off without a hitch, a more confident Neville and no Remembrall stealing, Professor McGonagall did not discover just how amazing Harry was as a potential Seeker. So no Nimbus 2000 or "youngest Seeker in a century" in this world - and also no midnight duel, and no subsequent discovery of Fluffy! The kids are missing out on every single clue in the book! (It may change in the next few chapters, though. Just saying.)

Final note: You might have noticed the name "Fay Dunbar" in this chapter. For those of you who don't know, this isn't an OC - the name and personality is taken from the Harry Potter video games, where this is the name given to one of the two unknown Gryffindor girls in Harry's year (the books only name Hermione, Lavender and Parvati, but there are two more). Fay also appears in the movies (her name isn't mentioned, but it's clearly the same character), so I think I can call her a semi-canon character at least. She's not going to play a big part in this story, but I may occasionally use her in scenes when I need an extra Gryffindor girl and for whatever reason can't use Lavender or Parvati.

5. Detention In The Dungeon

Here we go again! It's amazing how one change can lead to so many changes in the story... but of course, it's still early in the year. As you've probably guessed by now, this is not, and is not meant to be, just a rehash of canon. Things are going to diverge, possibly more than they already have, but I'm going to try best as I can to keep in believable that things could have taken this turn within the canon world.

WEASLEY GIRL

Based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling

CHAPTER FIVE
Detention in the Dungeon

If Potter's Gang had hoped that they would at least get the weekend to relax and catch up on their homework before their week of detentions began, they were disappointed. During breakfast on Saturday, they received instructions (via a note casually delivered by one of the school owls) to report to Snape's office straight after breakfast, with an additional comment that they should not expect to be done with the detention for the day until dinnertime.

"All right," said Harry as they made their way towards the dungeons (where Snape's office, unsurprisingly, was located). "Let's just get this over with. What usually happens in detentions?"

"I have no idea," said Hermione. "I never had detention in Muggle school, and I'm guessing Hogwarts detentions are different anyway."

"I heard that sometimes students on detention are sent into the Forbidden Forest," said Neville. "Then again, it was Fred and George who said it, so I don't know..."

"We should be right at home, then," said Harry, in a not-very-successful attempt to lighten the mood a little.

"Usually, they have you do some work that needs to be done," said Ronnie, who after all had two very mischievous older brothers. "Cleaning some room that hasn't been cleaned in a while, tending to plants, sorting out Potions ingredients, things like that."

"Oi! Ronnie!"

"Wait up!"

The sudden voices belonged to Fred and George, and Potter's Gang turned around as one to see said mischievous older brothers come running up to them across the Great Hall.

"Glad we caught you before you got down to the dungeons," Fred panted. "Couldn't let our baby sister go into a day-long detention with Snape without giving her this." He pulled a small parcel wrapped in brown paper out of his pocket and handed it over to Ronnie.

"What's this?" Ronnie looked at the parcel with equal parts curiousity and suspicion.

"This, dear sister, is a small snack prepared for you by your loving brothers, since Snape's not very likely to let you take a break for teatime," said George. "Be a good girl and share with your friends, will you?"

"Er... Thank you," said Ronnie, looking overwhelmed and a little embarrassed, and quickly slid the parcel down into her own pocket.

"That was nice of you," said Hermione approvingly.

"It's just the sort of people we are," said George, his voice an exaggerated parody of Percy's characteristic pompousness. "Just make sure Snape doesn't catch you eating those snacks, or he's guaranteed to confiscate them. Wouldn't want that, would we?"

"Ronnie-honey gets cranky if she doesn't have her tea, after all," said Fred. "We'd be looking at a huge temper tantrum."

Ronnie turned pink. "Don't call me that! Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Because you always look so cute when you go all pink," Fred sniggered. "Besides, it's our right, nay, our duty as older brothers to call our baby sister by embarrassing nicknames in front of her friends."

Ronnie opened and closed her mouth. "Why do you always do this?!" she suddenly blurted out. "You do something nice, and then, just when I think it's sorta okay to have you as brothers, you immediately turn around and ruin it by acting like a couple of gits!"

"That's the sort of people we are too," said George lightly. "One day, you'll look back on this and realise that your time with us was the happiest time of your life."

"Only if the rest of my life consists of being tortured by vicious hags," said Ronnie sourly.

As one, the twins dramatically clutched their hands in front of their chests and winced as if in pain.

"Oh, that stung!" said Fred. "What a way to talk to your loving older brothers, who only want the best for you and never think of themselves."

"But speaking of Snape —" said George.

"Were we?" said Fred.

"Yeah, just now. I told Ronnie to 'make sure Snape doesn't catch you,' remember?"

"Oh, yes, pardon me, I think I must be getting a little slow in my old age," said Fred. "All right, we were speaking of Snape. What about him?"

"Well, just that Ronnie and company best be off to meet him. He tends to get a little bit grouchy if he's kept waiting. Speaking from experience here."

"Right, good point. Off you go, children! Be brave in the face of adversary, that's the Gryffindor way!"

Harry watched Fred and George as they turned and walked away, before glancing over at the still-rather-pink Ronnie. He wanted to say something encouraging to her, but had no idea what — the relationship between Ronnie and her brothers was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. One moment they were being protective and looking out for one another, the next they seem to take great pleasure in hurting each other's feelings, and then they'd go right back to looking out for one another. Were all families like this?

"Gits," Ronnie murmured.

"I'm sure they mean well," said Harry, and realised almost at once that this was not the right thing to say.

Ronnie just looked at him with an exasperated expression. "Of course they mean well!" she said. "They always mean well! But they're just so — so —" she searched for a good word to call her brothers, but apparently couldn't think of any, because she just sighed and shook her head.

After a few seconds in which nobody could think of anything to say, Neville finally cleared his throat. "We — we'd better get going," he said. "I'm not looking forward to spending time with Snape, but I really don't want him to get angrier at us than he is."

They walked the rest of the way in ominous silence, down the cold and dark passageway that led to Snape's office. There was almost no light; no windows and only a few faintly glowing oil lamps placed much too far apart and doing little more than making the shadows longer and darker. A small number of doors were placed sporadically on each wall, all of them plain and unadorned and leading to rooms unknown. One of them presumably led to Snape's office, but which one? They were all unmarked and impossible to tell apart.

"This is ridiculous," Ronnie grumbled. "How does Snape expect us to even find this office of his? He should have taken us down here himself or at least given us a map — Oh!"

She never got further than this, because just then a shadowy figure appeared out of the darkness.

For half a terrifying second, Harry thought it was the shadowed figure they'd met in the Forbidden forest - but no, he saw almost immediately that this one moved completely differently, with a nervous and halting kind of gait... And then, when the figure saw them and gave a terrified little squeak; the sort of sound that could only come from one person in this school, there was no doubt anymore.

"Hello, Professor Quirrell." said Harry.

"P-P-Potter!" the characteristic voice of Quirrell stuttered, as she figure haltingly came closer. "Wh-what a surprise to see you here! Oh, and G-G-Granger. And L-L-Longbottom, and W-W-W-"

"Hi, Professor," said Ronnie, rather than wait for him to stutter his way through her name.

Quirrell came closer, his features halfway illuminated by the nearest oil lamp, making shadows dance across his face and his ridiculous purple turban when he trembled — and he trembled almost constantly. "Weasley," he finished. "H-hope you're not l-lost down here? I was just, er, er, I was just —"

"We're looking for Professor Snape's office," said Harry, deciding that he wasn't really in the mood to hear whatever stuttered story Quirrell was about to tell them about his reasons for being down here. "Do you know where it is?"

"Oh, er, yes, c-certainly," said Quirrell. "Oh, oh, yes, I-I remember. O-on your way to d-detention, are you?"

Harry nodded.

Quirrell looked around, as if afraid they were being overheard, and lowered his voice. "I-I always thought P-Professor Snape was much too harsh with his p-punishments," he said, looking genuinely sympathetic. "S-seems like he's got it in for you four in p-particular, doesn't it? Especially you, P-Potter."

"You noticed that too?" said Harry, slightly surprised. Quirrell was the first adult he had talked to who outright admitted that Snape's treatment of Potter's Gang was something out of the ordinary.

"W-Well, I am the D-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," said Quirrell, straightening himself a little. "In my job you need to n-notice such things. Many Dark wizards pick out one target in particular... they can follow him around for days, weeks, even m-months if necessary. Then, when least expected... they strike!" He made a swift, swiping motion with his arm, and then jumped back, clearly having startled himself with it.

Hermione looked shocked. "Are you saying that Professor Snape is a Dark wizard, sir?" she said, causing Neville to let out a terrified squeak in much the same way Quirrell had.

"A Dark wizard like Voldem— I mean, like You-Know-Who?" Harry caught himself when the first syllable of the name made Quirrell look like he was going to have a heart attack.

"I w-w-w-wouldn't d-d-dream of accusing one of my c-c-c-c-colleagues of something so h-h-horrible," said Quirrell, his stutter even worse than usual. "But, but you h-h-have to be c-c-c-careful, eh? N-never know wh-where the next t-th-threat is going to come from!"

Harry looked at his three friends. Neither of them looked any more eager to visit Snape's office after this conversation.

"W-w-well, let me show you S-S-Snape's office!" said Quirrell hurriedly. "It's n-not easy to f-find unless you know where it is!" He beckoned for the kids to follow him, and then walked about three steps until he reached the closest door, where he stopped and made a sort of triumphant motion towards it. "Th-this is it!"

The door looked no different from any of the others, but Quirrell seemed certain enough, so Harry swallowed the vaguely nauseous feeling that threatened to rise up inside him and went up to the door to knock on it —

— when it suddenly opened with a loud creak. Harry took a step backwards, and Quirrell must have jumped at least a foot, because there stood Snape, his skin looking unhealthily pale in the darkness of the room.

"H-h-hello, Severus!" said Quirrel, cowering and sending him the world's most nervous smile. "J-j-just helping the ch-ch-children finding your office..."

Snape did not return the smile. He just looked at Quirrell with an expression of utter contempt, which caused the nervous man to take a few more steps backwards, murmuring: "Er, I, I'm in a h-h-hurry, excuse me..."

Just as Quirrell turned to run away, Snape turned his head back towards Harry, and in that moment, Harry felt a sharp, stinging pain in his forehead. With a wince and a gasp, he raised his hand towards his scar, but the pain was gone as soon as it had appeared, and Harry blinked at Snape as the panicked footsteps of Quirrell vanished down the passageway.

"I hope you're not going to tell me you have a headache and must be excused from your detention, Potter?" said Snape coldly.

"Er — no, sir," said Harry. "It was just, er, a twinge of pain... I'm all right now."

Snape looked suspiciously at him for a moment, and then stepped aside and beckoning them to walk into the office. "Enter, then."

One by one, Potter's Gang entered a room that was even darker and more forbidding than the Potions classroom, with dozens (if not hundreds) of bottles with revolting-looking potions, and jars with even more revolting-looking ingredients for potions, all standing on various shelves all over the shadowy walls. The fireplace was dark, the light coming from the oil lamps hanging on the walls was dim. It was, in short, just the sort of office Harry would have expected someone like Snape to have — with one exception: He wouldn't have thought Snape was the type to have a magnificent full-body mirror in his office, much less one that went almost as high as the ceiling, had an ornate gold frame and stood on clawed feet.

The mirror, in fact, looked so misplaced that it had to immediately draw the eyes of anyone who entered; it looked like it belonged in the chamber of one of those ridiculously wealthy women in the soap operas Aunt Petunia watched, not in the otherwise spooky office of a Potions Master who showed no sign of ever caring about his appearance. (Then again, Harry noted, it was exceptionally dirty and grimy; so much, in fact, that it would be hard to see yourself in it — and that did fit Snape.)

"Er," said Ronnie timidly. "Nice mirror, sir?"

Snape shut the door behind them. "Since you appreciate it so much, Weasley, your first task will be to clean and polish it." He pointed to a bucket, a sponge, a few pieces of cloth and a bottle of what was probably some kind of cleaning solution. "Front and back, and take special care with the carvings on the gold frame. If I see so much as a spot or a speck of grime anywhere on the mirror when you are done, you will go through it all over again with a toothbrush."

Ronnie looked at the mirror, which was much larger than she herself was, and the ornate frame, with intricately detailed carvings. Her face fell.

"When you are done with that," Snape continued, "you will help Potter, Granger and Longbottom sort and re-label all the jars with potions ingredients. Tomorrow you will do the same to all the potions ingredients in the Potions classroom, so I would strongly advise you to make sure you have finished here by dinnertime, otherwise you will have to return here after dinner to finish up."

Somehow, this wasn't quite as nasty as Harry had imagined it would be - even if he was definitely not looking forward to many hours here in Snape's cold and forbidding office, or to several hours tomorrow in the dark and gloomy Potions classroom.

"Well," said Snape, glowering at them. "Get started."

Ronnie tentatively went over to the mirror, but Harry, Neville and Hermione remained in place, looking first at all the various jars and boxes, then at one another. Harry could see the same confusion in Neville's and Hermione's faces as he felt himself: None of them had the faintest idea where to begin or how Snape wanted the ingredients sorted.

"What are you waiting for?"

"We — don't know where to begin, Professor," said Harry.

"Are you telling me," said Snape with a nasty tone in his voice, "that Miss Granger doesn't know how to sort Potions ingredients? She, who knows all about what makes a worthy teacher?"

"Couldn't you just show us —" Neville began in a timid voice.

"I wouldn't dream of ruining Miss Granger's chance to show me how a worthy teacher handles dangerous Potions ingredients."

This was too much for Hermione. "You are not a worthy teacher!" she exploded. "Worthy teachers actually teach their subject, they don't bully their students for not already knowing them! If we were in the Muggle world —"

"But we are not in the Muggle world, Granger!" Snape snapped, silencing her. "You may have got away with this kind of attitude towards your Mathematics or Science teachers, but here at Hogwarts you will treat your teachers with the respect they deserve!"

Snape towered over them, and at that moment, under his hateful stare and in the dark gloom of his office, Quirrell's stuttered warnings about Dark wizards came all to easily to mind.

"Don't kill us!" Neville burst out.

"Kill you?" Snape's eyes widened in anger — but before he could say anything more, a startled yelp came from the other side of the office: "Bloody hell!"

Ronnie was standing in front of the still-dirty mirror with a cloth piece in one hand and a bottle of cleaning potion in the other, staring at her own unclear reflection with wide-open eyes and a look of absolute astonishment.

Harry didn't miss a beat; glad for an excuse to escape Snape's stare, he ran over to her. "What's wrong, Ronnie?" he said.

Ronnie pointed at the mirror. "That's — that's me!" she said, her voice sounding awed.

"Well, it is a mirror," said Harry, looking towards the grubby surface of the mirror and finding it surprisingly difficult to see anything at all.

"Yes, but —" Ronnie blinked and leaned closer to the mirror. "I look different... older..."

All of a sudden, Snape was behind them. "I told you to clean the mirror, Weasley, not gawk at it," he said. "Step away from it. Granger, Longbottom, over here!"

Hermione and Neville came up to them, Hermione looking angry and defiant and Neville looking like he was close to turning around and running for his life.

"I want you all to understand something," said Snape, looking at all four members of Potter's Gang, one by one. "This mirror is one of a kind. It is over a century old, and we still haven't discovered all of its abilities — nor do we know just how well the magic within it will react to any kind of outside influence. So it should be treated with respect at all times. Assuming, that is, that you four are capable of treating anything with respect."

"But —" Ronnie began, but fell silent when Snape fixed her with a glare.

"But, as you keep demonstrating that you clearly have no such capabilities," the Potions master went on, "perhaps I should simply resort to threats. If either of you do anything to this mirror - anything at all to potentially upset or alter the magic within it - I will personally see to it that you are expelled, after I have taken every single point from Gryffindor to ensure that you leave Hogwarts in complete disgrace. And Weasley," he added, turning to Ronnie, "if you can't clean the mirror without getting distracted by your own reflection, I'm certain I can find something else for you to do."

Ronnie glowered, but didn't answer.

"If this is all quite clear —" Snape began, but was cut off as the door to his office flung open, and Quirrell rushed in, looking more wide eyes and terrified than ever before, and breathing heavily if he had been running.

"P-p-potions classroom!" he panted, waving his hand frantically behind him. "S-s-someone's t-t-trashed it, I just went past and was a-a-awful...!"

Snape actually looked shocked for a moment or two. Then, his head snapped towards Potter's Gang, and his eyes were more furious than ever. "You —!"

"We haven't even been near the Potions classroom!" said Harry.

"J-j-jars smashed, desks turned over, d-d-dead spiders all over the floor...!" Qurrell moaned.

Snape took a deep, angry breath and glared at Harry. "Stay here," he said through gritted teeth, his shoulders shaking in silent, barely-controlled fury. "None of you touch anything, especially not the mirror!"

With that, he swept out of the room and vanished down the passageway. Quirrell staggered back and forth a few times and then ran after him, leaving Potter's Gang alone in the office.

There was a long silence as they looked at one another in utter surprise and confusion.

"Wh-who would trash the Potions classroom?" said Neville, momentarily stuttering just like Quirrell.

"Someone who hates Potions?" said Ronnie.

"Someone who hates Snape," said Harry.

"They're going to blame us for this," said Hermione with a tone of certainty. "The way things have been going lately? They'll blame us for everything. Snape's going to say that we were the only ones who would do such a thing, and nobody's going to take our word over his!"

Harry, Ronnie and Neville all looked at her. "What happened to your usual tirades about how the teachers were fair and how they had to listen to us?" said Harry.

"That's in the Muggle world," said Hermione crossly. "As Snape just pointed out, we're not in the Muggle world anymore. Fred and George were right — teachers do band together against students here!"

"Quirrell seems like he'd be on our side..." said Neville hopefully.

"Quirrell's too afraid of Snape to say anything against him out in the open!" said Hermione. "You saw how he acted around him!"

"Can't say I blame him," Neville murmured. "I'd rather face the Forbidden Forest again than Snape when he's angry... What is it, Harry?"

Harry felt a sense of dread; Neville's words had given him a very unpleasant thought. "Ronnie," he said. "That shadowy bloke we met in the Forest... The one who threatened to kill us... What if that was Snape?"

Ronnie gasped, her eyes going wide. Neville and Hermione just stared.

"Listen," said Harry. "When I met that shadow bloke, my scar started hurting terribly. And my scar has only hurt two times other than that. Once at the welcoming feast, and once today, just outside this office. Both times, Snape was glaring at me!"

There was another long silence.

"Bloody hell," said Ronnie in a hushed voice. "So Snape really could be a Dark wizard."

"There is something strange about him, that's for sure," said Hermione. "Take this mirror, for instance. Why is he so eager to get us to look into it?"

"Er," said Ronnie. "Didn't he just tell us to stay away from it?"

"He goes out of his way to call it to our attention, immediately sends you over to clean it, then when you see something in it he calls all of us over to it and tells us that it's a unique, one of a kind object with unknown power," said Hermione impatiently. "Then he warns us to not do anything with it, threatening to expel us, and then he conveniently leaves alone with it. He wants us to look in that mirror. I just wish I knew why... What is it with this mirror that he wants us to see?"

"Nothing good, I'll bet," said Neville, who seemed all too ready to believe the worst of Snape. "What did you see when you looked into it, Ronnie?"

Ronnie turned pink again. "It was weird," she said, sounding uncharacteristically shy.

"Well, what was it?" said Hermione.

"I saw myself, but it was a, well, a different me. I looked older, er, and, well, pretty." Ronnie's pink colouring turned a few notches brighter. "I mean, bloody hell, I looked gorgeous. Not like the lanky, great beanstalk I am now. "

"You're not a lanky, great —" Neville began, but cut himself off as Ronnie placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Neville. Please don't," she said. "I've always known I wasn't pretty. It's okay."

"But —" said Neville helplessly.

Harry wanted to say something, but he had no idea what. In truth, there were many nice things he could say about Ronnie, but "pretty" really wasn't the first thing that came to mind. She looked all right, he supposed, but no more than that — the first time he'd seen her he'd secretly thought that her gangly, freckled form made her look more awkwardly comical than anything else. He knew for a fact that he would never, ever tell her this.

"Maybe I'll grow into it," said Ronnie, a little dreamily. "Like I said, I looked older in the mirror. And I think I was very powerful and successful too... I could see my family in the background and they all looked, well, proud of me. Even Fred and George. Like I'd, I dunno, done something very great... You don't think the mirror shows the future, do you?" There was a hopeful tone in her voice.

"If it does," said Hermione hesitantly, "why does Snape want us to look into it? Does he know something we don't know?"

"All right," said Harry, coming to a decision. "I'll look. Move aside, please."

"Harry, no!" Hermione protested. "If Snape wants us to look, I say we stay as far away from it as possible!"

"We're going to get in trouble no matter what, might as well do something to earn it." The thought of Snape possibly being the shadow bloke had given Harry a new resolve; he wanted to find out whether he was right, and right now the only possible clue he had was that mirror.

He stepped up to it and gazed into the grubby glass.

For a second or so he couldn't make out anything; then all of a sudden he saw himself, exactly as he looked in normal mirrors; not older or better-looking or in any way seeming like a big, powerful success — but surrounding him (and this was the big surprise) was a huge crowd of people.

Almost automatically, he turned around to see whether they were actually standing in the room with him, but there were only Ronnie, Hermione and Neville, looking at him.

"What happened?" said Ronnie.

"I'm not sure," Harry managed to say without having his voice quake too much. "I'd better have another look..." Before the others could say anything more, he turned back and gazed into the mirror.

His reflection looked back at him, as did all the other people in the mirror. Behind the dirt and grime they smiled at him; all of them had friendly faces, and all of them were older than him. Some were elderly or middle-aged, some were young adults, but none of them were children or teenagers.

Closest to him, standing on each side of his reflection, were two people; a man and a woman. The woman was very pretty, with dark red hair and green eyes — eyes the exact same shade of green as his own, Harry suddenly realised as she lovingly placed a hand on his reflection's shoulder (he instinctively raised his hand to touch hers, but he touched only his own shoulder — she existed only in the mirror). And the man had dark hair that stuck up in the back just like Harry's did, and he wore glasses like Harry. In fact, he looked an awful lot like —

All of a sudden, it was as if Harry could hear Hagrid's voice: "Yeh really look almost exactly like yer Dad did at eleven, Harry... 'cept yer eyes, o' course. Those are yer Mum's eyes."

He stared at the man and the woman.

"Dad?" he whispered. "Mum?!"

They nodded softly and looked at him with warm smiles. And then, all the other people seemed to come into focus as well, and Harry discovered that he could recognize parts of himself in most of them; that man had his green eyes, that woman had his nose, that funny little man looked like he had Harry's knobbly knees — yes, there was no doubt: all these people were his family.

For the first time in his life, Harry Potter was standing face-to-face with family members he had never met — or if he had. it was so long ago that he'd forgotten — and he felt a strange, painful sensation rise up in his chest. Part of it was joy, joy that he was finally seeing his family, but the joy was tinged with sorrow over the fact that they were just reflections and images. And through it all, a longing more powerful than anything he had ever felt before. He wanted these people, more than anything he wanted to step into the mirror so that he could be with them, touch them, talk with them...

He pressed his hands against the mirror, but the glass was hard, cold and unyielding against his fingers.

"What are you doing, Harry?" Ronnie's voice suddenly brought him back to reality.

Harry pulled his hands away from the mirror, for some reason suddenly feeling very silly. "I —" he began, tearing his eyes away from his family in order to focus on his friends, who were still standing behind him with concerned expressions. "I just — I saw —"

"You said 'Dad' and 'Mum,'" said Neville softly. "Was it your parents?"

Harry could only nod.

"You didn't see yourself as a grown-up?" said Ronnie.

"Wait!" said Hermione suddenly, pointing at the top of the mirror. "I think I figured it out! Look at the inscription!"

Harry tilted his head backwards and looked up - and for the first time he noticed that the inscription carved around the top of the mirror weren't just intricate patterns but elaborate letters forming strange words. They weren't the easiest to make out thanks to the dirty state of the frame, but eventually Harry read: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

"What's that?" said Ronnie, squinting to read the words herself. "Bulgarian or something?"

"No," said Hermione in a triumphant voice. "It's very simple! It's a mirror, so of course the inscription is mirrored as well! See, if you read the words backwards, they spell -"

"- I show you not your face, but your heart's desire!" said Harry, getting it.

Hermione nodded. "The mirror shows us what we want, deep down! You never knew your family, Harry, so that's what you saw; yourself surrounded by family! And Ronnie, you're always saying how you wish your family wouldn't treat you as a baby, so when you looked in the mirror, you saw yourself as someone who wouldn't be treated as a baby! A powerful, grown-up witch, who has the respect of everyone!"

"So it's not real?" Ronnie looked about as disappointed as Harry felt. "We just see what we want to see?"

"Seems like it," said Hermione. "But I wonder why Snape has a mirror like this in his office in the first place?"

"Are you joking?" said Ronnie. "Being able to look at what you want, when you want? I'd want a mirror like that!"

"I don't think it's as simple as that," said Hermione, and drew a breath to say more, when Neville suddenly spoke up.

"I don't think any of us should look in that mirror again," he said, looking strangely solemn and uncharacteristically determined — so much so, in fact, that Hermione closed her mouth instead of continuing what she was going to say. "Hermione was right, if Snape wants us to look into it, we shouldn't! Besides, I have a bad feeling about this entire thing - like it's a trap or something!"

Harry thought about how he'd wanted to climb into the mirror to join his family; if he had been able to, he would have done so in a heartbeat, and hang the consequences. Even now, when he knew that the images of his Mum and Dad weren't real, he felt a burning desire to turn back and look into the mirror to see their faces once more. If it was a trap, the bait was extremely alluring. "But what's the point?" he said. "Why would Snape try to trap us with a mirror that shows us what we want? Is he so desperate to expel us that —"

He never got further than this, because just then there was a noise from the other end of the room, by the open door. He turned around just in time to see one of the shelves collapse and fall, sending its contents tumbling to the floor; several bottles of strange-looking potions crashing and breaking upon impact, sending glass shards flying everywhere and strange-looking liquids splattering about, forming big puddles.

Potter's Gang stared at the sudden unexpected mess in shocked silence, as the puddles on the floor began flowing and mixing with one another — and before either of them could ask what had happened or why the shelf had suddenly collapsed, a scary-looking black smoke began welling up from the potion puddles on the floor.

"Wh-what's that?!" Neville yelped, taking a step backward and almost colliding with Harry as the smoke began welling out and expanding, coming closer at an alarming rate.

"Dangerous mixing of potions that weren't meant to be mixed, that's what!" Hermione looked panicked. "Hold your breath! No, wait, maybe it'll affect us through the skin — we have to get out of here!"

"Where d'you suggest we go?!" Ronnie screamed.

Harry looked around; they were trapped. The smoke was approaching them fast, blocking their view of the door and cutting off their escape; and behind them were only the mirror and more shelf-covered walls; not so much as a window to escape through. He desperately looked towards the mirror to see if maybe his family members had any suggestions, but all he could see in the mirror's grubby surface was an image of himself, Neville, Hermione and Ronnie wearing gas masks; a doubly useless image right then because they didn't have any.

Why couldn't the magic lessons have gone a little quicker? If they had just learned how to conjure up gas masks or maybe learned to create powerful gusts of wind to blow dangerous-looking smoke away — but they were only in their second week at Hogwarts, none of them could do much with their wands yet, except —

"Hermione!" Harry grabbed her arm and felt a sudden surge of dizziness attack him; the air was getting thicker and was beginning to smell weird as the smoke had almost reached them by now. "Do something!"

"I — I don't know what to do!" Hermione sounded like she was about to either cry or hyperventilate.

"You're the cleverest witch in our year, you have to —" Harry had to stop there, as a sudden coughing fit attacked him; his vision grew dark and blurry as the smoke whirled around him. There was only one thing to do. "Everyone — grab each other's hands — hold your breath — run!"

This was all Harry had time to say before everything went completely black around him, the smoke making his eyes sting and his skin prickle uncomfortably. He only had a few seconds now...!

Grasping out blindly, his hands found two others; he didn't know which two of his friends he'd grabbed hold of and had no time to find it out; hoping against hope that they'd all somehow managed to grab onto one another he began running in the direction he thought the door was in.

He stumbled through the darkness, bumping into things he had no idea what was, keeping a tight grip on the hand — but then he heard a girl (Ronnie or Hermione? He wasn't sure!) start to cough, and then a silent gasp — and one of the people he was dragging along went limp and fell to the floor, pulling him down with them.

Instinctively, both because he was losing his balance and because he was dizzy from lack of air, he took a sharp breath. And immediately realized his folly as the smoke entered his lungs, and everything spun around. It was as if all his strength was pulled out of him; all of a sudden he couldn't stay upright, and flopped painfully down on the floor, his head hitting against someone's stomach.

Dimly, he heard a dull thud, as if someone else had flopped down to the floor... And then something soft and heavy landed down on top of him, and with his final bit of coherent thought he realised that all four of them were down for the count.

Somewhere far away, he heard running footsteps and sharp voices... and then everything faded away and he knew no more.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's Notes: And here's the first real cliffhanger of the story! What will become of Potter's Gang? Is this their final moment?

...Naaaaah, you know they'll make it. I'm not about to kill off the main characters this early in the story. So where's the suspense, you might ask? Well, we don't know what the smoke will do to them, do we? Given how it was created by a mix of potions that were never meant to be mixed, I don't think even Snape can predict the effects here. Anyone care to have a guess? (No, it's not going to involve any kind of soul bond or anything like that... I'm trying to avoid the "annoying new powers" syndrome here... but it might have some effect. Just saying.)

In other news, it looks like Potter's Gang finally have found one of the clues they found in canon, namely the Mirror of Erised. But what was it doing in Snape's office? (This one might not be too hard to figure out, actually.) And will it be enough to help our heroes figure out the mystery of the Philosopher's Stone?

Time will tell...

6. The Hospital Wing

Another chapter! Once again, I'd like to thank everyone who's reviewed this story so far - as of now, Weasley Girl is officially my most-reviewed story ever! It's actually pretty funny, considering that I started this story on a whim... But it's surprisingly fun to see just how much can change from canon simply based on a gender change.

WEASLEY GIRL

Based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling

CHAPTER SIX
The Hospital Wing

Harry...

Harry slowly became aware of the sounds; they weren't loud, but they were persistent, and just irregular enough to be disturbing.

Harry, c'mon...

How annoying. How was he supposed to get any sleep when — wait a minute. He didn't remember going to sleep.

Wake up, Harry!

Harry opened his eyes and stared up into a pair of bright blue eyes, surrounded by a freckled face and an unruly mop of red hair. Ronnie pulled slightly back, and then her lips split into a big smile. "You're awake!" she cheered.

"...Ronnie?" Harry sat up and looked at her, then took in the sight of the room around them. It was a bright room with high, arched windows on two walls, pale Autumn daylight streaming in and giving everything a soft, crisp glow. The world was a little more blurry than Harry was used to, but this was easily explained by the fact that he wasn't wearing his glasses.

All of a sudden, the memories returned. Snape's office, the mirror, the collapsing shelf, the strange black smoke.

"What happened?" he said. "Where are we?"

"Hospital wing," said Ronnie. "Madam Pomfrey says we've been asleep for three days. If you can call it sleeping, I don't know."

"Thee days?!" Harry blinked, shocked.

"Yeah, I don't know what weird potion mix was in that black smoke, but it must have been powerful," said Ronnie. "Neville and Hermione are here too."

"Hi, Harry," came Neville's voice from somewhere farther away.

"Here, I got your glasses for you," said Ronnie, holding up Harry's familiar round glasses.

Harry gratefully accepted them, and to his relief found the world come into sharp focus as he put them on, and he could take on the sight of the room properly, now seeing that his bed was only one of many; simple beds with white linen sheets, around which there were frames that held curtains which could probably be pulled closed if the people in them wished privacy.

Both Neville and Hermione were sitting upright in their beds, a little way away, and looking at him with a mix of relief and concern.

It was only now that Harry noticed, to his slight embarrassment, that they were all in their pyjamas, and that Ronnie's were not only a tad too small for her, but a surprisingly loud shade of pink that clashed horribly with her hair. He hid the embarrassment as best as he could, especially since she didn't seem to have a problem with it. "How did we get to the hospital wing, anyway?" he asked.

"No idea, Madam Pomfrey didn't want to tell us anything before we were all awake," said Ronnie. "I suppose someone carried us, unless we sleepwalked or something."

"That's ridiculous," said Hermione. "How are you feeling, Harry?"

Harry had to take a moment to feel before he could answer. "A little dizzy."

"So did we, at first," said Hermione. "It'll pass."

"Yeah..." Ronnie bit her lip and looked at him — and then, all of a sudden she had thrown her arms around him and was hugging him tightly. It came as a complete surprise; Ronnie had hugged Hermione before, but never him or Neville. Now she was holding him hard, as if she was afraid he would vanish if she let go.

"Er — Ronnie —" Harry tried.

"It's all right, Harry, she did that to Hermione and me too," said Neville in an uncharacteristically dry voice.

"I was so scared," said Ronnie in a soft voice. "I thought we'd all die."

"Oh... Er..." Harry had no idea what to say to that.

She suddenly let go of him, and took a step back, looking at both him, Hermione and Neville. "But you don't tell anyone I said that, okay?!" she said, suddenly back to her old self again

"Okay," said Harry, relieved. He'd known Ronnie was strong, but he hadn't known just how hard she could hug. His muscles were crying out in relief after she'd let go.

Ronnie nodded, and opened her mouth to say something more, when the door at the far end of the room opened, and in the doorway stood a familiar figure: a tall, thin man with a silver beard so long it reached down to his waist. Bright blue eyes twinkled from behind elegant half-moon glasses, and extravagant, crimson robes with gold trimming almost, but not quite, swept against the floor as he walked.

"Ah, you're all awake," said Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, beaming as he stepped into the room. "Welcome back to the land of the conscious!"

Behind him, the much shorter and less impressive form of Madam Pomfrey appeared, scooting past the Headmaster and fixing Ronnie with a stern look. "Miss Weasley, what are you doing up?" she said before the Headmaster could continue. "Go on, back to bed with you!"

Ronnie muttered something about wanting to see how Harry was, but when the woman fixed her with another stern glare, she slinked back to the bed next to Harry's and lay down, pulling the covers up over herself.

"Madam Pomfrey was kind enough to inform me that three-fourth of your numbers were now awake," said Dumbledore, completely unfazed. "But it was a pleasant surprise to see that the number has now increased from three to four. Hopefully, that means there is only a question of time before all four of you are back on your feet."

Harry settled down in his bed, shifting a little as Madam Pomfrey (after having given Ronnie a brief examination) came over to him and placed a clammy hand on his forehead. "Lie down, Mister Potter," she ordered. "How are you feeling?"

"Er, fine," said Harry, deciding to obey her and lie down before she got seriously angry. "What happened? The last thing I remember was — that smoke."

"Well now," said Dumbledore, "I was rather hoping you could tell me what happened. Professor Snape tells me that he returned to his office to find it filled with black smoke, a considerable amount of broken potion bottles on the floor, and the four of you lying unconscious in a heap. He managed to get you out safely and get the smoke under control, but —"

"Professor Snape?!" Harry almost sat up again from sheer surprise, but managed to control himself. "He saved us?"

"Lie still, Mister Potter," said Madam Pomfrey, finally removing her hand from his forehead — whatever it was she had been measuring, she was apparently satisfied. "Though what that man was thinking, leaving a bunch of children unsupervised in a room filled with dangerous potions, I have no idea," she added under her breath.

"Poppy?" Dumbledore looked at Madam Pomfrey with a kind, but serious expression. "Would you mind leaving us alone for a few moments? I believe there are a few things I should discuss with our four young friends here."

Madam Pomfrey, whose first name was apparently Poppy, looked like she wanted to protest, but after a couple of seconds, she merely said: "You are the Headmaster, of course. Just don't let it be too long, they need their rest."

"Thank you, Poppy. I promise I will not take more time than is necessary."

"And don't get them too excited."

"I shall do my utmost to avoid it." Dumbledore nodded as the Matron turned and walked away, clearly not wanting to, but not finding any good reason to refuse.

When she was gone, he casually grabbed one of the chairs standing by Harry's bed, pulled it out and sat down between Harry's and Ronnie's beds, turning his head this way and that in order to look at them both. "First of all," he said, "I must say you all look much better than you did when you were brought in here."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry, not quite certain why he was thanking Dumbledore but deciding it wouldn't hurt to be polite.

"You're quite welcome, Harry. But, nice as it would have been to spend my stay here simply exchanging pleasantries —" (Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with humor for a moment, but then grew serious) "— I do have some more serious things to discuss with you." He looked at each member of Potter's Gang in turn, starting and ending with Harry. "The first, and most pressing, topic is that of what actually went on there in Professor Snape's office. Can either of you give me any sort of hint as to who made that shelf fall?"

"It wasn't us, sir!" Ronnie blurted out. "We were on the other side of the room when it happened, and besides we wouldn't have done it anyway -"

Dumbledore looked at her and raised a gentle hand. "Peace, Miss Weasley," he said. "I never suspected any of you."

"You didn't?" Ronnie looked surprised, and then sheepish. "Oh..."

"Make no mistake, Professor Snape did not hesitate to present the four of you as the prime suspects," said Dumbledore. "But I took the liberty of examining the fallen shelf, and I found something quite interesting: The supports had been sliced clean through, most likely by a very powerful Severing Charm. Hardly the most complicated spell in the world, but still far too advanced for a group of first-years who have barely finished their second week at Hogwarts."

Almost instinctively, Harry looked over at Hermione. Of course, he knew she couldn't possibly be guilty, but if either of them could have cast such a spell, it would have been her. She did, however, not look indignant at the implication that she wouldn't be able to cast such a spell - in fact, she looked intrigued and a little worried.

"So who could have done it, sir?" she said. "It must have been a fairly accomplished wizard or witch, if they could do non-verbal magic... Because that is what they must have used, isn't it?"

Dumbledore looked at her with an expression of impressed surprise. "Most astute, Miss Granger. May I ask what leads you to draw this conclusion?"

"Because I didn't hear a voice," said Hermione. "We — that is, all four of us — were standing around by Snape's mirror and talking," said Hermione. "All of a sudden, we heard a strange noise from the other end of the room, like wood being split, and then the shelf collapsed. No voices beforehand, that must mean non-verbal!"

"Or maybe they were just whispering," said Harry dryly. "Or had a very quiet voice. It wasn't as though we were listening for any voices."

"Oh, well, yes, I suppose." Hermione deflated a little.

"Actually, Miss Granger, it's a very good thought," said Dumbledore. "I have no doubt that the person who cast the Severing Charm was a very accomplished wizard. Unfortunately, since there is no lack of very accomplished wizards at Hogwarts, this does not much help to narrow down our list of suspects. You did not happen to see anyone?" The tone of his voice suggested that he wasn't expecting a positive answer, and true enough, Potter's Gang failed to provide one.

"The door was open, though," said Harry. "I suppose anyone could have come past while we were talking."

"Er..." Neville looked like he wanted to say something, but then apparently thought better of it and became very interested in his hands.

"Please say what you were thinking, Neville," said Dumbledore kindly.

"Er..." said Neville again. "I was just... Could it be... Would you say that Professor Snape is an accomplished wizard? I'm not accusing him!" he added hurriedly. "I just, I just..."

Surprisingly, Dumbledore smiled. "Of course not," he said, "but one can't help theorizing, can one? And it is an understandable theory, but I fear it's rather a misguided one. After all, why would Professor Snape expose you to a dangerous and unpredictable mix of potions if he was going to save you from it immediately afterwards?"

"Well, that's obvious, innit?" said Ronnie, clearly picking up on Neville's thread of thought. "He wants to cover his own arse - er, sorry, Headmaster," she added, going a little pink as she realised she was swearing in front of Dumbledore.

"Forgive me, Miss Weasley, but my old ears aren't quite what they used to be," said Dumbledore with the hint of a twinkle in his eyes, "so I did not hear what you said just then."

"I said," Ronnie replied gratefully, "that he wants to cover his own, er, neck. Try to kill us, and then save us, so that nobody will think it was him, and he'll look like a hero for it, and later on, when we trust him, he'll try to kill us again and -"

"Thank you, Miss Weasley," said Dumbledore. "But before you continue this expanded theory, I should perhaps inform you that I trust Professor Snape implicitly. He may not be a particularly affable man, but he would never try to kill you, of that you can be assured."

Potter's Gang exchanged glances. Harry could see that his friends weren't any more convinced than he himself was, but Dumbledore seemed so certain that there was no point in arguing.

"Make no mistake," Dumbledore went on, "this is a serious situation. Knocking down a shelf full of potions is a highly dangerous thing to do. Anyone who would deliberately take such a risk... well, they would either have to be extremely desperate or firmly believe that the reward would be worth the risk."

"What reward?" Harry was feeling rather confused.

Dumbledore looked grave. "I do not wish to alarm either of you, especially after Madam Pomfrey warned me against getting you too excited..."

"We're not going to be any less excited if you don't tell us," said Ronnie. "Sir," she added after Hermione had glowered at her.

"It appears I do not have much choice," Dumbledore agreed. "You do have a right to know, especially after what happened." He sat back in his chair, taking another deep breath. "I'm certain you will find it as no surprise that, just as there are good Muggles and bad Muggles in this world, there are good wizards and bad wizards. Harry bears the mark of a particularly bad one on his forehead, after all."

Harry instinctively raised his hand to let his fingers brush against his scar.

"But You-Know-Who..." said Hermione in a small voice, "he's gone, isn't he?"

"Call him Voldemort, Miss Granger. Do not let his name frighten you. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself, after all." Dumbledore smiled briefly, and then became serious again. "But yes, as far as we know he is gone. But that does not mean he is dead, or that he can't come back."

Harry recalled Hagrid saying something similar when he first told him about Voldemort: "Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die... Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on."

His mind went back to the shadowed figure in the Forbidden Forest. Could it be that Voldemort had been hiding in the Forest all along, right under everyone's noses, perhaps biding his time until... but no, that was absurd. Wasn't it? For a second he pondered asking Dumbledore about this — but that would mean admitting that he, Ronnie and Neville had been out in the Forbidden Forest, and he couldn't do that.

"Are you saying... Sir, are you saying that You-Know - I mean Voldemort, that he destroyed Snape's shelf?" Harry heard himself how ridiculous it sounded when taken out of context like that.

If Dumbledore found the thought as ridiculous as Harry did, he didn't show it. In the end, though, he shook his head. "I doubt it's that simple. Still... What we would do well to remember is that Voldemort had followers. Not all of them were caught after the war ended."

"But there aren't any of them here at Hogwarts, are there?" said Neville, looking terrified.

"As far as we know," said Dumbledore. "Still, this situation is too big a coincidence for my liking, considering how there were at least two things in that room that any follower of Voldemort would consider a great triumph to destroy. The second one being the mirror Erised."

Two questions immediately and simultaneously popped up in Harry's head. He chose to voice the first one. "That's Snape's — I mean, Professor Snape's mirror? The one that shows us — er — what we want to see?"

"Well, it belongs to the school, and what it shows is a little more complicated than that — but yes, that would be the one. Professor Snape had it in his office because I had asked him to help me prepare it for, let us say, a somewhat unorthodox use." Dumbledore's tone was light, but Harry recognised it as the tone of one who was not going to elaborate and would refuse to answer any further questions on the subject. "Suffice to say, the Mirror can do more than just show us our heart's desires."

"And... what's the first thing?" said Harry, deciding to voice his second question.

"I beg your pardon?" Dumbledore smiled.

"You said there were two things that Voldemort's followers would want to destroy, and the mirror was the second thing... What's the first?" He'd thought it was a perfectly legitimate question, so what he wasn't prepared for was the look of surprise in Dumbledore's eyes - nor had he expected that his friends would be staring at him the way they were now.

"What?" he said.

"You're joking, right?!" said Ronnie, sounding halfway exasperated and halfway scared. "It's you, you idiot! You were the one who vanquished their boss! The Boy Who Lived, remember?!"

"Oh! Right!" Harry suddenly felt very stupid.

"But that means Harry's in danger!" said Neville, and if Harry had thought he looked terrified before, that was nothing compared to the terror on his face now. "Professor, we have to do something, we have to — we have to —"

"I shall personally take every precaution I can in order to ensure Harry's safety," said Dumbledore. "In fact... Yes, yes, that is an idea." Potter's Gang held their breath, looking at him. But Dumbledore didn't elaborate; he just smiled as if he had thought of something clever, and then said: "Well, since I do enjoy ending things on a positive note, especially after having discussed such serious things, I have some pleasant news for you all."

"Yes?" Harry leaned forward.

"Indeed. Professor Snape has agreed to cancel the rest of your detentions."

"Really?!" said Hermione, sounding halfway shocked and halfway relieved.

"Well, he did set the condition that you would not write any more letters of complaints about him," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "Keep in mind that I have not said this, but I do think your letter affected him much more than he would care to admit. Still, I was able to convince him in the end that a letter of complaint was not a liable reason for giving detentions... especially not since the first detention ended with all four of you in the hospital wing."

Hermione looked like she was about to say something, but she was interrupted by Ronnie, who gleefully cried: "Wicked! This calls for a celebration!"

Everyone turned to look at the red-haired girl, who had snatched a small, brown paper parcel from her nightstand, and was in the middle of opening it. "It's the snack Fred and George gave me before we went down to the dungeon!" she said. "It's chocolate, so it's still good... Go on, everyone, have some! Er, you too, Professor!"

Dumbledore beamed. "I would be delighted, Miss Weasley. Thank you so much!"

Ronnie divided the chocolate into five roughly identical pieces and handed four of them over to Dumbledore, who shared them between himself, Harry, Neville and Hermione.

Harry took a small bite out of the chocolate. It tasted delicious; not quite like the Chocolate Frogs he'd had on the Hogwarts express, but still good... though there was an interesting aftertaste to this chocolate, almost bitter, really, so maybe —

Hermione shrieked. Startled, Harry looked over at her, and saw that she was sitting up in her bed, her eyes wide with surprise and fear, half-eaten chocolate in one hand while the other pointed a quaking finger at Dumbledore.

The Headmaster had gone pale white. As Potter's Gang watched in horror, his blue eyes rolled up in the back of his head, and he collapsed, falling limply to the floor.

"You gave Ronnie chocolate that was laced with Draught of Living Death?!" Percy thundered, looking at Fred and George like he wanted to strangle them. "What in the name of Merlin's beard were you thinking?!"

To Fred and George's credit, they did look extremely sheepish and regretful, faced with the wrath of their older brother.

"Well..." said Fred.

"You see..." George added.

"We just thought that if Ronnie and the others ate the chocolate in Snape's dungeon, they'd fall asleep, and when Snape couldn't wake them up, they'd have to be taken to the hospital wing," said Fred. "And so they'd get out of detention."

"I must congratulate you both," said Snape in an icy voice, "on your marvelous short-sightedness. Or did you somehow think that I, as a Potions master, would fail to immediately recognise the effect of a Draught of Living Death? Or that I would not have an ample supply of Wiggenweld Potion to counter its effect?"

"Well..." said George.

"You see..." Fred added. Then they both fell silent.

"I admire your dedication to your sister," said Dumbledore from his bed. "But I suggest you find other ways of expressing it for the future, even though an old man like myself certainly doesn't mind a small nap every now and then."

The hospital wing was getting a little crowded now; apart from Potter's Gang and Madam Pomfrey, in now included Fred, George and Percy Weasley (the latter of whom was not at all happy with his younger brothers right now) — plus a grouchy Professor Snape and a Professor Dumbledore who was was lying fully-clothed and conscious in one of the beds, looking like he'd found the entire thing to be an excellent joke.

Harry, Ronnie, Hermione and Neville were sitting (still in their sleepwear, but with all that was going on, nobody was even thinking about being embarrassed) on Harry's bed, with the boys on one side and the girls on the other. It seemed like Ronnie hadn't quite got over her hugging mood from earlier, as she was sitting with her arms around Hermione, who seemed resigned to having the red-haired girl cling to her for a bit.

It had been a moment of sheer terror for them all when Dumbledore had collapsed. It hadn't made sense at all; Dumbledore was the Headmaster of Hogwarts, an immensely powerful wizard, the defeater of the Dark Lord Grindelwald, the only person Voldemort ever feared. All of them — particularly Ronnie and Neville, who had grown up in the wizarding world — had heard stories of his greatness and benevolence, and even the aspect of Voldemort returning didn't seem so frightening when he was around. He shouldn't be allowed to suddenly faint like that; it went against some law of nature or something and was surely the sign that the end of the world was near.

All right, that last part had been Ronnie's words and might, all things taken into consideration, have been a bit of an exaggeration, but the point remained.

It was lucky that Madam Pomfrey had been close by, and that she had immediately come running when she's heard their cries. The Matron had immediately taken charge of the situation, ordered Potter's Gang back to their beds and gone on to examine Dumbledore, concluding within seconds that the fainting spell had been the work of a Draught of Living Death.

Dumbledore had soon enough been revived thanks to a simple Wiggenweld Potion, and though Madam Pomfrey had insisted upon him lying down for a bit, remained the only person in the room who was perfectly cheerful about the whole thing.

"I'm writing to Mum about this!" said Percy, looking sternly at his younger brothers.

"She'll kill us..." George murmured.

"And you deserve it!" Percy snapped. "Bad enough that you were going to trick Ronnie and her friends into taking the potion, but the Headmaster?!"

"To be fair," said Ronnie sheepishly from her place next to Hermione, "I was the one who gave it to him. But I didn't know, did I?"

"Quite so, Miss Weasley," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "Looking on the bright side, this should be a lesson to me about eating too many sweets."

"This is hardly a laughing matter, Headmaster," said Madam Pomfrey with a disapproving shake of her head. "I, for one, don't think it's funny to come into the hospital wing and find someone passed out on the floor, with four panicking children all around him!"

Dumbledore nodded. "You're right, Poppy," he said. "Consider me duly chastised. But, as I must now remind you all as well as myself, my unexpected nap isn't really the issue here."

The others nodded, and Harry tried not to grimace. The issue, and the reason why they were all gathered here at the moment, was the plain fact that Dumbledore was the only one who had been affected by the Draught of Living Death. Harry, Ronnie, Neville and Hermione had all felt the curious, bitter aftertaste of the potion, but none of them had felt even a little sleepy.

Given that the Draught of the Living Death was an extremely difficult potion to make even straight up, and that the feat of making it affect only some people and not others was an ability far beyond even that of Professor Snape, much less the Weasley twins, there was one very obvious solution to the mystery.

"I certainly had nothing to do with it," said Snape. "If I had known that Weasley had potion-laced chocolate in her pocket I would immediately have confiscated it." He turned towards Fred and George to glower at them for a bit as well (and the twins had the good sense to look subdued, at least while he and Percy were watching them), before turning his head back to Dumbledore. "I do think your suspicions are correct, though; the blame lies with the smoke. Somehow, breathing it in left the children with some kind of immunity."

"What does this mean, Professor?" said Percy, notably less pompous than usual. "Does it mean they're immune to all potions, or just to certain kinds, like sleeping draughts?"

"Do I look like your Divination teacher, Weasley?" said Snape. "How do you expect me to know the full effect of an accidentally-created potion when I haven't yet had the chance to perform any more than the most basic of tests?" He looked at Percy with such a sneer that Harry was certain that any other Weasley would have glowered in return, but Percy just nodded.

"I do beg your pardon, Professor," he said, "I worded myself poorly. I meant, of course, to ask if you, as a renowned Potions master, could estimate any kind of guess?"

If Snape got any more kindly disposed to Percy from this blatant attempt at sucking up, he didn't show it. "Freak accidents sometimes wield unpredictable results," he said. "And this is especially true with freak accidents involving potions — or, I am starting to believe, freak accidents involving Potter."

Harry, who had been sitting next to Neville and following the exchange with a mix of curiousity, nervousness and confusion, blinked at this. He couldn't remember being in any freak accidents before this one...well, not unless you counted the so-called "freak accidents" he'd had at the Dursleys', which he now knew had been the result of uncontrolled magic, but somehow it didn't seem likely that this was what Snape was referring to.

"At the moment," Snape went on, "we do not know the full effect of the potion. I suspect that the immunity does extend to more types, perhaps all types, of potions, but this is impossible to say for certain until we test it out."

Potter's Gang exchanged glances. Neither of them had any desire whatsoever to be fed potions by Snape, of all people, to see whether they were immune or not - but then Neville carefully raised his hand, just as if he was in class.

"Er," he began. And stopped, gulping when everyone - teachers and Weasleys alike - turned to look at him.

"Once again, Neville," said Dumbledore kindly, "if you have any thoughts, please let us know."

"Well..." Neville had gone slightly red. "I just thought - I could do with a Calming Draught or something... You could test it on me, and if it doesn't work, then, then we'll know."

"I don't think you need a Calming Draught, Mister Longbottom," said Madam Pomfrey, looking him up and down. "I generally only administer those in cases of extreme emotional or nervous outbursts, and you seem composed enough. That goes for all of you."

"I could start screaming and throwing things, if you like," Ronnie offered.

"No!" Fred, George and Percy had all spoken the same word at the same time - and now they looked at each other, with vaguely sheepish looks on their freckled faces.

"Do we even have to go through any more tests?" said Harry hurriedly, in case another fight was going to break out. "I mean, we're all right now, and if we are immune to potions, even all potions, what's the harm?"

"What's the harm?" Snape turned on him, his black eyes glittering unpleasantly. "Once again, Potter, you display not only a disturbing lack of knowledge on the subject of potions, but an alarming lack of common sense as well. You may think immunity to potions sounds like a good thing, but potions are more than just cheap pranks and poisons. More than half the common medical remedies and cures for magical ailments and curses take the form of potions. Do I need to write down the implications for you?"

Harry felt a sense of dread. "No, sir."

"Furthermore," said Snape, "Not only do we lack the proper details of the accidental potion's effect on you, but we also have no idea how long that effect will last. It may only last a few days, or a few weeks, or, worst-case scenario, it could be permanent. We need to know these things, Potter!"

"But you can't just start experimenting on us! Sir," said Harry, the 'sir' added at the last moment,

"Can't I?" Snape towered over him, and at that moment he looked more than ever like one of the evil scientist in the old horror movies Dudley liked to watch.

"Professor Snape," said Madam Pomfrey, drawing herself up to her full height. "I do hope you're not suggesting that you should test out dangerous potions or even poisons on these children in order to see if they're immune?"

Snape turned to look at her with a slight sneer. "I do hope you're not suggesting that I would risk poisoning a student without having the proper antidotes ready?"

"You're not poisoning our sister!" Fred snapped. "Potions master or not!"

"Yeah, what if it turns out they're not immune to the poisons, but are immune to the antidotes?" said George.

"I find that highly unlikely," said Snape, though he looked like he wouldn't shed many tears if this turned out to be the case.

"This is outrageous!" Hermione suddenly exploded. She had been sitting calmly with Ronnie for the entire time, but her expression had got angrier and angrier, and this was apparently too much. "Experimenting on students, testing poisons, trying to kill us! This is without doubt the most unfair, irresponsible, malicious —"

"Enough!" Dumbledore had raised himself from his bed, and now that he stood up tall there was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before. This wasn't the old man who had accidentally swallowed a sleeping draught and fallen helplessly to the floor, nor was it the jovial, if eccentric, old Headmaster — this was Albus Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and the only wizard that Voldemort ever feared. He looked taller and more imposing than ever, and Harry was almost certain that right now Dumbledore would have shrugged off the effect of any potion, no matter how powerful.

Everyone, even Snape, even Hermione, immediately got very quiet under the old wizard's steely blue gaze.

"Severus," said Dumbledore. "Remember your promise. These students have been through enough, and you are not to add to it. Most especially, you are not to perform experiments on them, of any kind. Am I making myself clear?"

"Perfectly, Headmaster." For once, there was no hint of contempt or even a sneer in Snape's voice.

"Besides," Dumbledore said, a little calmer, "you would not be half the Potions master I know you to be if you weren't already attempting to recreate the accidental potion in order to study its effects. You know exactly what went into it, I trust?"

"Of course." Snape looked a little calmer as well. "I know the exact place and amount of every potion and every ingredient I keep in my office. And even if I did not, I do know how to analyze a potion for its contents. The challenge lies in recreating the effect."

"But you can do it." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.

"Yes."

"Then there is no reason to involve the children in anything. Let the matter rest, Severus, and let Madam Pomfrey take care of the children. That is an order."

"Just as you say, Headmaster." A tiny hint of the normal sneer returned to Snape's face. "In that case, perhaps I may be excused. There doesn't seem to be anything more I can do for either of you, here and now."

"In a moment." Dumbledore looked at Snape, and then turned his gaze to the others, letting his eyes rest for a few moments on each and every one of them. (Harry felt a slight chill as Dumbledore's eyes met his; the Headmaster luckily didn't seem to be angry with him, but that steely display had convinced him that Dumbledore was not one to needlessly cross!) "First I must ask you, all of you, to keep it a secret what we have discussed here. If Professor Snape is right, and you four —" (and here he looked at Potter's Gang again) "— truly have been rendered immune to potions, temporary or not, that would be a fact best hidden from the world at large, especially in our current situation."

"What about our parents?" Percy said, interrupting the twins' banter. "If Ronnie's really immune to potions, they need to know."

Dumbledore nodded. "That is a good point, Mister Weasley," he said. "I will personally talk to your parents. I believe Augusta Longbottom should also be informed..."

Neville squeaked, but nodded.

"As well as Miss Granger's parents," said Dumbledore.

"My parents are Muggles," said Hermione. "No need to worry them needlessly. They wouldn't understand..."

"Never underestimate Muggles, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore. "I trust you'll forgive me for saying so, but any parents who could have raised a daughter as intelligent and sensible as yourself —" (Hermione blushed a little and tried not to look pleased) "— would be more than capable of understanding."

"I still don't think I want them to know," Hermione murmured. "They — they might get scared and decide to forbid me from attending Hogwarts."

Dumbledore looked at her seriously. "I do think you are making a mistake by insisting they be kept in the dark," he said. "However, I will not insist. That leaves only Petunia and Vernon Dursley."

Harry gave a start. When thinking back on the scene later, he didn't quite understand why the sound of his aunt and uncle's names seemed so startling to him. Maybe it was just the fact that he hadn't expected Dumbledore to know their names — though maybe Hagrid had told him — or maybe it was the thought of how the Dursleys might react if someone like Dumbledore showed up at Privet Drive. "I don't think you should bother, sir!" he said hurriedly. "They wouldn't be interested!"

"Wouldn't be interested?!" Percy repeated, in a dumbfounded voice. "Harry, we're talking about your health here! What sort of legal guardians wouldn't be interested?"

"Mine," said Harry, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the way everyone was suddenly staring at him. "Could we perhaps talk about something else?"

Just before the drawn-out silence that followed began to get embarrassing, Dumbledore nodded and said: "Very well, Harry, if that is your wish, I shall not inform your aunt and uncle. Then I suggest that our official story is that there was a regrettable accident with the potions in Professor Snape's office, and that the children were unconscious for a while, but are recovering nicely and now simply need some time to rest and recuperate here at the hospital wing."

"It's not like it's a hard story to believe," Madame Pomfrey sighed. "With all the reckless things the students do on a daily basis..."

"We were all young once, Poppy," said Dumbledore with a smile. Then, he turned to Fred, George and Percy. "Gentlemen, can I perhaps ask you to help spread this information among the students?

Percy nodded, while Fred and George made exaggerated salutes.

"You can trust us, Professor Dumbledore!" said George. "Well, not really — after all, we're notorious pranksters —"

"— but in this case, it's all right, because we're also industrious spreaders of rumors and misinformations," said Fred. "Nobody outside this room'll hear anything even resembling the truth from us!"

"Not even if they torture us!"

"Not even if they take away our secret stash of joke chocolates!"

"I'll take those," said Snape, who had been so silent during all this that they had almost forgotten he was there. Now, everyone turned to look at him again, and it was clear that his old attitude was back in full as he stared coldly at Fred and George. "I expect to see each and every joke chocolate, Dungbomb, Fanged Frisbee and otherwise illegal object you two possess here at Hogwarts, on my desk, in my office, within the hour, or I will take fifty points from Gryffindor for each of you. And, just so you don't get any foolish ideas, rest assured I will know if you fail to bring me everything. And then you will wish I had only taken those hundred points."

Fred and George stared at him. George briefly turned towards Dumbledore, but then apparently realised that the Headmaster was unlikely to help them in concealing items that were against the school rules to possess, and so he just turned back to Fred and thumped him on the head. "You had to say that, didn't you!"

That night, Harry couldn't sleep.

Madam Pomfrey had insisted on having him and his friends at the hospital wings for a few days, for observation. And after a few gentle nudgings, she had agreed to test out their newfound immunity to potions by giving them a few simple harmless ones - none of which worked. Calming Draughts didn't induce calmness, Pepper-Up potions did not make them smoke at the ears, Strengthening Solutions didn't make them stronger, even the Dreamless Sleep potion had failed to make any of them nod off. While there were still a huge number of other potions that Madam Pomfrey refused to try ("so many potions at once aren't healthy for your bodies, no matter if they work on you or not!"), it did seem like Snape and Dumbledore's predictions had been correct: Potter's Gang were completely immune to the effects of all kinds of potions.

They still didn't know how long the immunity would last.

Harry sighed slightly and looked up at the curved ceiling. From the other side of the curtains he'd drawn around his bed,he could hear the soft breathing of his friends - though the lack of Neville's characteristic snore hinted that Harry wasn't the only one who was having trouble sleeping.

"Neville?" he tried, speaking quietly in case the girls were asleep.

"Yes?" came Neville's voice, sounding about as awake as Harry felt.

"Can't sleep either?"

"No." Neville was silent for a few seconds before he continued: "I think sleeping for three days has made me too awake to get back to sleep."

"Sleep doesn't work like that," came Hermione's voice from a little farther away.

"You're awake too, Hermione?" said Harry.

"We're all awake," came Ronnie's voice. "Hope that's not another effect of the smoke. I don't want to live a life without sleeping, I'd get so bored at night."

"You'd have time to do your homework," said Hermione, with a slight hint of a smile in her voice.

Ronnie snorted. "Yeah, that'd chase away the boredom."

Harry stifled a chuckle and waited for Hermione's respond. When it didn't come, he concluded that she must either have fallen asleep or just for once decided to drop the subject. He lay back in his bed, closing his eyes. If he perhaps thought of something pleasant, he'd nod off...

"Do you think it was Snape?" came Hermione's sudden voice.

"What?" Harry opened his eyes.

"Who broke the shelf," said Hermione. "He seemed awfully eager to do experiments on us today. Maybe he wanted a chance to finish us off when his previous attempt proved to be a failure. He said himself that the reaction was unexpected."

"Dumbledore doesn't think it was Snape," said Harry.

"Dumbledore isn't perfect," Hermione shot back. "We saw that today, didn't we? And you can't pretend Snape isn't horrid. I'd trust him about as far as I could throw him, and I'm not convinced he's innocent. Who else had the motive, or the opportunity?"

"Well, there was Quirrell," said Harry, though he heard himself how unlikely it sounded. "He was down in the dungeons as well, and we never found out what he was doing there."

"Even Dumbledore said that the shelf had to be broken by a highly accomplished wizard," Hermione huffed. "Do you really think Quirrell fits that description?"

"No. He seems like a decent enough bloke, mind you," said Ronnie slowly, "but I don't think he could so much as transform a matchstick into a needle without stuttering and messing it up."

Harry closed his eyes again and tried to imagine Quirrel lifting his wand and performing a silent Severing Charm... No. No, he really couldn't believe the image. Even with Dumbledore's assurances, he had to admit that Snape was by far the likelier suspect. There were too many things that fit the theory... And too many things that didn't quite make sense otherwise. The most obvious thing was that Snape, along with the strange shadow bloke, was the only one who seemed able to make his scar hurt by simply glaring at him."What d'you think he meant when he talked about freak accidents happening around me?" he said.

"Maybe he's tried to kill you before, and... couldn't..." Neville's voice trailed off.

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would Dumbledore even hire Snape if he'd tried to kill Harry?"

"Well, Dumbledore doesn't have to know about that... Or!" Neville gasped, as a thought apparently struck him. "Dumbledore said that Snape had promised him something, remember? What if Snape had to promise not to try and kill Harry?"

There was a short silence.

"I think we need sleep," Hermione finally said. "We're clearly overtired and are over-speculating."

"Yeah."

"Mmm."

There was another short silence.

"Harry?" Ronnie's voice sounded a little hesitant.

Harry opened his eyes again. "Mmm?"

"Did you mean what you said earlier today, about, you know, your aunt and uncle not caring about you?"

Harry turned over on his side. The curtains by his bed, of course, hindered him from seeing any of his friends' faces, but somehow it felt right that he should at least face in their general direction while answering. "Well, you knew that," he said. "I told you the first time we met, how my aunt and uncle and cousin were terrible."

"Yeah, but —" Ronnie paused. "I didn't think you meant it literally. I say my family's terrible all the time, but they're not terrible terrible. I still love them."

"I don't love the Dursleys," said Harry. "They don't love me, either. If I had died from that smoke, they would probably have celebrated for a week when they got the news."

"Really?" Ronnie swallowed. "Harry, what do they do to you? Do they —"

"Perhaps Harry doesn't want to talk about this," said Neville, sounding hesitant for some reason.

"It's not healthy to bottle up," said Hermione, Junior Psychiatrist.

"It isn't?" said Neville, sounding surprised.

"No, it's not. Look, if you have problems at home, you should tell someone, you should talk about it, and then you'll feel better —"

"I'm not bottling up!" said Harry, who had finally had enough. "Besides, it doesn't matter. I'm free from them. They're back in Little Whinging, and I'm here at Hogwarts. As far as I'm concerned, I've won."

"But if you'll still have to go back to them for the holidays..." said Ronnie, and she was sounding so concerned that Harry's growing annoyance vanished.

"That's months away," he said. "Really, I'll be fine."

"But —" Ronnie began.

"My parents don't know who I am!" Neville suddenly blurted out.

Harry blinked. "What?"

"They were tortured when I was a baby and they lost their minds completely and they've been in the psychiatric ward at St. Mungo's for almost ten years, and they can't talk, and they can't take proper care of themselves, and they don't recognise me when I visit them." Neville breathed heavily while Harry desperately tried to think of something to say to this. "I told you I live with my Gran, right? Well, that's why."

"That's... awful," said Ronnie. "Who... D'you know who did it?"

"Yeah, her name's Bellatrix Lestrange, she was one of You-Know-Who's followers. It was after Harry vanquished him... she didn't believe that he was gone and thought my parents knew where he was. When they wouldn't tell her, she..." Neville took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but talking about it doesn't seem to make me feel any better."

But Hermione seemed, for once, to have been struck speechless.

"In any case, that's why I didn't want to look into that Mirror. I know what I would have seen," said Neville in the tone of someone who has decided to come clean about everything.

"I'm sorry, Neville," Harry finally managed to say.

"What are you sorry for? It's not your fault."

"In a way, it is. If she was looking for You-Know-Who, and I was the one who —" Harry began.

"Don't you start blaming yourself, Harry!" Hermione had found her voice again. "This Bellatrix Lestrange was an adult, she made her own decisions, you didn't tell her to go torture Neville's parents — did they ever catch her, Neville?"

"She's in Azkaban now," said Neville.

"She's not in prison?!" Hermione's voice turned shrill.

"Hermione..." said Ronnie carefully. "Azkaban is prison. That's the name of the wizard prison."

"Oh."

There was another silence, a little longer this time. Harry felt torn between feeling grateful that they weren't discussing his family situation anymore, and feeling sorry for Neville.

"Hermione?" Ronnie said.

"Yes?"

"What's your family like? I mean, your parents don't beat you or starve you unless you get perfect grades or anything, right?"

"My parents are perfectly lovely people, thank you very much, Veronica!" said Hermione in an indignant tone.

"I was just checking," said Ronnie. "With Harry's and Neville's revelations, I just had to know if... Well, this isn't helping us sleep at all, is it," she said in a somewhat louder voice. "Er, want me to tell you a bedtime story?"

"We're not babies, Ronnie," said Hermione, apparently still a little annoyed (though, Harry noticed, not so annoyed as to continue to use Ronnie's real name rather than her nickname).

"I know, I just thought..." Ronnie murmured. "Mum used to tell us bedtime stories when we were little... Never mind. It was a silly idea anyway."

"I'd like to hear a story," said Neville hurriedly. It'd take my mind off — things. D'you know the one about the Fountain of Fair Fortune?"

And in the end, Ronnie did end up telling the story, which turned out to be a wizards' fairy tale rather unlike any of the ones Harry had heard in the Muggle world. (The Dursleys, of course, had hated fairy tales, but Harry still thought that, thanks to school, books and the occasional TV program, he at least knew the more popular ones.)

"High on a hill in an enchanted garden, surrounded by tall walls and protected by powerful magic, was a fountain called the Fountain of Fair Fortune. Once a year, the longest day of the year, a single person was given the chance to fight their way to the fountain, bathe in its waters and receive Fair Fortune for evermore..."

Harry lay back, closed his eyes and listened to the story of three witches and a hapless Muggle knight who went on a quest to bathe in the waters of the titular fountain.

As Ronnie's voice, towards what was probably the end of the story, started to become distant and dreamy, and Neville's soft snores began sounding - Harry finally and gratefully drifted off to sleep.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's notes: Okay, not much happened in this chapter other than a lot of exposition, but hopefully it didn't become too boring. (Dumbledore is a tricky character to write, but I hope I managed to at least partially do him justice here.) Next chapter, things will hopefully start to move a little quicker again,

Well, Potter's Gang are starting to gain a bit more knowledge here; Harry's beginning to find out thing that he won't even have a clue about in canon for several years... But they still don't know anything about the Philosopher's Stone or Fluffy or anything else. Will they find out anything before it's too late?

7. The Cloak And The Troll

This past month has been rater hectic, so I haven't had the time to write much, but I finally managed to find the time to finish this chapter. You might notice that I've also added a story image, namely a head-shot of Veronica Weasley, as drawn by me. She looks pretty close to how I'm imagining her; not overly beautiful (as in my mind Ginny is the looker in the family), but in my eyes still kinda cute.

WEASLEY GIRL

Based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling

CHAPTER SEVEN
The Cloak and the Troll

They stayed at the hospital wing for two more days, but Harry found he didn't mind as much as he'd feared he would. While the careful testing of their potions immunity was never very pleasant (Madam Pomfrey had some rather foul-tasting ones, neither of which had any effect on either of them), the hospital wing wasn't a bad place to stay so long as you were with good friends.

Since Madam Pomfrey had declared their "conditions" to be non-critical and unlikely to be contagious (and Fred, George and Percy seemed to have done their part in spreading the official story to the student body at large), they had several visitors as well — just about all their fellow Gryffindor first-years stopped by to see how they were doing, and to summarize lessons and (to Hermione's satisfaction) deliver homework.

Two of the visits were especially notable, however.

The first one was by Trevor the Toad, who caused a bit of an awkward situation on the first morning after their conversation with Dumbledore. It was quite early in the morning still when Potter's Gang were awakened by a small, startled shriek from Ronnie, who had woken up to quite unexpectedly find a toad sitting on her pillow.

Ronnie's face was extremely pink when she handed Trevor over to Neville, explaining that she really didn't mind him, it was just that waking up to discover two toad eyes staring at you was a bit of an unnerving experience.

"Sorry about that," said Neville, who looked about as embarrassed as Ronnie did. "He must have found his way here during the night. I don't even know how he did it, he never remembers the way back to our dorm room." He looked down at his pet, who looked back at him with the typically stoic expression of a toad and didn't seem like he was about to provide any sort of explanation.

Trevor's stay was fairly short-lived, though, as Madam Pomfrey, upon entering, declared that pets were not allowed in the hospital wing, and carried the toad away.

The second (and, in Harry's opinion, far more satisfying) visit happened later that afternoon. Shortly before dinnertime, Hagrid entered the room, looking — as he always did when he was indoors — much too big to be allowed, but his beetle-black eyes were just as warm and friendly as ever, and he gave them all a big smile as he carefully made his way toward their beds.

"So glad ter see yer all righ'!" he beamed, looking at all of them, "Yeh four gave us all a bit of a fright there, unconscious fer three days an' all! How're yeh feelin'?"

As they all assured him they were feeling fine, Hagrid sat down on an available chair, which looked much too small for him, but strangely enough didn't even creak warningly as he sat down.

"So what happened ter yeh in Snape's office, anyway?" he said, looking at them with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Dumbledore made the announcement yesterday that yeh'd bin in a bit of an accident."

Harry thought for a second. Though Hagrid was obviously in on many of Dumbledore's secrets (such as the mysterious parcel he'd retrieved from Gringotts a couple of months ago), he had obviously not been informed of this one. "A shelf collapsed," he said, sticking as closely to the truth as he could. "The potions mixed and created some strange smoke that knocked us out when we breathed it in."

"We're fine now, though," said Neville.

"Well, tha's a relief," said Hagrid. "Coulda bin dangerous, that."

"Hagrid," Hermione suddenly said. "Do you know anything about the Mirror of Erised?"

"Er - wha'?" Hagrid blinked and turned to look at her. "The Mirror of — er, well, 's a mirror, innit? It's in the name."

"Yes, but do you know anything more about it?" said Hermione. "We saw it down in Snape's office, before the accident, and we figured out that it showed us our hearts' desires whenever we looked in it —"

"I saw my parents, Hagrid," said Harry.

"Oh." A sad expression washed over Hagrid's face. "Blimey, Harry, I'm sorry."

"So am I," Harry admitted. Seeing parents — and all his other relatives too, but mostly his parents — in the Mirror had awoken something in him that he hadn't really known about before. Before, they had simply been abstract concepts, a couple of meaningless names. Their death was sad, of course, and he'd more than once wished that they had still been alive, but it had been more a desire to get away from the Dursleys than anything else. But now... now he had faces to go with the names; he could remember how they smiled at him, the love in their eyes. It was as though he'd for the first time found out exactly what it was he had lost, and it hurt.

Hagrid sighed, and then looked at all of them. "Yeah, I know abou' the Mirror," he said. "S' one o' those magical things that's bin at Hogwarts fer ages an' nobody really knows where comes from. Not that long ago since I had ter haul it down ter Snape's office, an' when I looked in it — well, any case, looks like yeh know all about it already," he interrupted himself, as if suddenly afraid he was saying too much.

"But there's more to it than that, isn't it?" Hermione pressed. "Dumbledore said that the Mirror could do more than just show us what we wanted."

Hagrid looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Well, I wouldn' know abou' that," he said, though Harry noticed that he didn't meet Hermione's eyes when he said this, just like he hadn't wanted to meet Harry's eyes when he denied that Snape had any reason to hate him.

"There was something he wanted Snape to do with it," Ronnie added.

"That'd be between Dumbledore an' Snape, wouldn' it?" said Hagrid. "Look, yeh shouldn' worry abou' the Mirror. It's all jus' part o' the security precautions fer —" he stopped himself.

"Security precautions?" said Hermione. "Security precautions for what?"

"Nothin'!" said Hagrid hurriedly. "I shouldn'ta said that. Jus' forget I said anythin'. Anyway." he added, in an obvious attempt to change the subject. "Was another reason why I came up here ter see yeh. Got summat here fer yeh, Harry. It's from Dumbledore."

Harry sat up and watched as Hagrid pulled out of his pocket what appeared to be a bundle of silvery-grey cloth. It glittered with a strange shine as he handed it over to Harry, reflecting the light of the windows in a most curious way. Harry took it in his hands and found that it felt strange to touch as well. Most of all, by look and feel, it was as if someone had taken the surface of a pool of water and somehow woven it into this thin cloth.

Ronnie and Neville both gasped.

"Is that —?" said Ronnie in an awed voice.

"It is!" said Neville. "I've seen one of those once! It looked exactly like that one!"

"You've seen one? But they're really rare —"

"What are you two talking about?" said Hermione impatiently. "What is it?"

"It's an Invisibility Cloak!" said Neville. "Isn't it, Hagrid?"

"Where'd you get it?!" said Ronnie, unable to take her eyes off the silvery cloth.

"Dumbledore, like I said," said Hagrid. "According ter him, it used ter belong ter Harry's Dad. Bin in the Potter family fer generations, apparently, sorta like a family heirloom. Still works good as new, though."

Ronnie and Neville looked at the Cloak with awed expressions, and even Hermione seemed to momentarily forget her questioning of Hagrid and leaned forward to get a better look.

Harry felt a certain awe as well as he unfolded the shimmering cloth. A Potter family heirloom... His father had owned this very Cloak. It was the first thing he'd ever held in his hands that he knew had belonged to one of his parents.

Quite apart from the silvery gleam, it was rather plainly made; sewn for durability rather than looks - but then, what did looks matter for a garment that turned you invisible? Harry turned it around a bit and was amazed at how big it was when it was fully unfolded; despite easily folding up small enough to fit comfortably in your average robe pocket, the Cloak had clearly been made for a grown man, and a rather large grown man at that. It might not be big enough to cover, say, Hagrid, but it would probably easily cover Harry himself and any one, possibly even two, of his friends at the same time.

"But if it was my father's," he finally said, "why did Dumbledore have it?"

"Dunno," said Hagrid, and this time his ignorance seemed genuine. "He jus' said that it was righ'fully yers an' he'd had it fer long enough. Seemed ter think yeh migh' need it."

"Try it on, Harry!" Ronnie insisted.

Tentatively, Harry draped the Cloak over his shoulders, to an excited cheer from Ronnie. As he looked down, he saw to his astonishment that his body had become invisible underneath him. The only thing that hinted that he was still there was the slight depression that his body made on the bed underneath him, a depression which shifted slightly even as Harry himself moved.

"That is so cool!" said Ronnie. "I can only see your head — oh, wait, now I can't see that either," she added as Harry pulled the Cloak up over his head.

"A pity there aren't any mirrors here," said Neville, "or you could have seen for yourself. Not seen for yourself, I mean."

"Can you imagine all the things we could do with that Cloak?" said Ronnie, a gleam of mischief in her eyes.

"Whatever it is you're thinking about, stop it right now, Veronica!" Hermione's expression was somewhere between fascinated, concerned and annoyed. "Dumbledore must know all the ways that Cloak can be used to break school rules, and he's obviously showing Harry a great deal of trust by letting him have it, so Harry's not going to break that trust, are you, Harry?" That last part was more a command than a question.

Harry pulled the Cloak down to let his head become visible again. "Er, no, of course not," he said, hoping that Hermione didn't hear the slight hint of disappointment in his voice.

Hagrid beamed. "Knew yeh'd be responsible, Harry!" he said."Great man, Dumbledore... if he thinks yeh'll need it, yeh prolly will. Maybe 'fore yeh even know it."

Harry decided then and there that he would be responsible. Disappointing Dumbledore was one thing, but disappointing Hagrid... that would feel too much like kicking a puppy. (An over-dimensioned, wild-looking brute of a puppy, perhaps, but a puppy nonetheless.)

Just to see the Cloak's effect in action properly, though, he let all his friends try it on. One after another, Neville, Ronnie and Hermione vanished underneath the Cloak - and each time, no matter how much Harry strained his eyes, he couldn't see so much as a contour or a movement. Even Hagrid eventually let Harry talk him into trying on the Cloak, though it was much too small for him, and Potter's Gang all laughed as his upper body vanished underneath the cloak while his lower body remained fully visible.

It was at that precise moment that Madam Pomfrey came in to see what all the fuss was about and let out a startled scream at the sight of the halved Hagrid.

That pretty much ended the fun. Hagrid hurried to pull the cloak of himself, and although Madam Pomfrey's shock at seeing his halved form passed almost immediately, she was rather cross with them all afterwards.

"The hospital wing is not the place for such nonsense," she said sternly.

"Invisibility Cloaks aren't nonsense!" Ronnie protested.

"They are if they're used in the hospital wing!" said Madam Pomfrey. "This is the second time in two days I come in here to see why everyone is making so much noise, only to get a nasty shock! I'm starting to think you're doing this on purpose!"

"Er, 's my fault, really," said Hagrid.

"No, it wasn't!" said Harry hurriedly. "It was my idea!"

Madam Pomfrey shot them both an exasperated glance. "Mister Potter, I don't care whose idea it was, it stops now! And Hagrid..." she turned to him and sighed; the sound of a long-suffering martyr. "Honestly, sometimes you're worse than all the children put together. Do you think you could at least stop encouraging them?!"

"Er, yeah, sorry abou' that," said Hagrid sheepishly. "I prolly got some work ter do anyway." He cast an apologetic glance at Potter's Gang. "I'll talk ter yeh when yeh're out o' the hospital wing, all righ'? Good ter see yeh all again."

After he had left, Potter's Gang made a hasty, but unanimous decision (supported by a very insistent Madam Pomfrey) to postpone further testing of the Invisibility Cloak until after they were released from the hospital wing.

It was a bit of a let-down — but, Harry thought as he carefully rolled the marvellous Cloak up into a bundle and tucked it under his pillow, it was only temporary... And besides, just having the Cloak and knowing it had belonged to his father was a decent consolation price.

There were no further attacks, at least none that Harry ever noticed, but the decision to not abuse the powers of the Invisibility Cloak were sorely tested over the following weeks, thanks to Draco Malfoy and the Trolls.

After being shown up by Harry and got into a fight with Ronnie at their first flying lesson, Malfoy's dislike for them seemed to have grown — though it also seemed like Madam Hooch's reprimand had somewhat startled him and made him decide to change his battle tactics a little. At least, he tended to keep silent and pretend not to notice Potter's Gang whenever he met them and any Prefects or teachers were around. However, after their stay at the hospital wing, Harry did notice that he tended to pass the Trolls an awful lot in the hallway, and always Malfoy would just happen to be in the middle of some story about idiot wizards who thought they could master basic potions and ended up hospitalising themselves and their friends alike.

"I feel so sorry for those who don't have the brains to realise that potions need to be handled with," he'd say. "And I feel even more sorry for their friends. You'd think being friends with such blockheads would be punishment enough, but ending up in comas over it as well..."

Or, another time: "I hear Professor Snape has never let anyone out of detention before. I wonder if he let Potter's Gang out from sheer pity over how pathetic they are, or because he knew they would completely ruin his office if he had them in there for more than one day?"

Or one time, even: "Hey, Goyle, can you guess who I am now?" Followed by holding up an imaginary bottle in each hand and saying in an exaggeratedly dopey voice: "Ooooh, what pretty potions. I wonder what'll happen if I spill them all over the floor and inhale the fumes."

Harry knew that Malfoy was deliberately trying to provoke him, probably goad him into trying to respond or even attack him, so that he could tell the teachers (preferably Snape) and get Harry into more trouble. There was no reason to listen to him, and even less reason to get upset or annoyed over it... and yet, he had to admit, every time he passed the Trolls, Malfoy's comments stung a little harder.

It would be so easy to take out the Invisibility Cloak and use it to teach the Trolls a lesson — nothing huge, just perhaps give them a little scare, nobody need ever find out — but every time he was tempted, he thought about Hagrid being so proud of him for being responsible with the Cloak, and so he resisted the temptation.

There were, after all, plenty of other things to contend himself with. The stay at the hospital wing had put Potter's Gang slightly behind with the schoolwork, and so they had to work a little extra to catch up — but luckily, Hermione had been far ahead of the rest of the class anyway and was an immense help in getting the rest of the Gang through the extra work.

The smartest member of Potter's Gang also spent quite some time in the library doing extensive research on the various mysteries that had shown themselves, trying to find out more about the Mirror of Erised, about potions and immunity to potions... and, of course, about Dark wizards, to see whether she might be able to identify the mysterious attacker and whether Snape was really likely to be Dark. The results of the research were apparently rather meager; when they asked her about it, she would shake her head and say that she was learning a lot, but nothing about what she was looking for.

As for Snape, he spent the next few weeks rather preoccupied and distracted, and as such far less nasty than normal. According to Madam Pomfrey (who still meticulously checked Potter's Gang for potion immunity every few days), he was busy trying to recreate the effects of what he had dubbed the "Immunity Potion." something that seemed to be quite a challenge for him.

Even Potions class (held in a Potions classroom that showed no signs of ever having been trashed, even if the potion ingredients on the shelves were less numerous) was more tolerable. While Snape was still openly favouring the Slytherins, he seemed somewhat half-hearted about it and even passed up several good opportunities to insult or belittle the Gryffindors. When Malfoy, secure in the knowledge that he could get away with it, raised his hand and asked innocently if it wasn't better that Harry be excused for the rest of the lesson because "if he messes this potion up, he might put us all to sleep for three years," Snape barely acknowledged it, simply took five points from Gryffindor out of habit, and continued the lesson.

All the Gryffindors agreed that they vastly preferred this new, preoccupied Snape to the old one, though Harry was fairly certain it wouldn't last.

Between everything that was going on, Potter's Gang were kept quite busy over the next few weeks — and it actually came as a minor shock to Harry to discover that Halloween was coming up and he'd already been at Hogwarts for two whole months.

What was certain, though, was that despite unfortunate elements such as Snape, the Trolls, Filch and the knowledge that someone was out there and probably wanting to kill him, these had been the happiest two months of Harry's life. Hogwarts already felt much more like home than Privet Drive ever had, and if he didn't enjoy universal popularity, most of the students and teachers seemed to like him. (Whether this was because he was the Boy Who Lived, or they liked him as a person, he wasn't so certain about — but after having lived for ten years knowing he'd been unwanted and hated, Harry wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, he knew that Ronnie, Neville and Hermione genuinely liked him, and that was really enough.)

Even lessons were getting more interesting now that they had mastered the basics and could start practicing some actual spells. True, their actual success in doing so varied a lot; Hermione was always the top of the class, while Harry and Ronnie struggled more, and poor Neville tended to either not get any result, or the wrong one.

On Halloween morning, when everyone was excited about the big Halloween feast that would happen when darkness fell, the first-year Gryffindors got a pleasant surprise in the first lesson, which happened to be Charms: The tiny, excitable Professor Flitwick announced that they were ready to start learning the Charm for making objects fly.

"Do you all have your feathers?" Flitwick asked, looking over the class from the stack of books he was standing on in order to be able to see over his desk. "Good! The Levitation Charm is a simple one, but as always, it is best to start small, so we'll be practicing on feathers today —"

"Size matters not," said Dean Thomas in a strange, raspy voice. "Judge me by my size, do you?" A few of the students sniggered, but most of the people in the room, including Flitwick, simply gave him some rather odd looks, causing Dean to sigh: "I need more Muggle-born friends."

Apparently deciding it would be better to bypass this moment without comment, Flitwick continued: "Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing! Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick!" He demonstrated with his own wand. "And saying the magic words properly is very important, too — never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 'S' instead of 'F,' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest!"

There were more laughs at that than there had been at Dean's obscure joke.

The students had been put into pairs; while Ronnie and Hermione had paired up, Harry was with Neville, and though they both swished and flicked the best they could to get their feathers to move, neither of them could lift it even an inch.

None of the other students really managed any better, with the notable exception of Hermione, who with an elegant swish and flick of her wand and a self-assured command of "Wingardium Leviosa!" made the feather she was sharing with Ronnie rise off the desk and hover about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" Professor Flitwick squeaked. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

Hermione's success drove the other students to redouble their efforts, though the results varied: Harry eventually managed to get the feather to lift a few inches before it fell down again, but Seamus, who was working with Dean, managed to accidentally set their feather on fire, and Lavender and Parvati both blamed each other when their feather instead of floating turned a shocking shade of pink.

Neville, however, couldn't get the feather to do anything. He swished and flicked; he chanted "Wingardium Leviosa!" again and again, in an increasingly frustrated voice, but the feather remained completely motionless.

Harry felt a twinge of regret for having paired up with Neville himself instead of insisting that Ronnie work with him; the girl had been a great help to Neville when he'd had similar problems during the secret flying lesson and could probably have helped him now as well. But as Ronnie at the moment was far too busy with her own feather to even notice Neville's current plight, it looked like it would be up to Harry.

He took a deep breath, trying to recall just what Ronnie had said to Neville during that flying lesson. "Listen, Neville —"

He didn't get any further, because just then, with a particularly loud "WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" from Neville that seemed to echo around the room, the feather quite unexpectedly rose up in the air and went higher than anyone else's. Neville stared up at it, then at his wand, his face a study in utter, delighted astonishment.

For about five seconds.

Suddenly, his face fell, and he turned around to look at Hermione, who was brandishing her own wand with an awkward look on her face.

"That was you, wasn't it?" he said in a monotone voice.

"You really almost had it," said Hermione, looking for all the world like a small child that had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "I just thought I'd... I mean..."

"Thank you, Hermione," said Neville, and then turned away from her, placed his wand down on the table, and looked down on his hands with an expression of complete devastation.

"No! Neville, I didn't mean — look, I know you can do it on your own, I just —" said Hermione helplessly.

"It's okay. Thank you. I appreciate your help." Neville's voice was dull, and he didn't look up.

For the rest of the lesson, despite Hermione's constantly whispered apologies and Harry's coaxing, he just sat there, never touching his wand or even looking up.

Professor Flitwick looked over at him several times, but didn't say anything. As the lesson ended, though, and the students raised themselves to leave the classroom, the tiny teacher jumped down from his stack of books and walked over to Neville.

"Longbottom," he squeaked. "I wonder if you'd join me for a cup of tea in my office? I have some books on Charms I think you might find helpful — helped me out a great deal when I was a student. Don't worry," he smiled to Harry, Ronnie and Hermione, who had gathered around them. "I won't keep him long. Off you go now!"

It was a somewhat subdued three-quarters of Potter's Gang who made their way down into the crowded corridor. Hermione looked incredibly guilty, and Ronnie, who had developed a bit of a protective instinct towards Neville, wasted no time in letting the other girl know what she thought.

"What'd you go and lift his feather for?" she said. "You know Neville has serious confidence problems! Doing his Levitation Charm for him, that's the same as outright telling him you think he's hopeless!"

"But I don't think he's hopeless," Hermione murmured. "I just thought that if I could make him believe that he'd done it..."

"How can someone be so smart and so stupid at the same time?" said Ronnie, getting seriously worked up. "How could you possibly think he wouldn't notice that it was you, he's not deaf, and that spell wasn't even nonverbal —"

"Don't yell at her," said Harry, trying to calm Ronnie down. "She feels bad enough already. Besides, Professor Flitwick's a decent bloke, I'm sure he can straighten things out."

"Oh. all right," said Ronnie. "But you still owe him an apology, Hermione."

Hermione nodded glumly.

To their surprise, Neville didn't turn up for the next class (though, since this class was History of Magic, Professor Binns didn't even notice that Neville wasn't there), and was mysteriously gone for the rest of the afternoon. He wasn't in the corridors, he wasn't in the Gryffindor common room, and he wasn't in the first-years' dormitory. It was when the time for the Halloween feast came rolling around that the rest of Potter's Gang really began to get worried about him.

The Great Hall looked incredible. The ceiling, usually bewitched to look exactly like the sky outside, now took the appearance of a stormy night sky, lightning flaring every so often. Hundreds of carved pumpkins, each one with a brilliantly-glowing candle in it, were floating above the tables, illuminating the room with a warm, orange glow - while a huge number of black bats flew around high above them, occasionally swooping down a little lower, making the candles in the pumpkins flicker and the shadows dance on the walls. As the students milled in, and the Gryffindors began gathering at the Gryffindor table, Neville was still strangely absent, though Professor Flitwick was cheerfully taking his place at the teacher's table.

"Longbottom's not here?" he said in a surprised voice when Harry went up to ask him about Neville. "Oh, dear, I never meant for him to miss the feast. I lent him a book on Charms, and he said he wanted to go somewhere private to practice his Levitation Charm... I suppose he must have lost track of time. Not to worry, Potter, I'll see if I can't find him."

With that, Flitwick excused himself and slid down from his chair, exiting the Great Hall.

Harry, feeling a little better, went back to the Gryffindor table to take a seat in between Hermione and Ronnie.

When they had all sat down, the feast appeared suddenly on the tables, just like it had during the welcoming banquet. It looked and smelled just as delicious as it had back then, too, and Harry had to take a bit of time to decide what he would try first.

He had just chosen a baked potato, when a sudden sharp noise from the end of the Hall made him look up. Professor Quirrell, whom Harry suddenly realised hadn't been present either, came running in, his turban askew and his face filled with terror.

"Troll!" he cried. (Almost instinctively, Harry's eyes went over to Malfoy and the Trolls at the Slytherin table, but they seemed as surprised as everyone else.) "Troll — in the dungeons!" He stopped in the middle of the hall, stared wildly around himself and then said, in a softer voice: "Thought you ought to know..." before collapsing down onto the floor in a dead faint.

As one, the students raised themselves from the tables, and the room exploded in screams and loud voices. They would all have trampled each other in blind panic in order to get out of the Hall, if Professor Dumbledore, at the teacher's table, hadn't got their attention by raising his wand and sending out several loudly exploding purple firecrackers.

"Prefects," he said, once again the steely, powerful wizard who could command crowds with a simple word. "Lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Percy, of course, took the lead at once. "Follow me!" he barked at the Gryffindors. "Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now - make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a Prefect!" (It would have been funny if the situation hadn't been so serious.)

Harry made his way in among the other first-years, bustling here and there, trying to follow the Prefects, when Ronnie suddenly grabbed his arm. "Neville!" she said. "Where's Neville?"

"I don't know," said Harry. "Professor Flitwick went to look for him."

"He doesn't know about the troll," said Ronnie. "He could be anywhere in the castle, and the troll might find him, and then -" she couldn't finish the sentence.

Hermione stopped next to them, guilt and fear on her face. "But if Flitwick —"

"Flitwick doesn't know about the troll either!" said Ronnie. "And what if he doesn't find Neville in time?"

"We have to go look for him!" said Harry.

Ronnie nodded. "Just so long as Percy doesn't see us going off."

"But what if the troll finds us?" Hermione's voice had turned shrill.

"It won't," said Harry, patting the robe pocket where he kept his Invisibility Cloak.

Looks of understanding dawned on the two girls' faces.

They all ducked down and joined the Ravenclaws, who were going another way, following them for a bit before taking the first opportunity to break off from the group and slip down a side corridor, where Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and unfolded it.

It was lucky that the Cloak was so big, because it covered all three of them quite easily — at least if they kept close together. Harry did worry a little that there was no way it would be big enough for four people at once, but, well, they'd just have to deal with that particular problem when they encountered it.

Now covered up and invisible to all, the trio moved down the corridors, trying to think of any place in the castle where Neville might have decided to practice his Charms in peace; an empty classroom, perhaps, or an unused corridor...

It was beginning to dawn on Harry what a hopeless task it was to look for someone in the Hogwarts castle when they had no idea even where to begin looking, and had started seriously questioning if this had been such a good idea after all, when they suddenly heard it - the low, guttural grunting and the low thudding of heavy footsteps.

They stopped and stood perfectly still. At the end of the passage to the right, a huge form appeared with loud, angry grunts and heavy movements. Harry heard Hermione let out a small gasp and felt Ronnie tense up beside him.

The troll was the biggest, ugliest, most frightening thing he had seen in his life. Twelve feet tall, with a grotesquely hulking body, long arms and short legs, and stony-grey skin. The head was small and bald, and constantly twisted around as if looking for something, and in one enormous hand was a gigantic wooden club. As the troll lumbered past them - luckily without seeing them - its awful smell whifted into their nostrils and made their eyes tear up, but they managed to stay silent until it had gone past.

The hideous creature turned, its long ears waggling as if it was trying to make its mind up about something, and then it walked down the left-hand corridor, the dull thuds of its footsteps slowly vanishing.

"I think," Ronnie whispered, slightly out of breath, "I think the troll has left the dungeon."

"I hope it hasn't met Neville," Harry whispered. "He wouldn't stand a chance against that!"

"Neither would we," said Hermione softly. "They're not very smart, but I've read that they're magic-resistant and frightfully strong. I just hope —"

Just then, there was a loud scream from the corridor the troll had vanished down. Harry's stomach turned; he knew that voice all too well.

"That was Neville!" he exclaimed.

Before they even knew it, or had the chance to ask themselves whether this really was a good idea, they were all running towards the sound of the scream. Harry had to clutch the Invisibility Cloak around them to keep it from falling off, something which made the running a little awkward, but the girls didn't seem to care.

There was another scream and a heavy thud. At the end of the corridor, the huge troll had a terrified-looking Neville backed up into a corner, and a mark in the stone wall showed that it had tried to strike the boy with its club, but had missed. Now it was raising its club again, and Neville pressed himself against the wall, looking close to panic.

Still under the Invisibility Cloak, Harry, Ronnie and Hermione skidded to a halt.

"Oy! Pea-brain!" Ronnie called out to the troll.

The troll stopped and slowly turned towards them, an expression of stupid puzzlement on its face as its eyes swiped through the corridor, unable to see the person who had spoken.

"Er, I am your conscience!" said Ronnie, trying to sound stern. "You are a bad troll! It is not nice to go hitting people who are smaller than you, and you should let that poor boy go at once! Remember what your dear old Mum told you about — AIIIEEEE!" The rest of her improvised lecture vanished in a terrified shriek as the troll turned sharply about and began swinging its club wildly, apparently hoping to hit the voice it couldn't see.

The invisible trio could feel the wind from the club as it just barely missed them, and Hermione, who was closest, instinctively pulled back, bumping hard into Ronnie, who reached out and grabbed Harry's robe as she lost her balance. All three of them went over, falling down and ending up in a heap on the floor with Harry on the bottom. The Cloak partially slid off them, enough for the troll to spot their exposed legs on the floor.

Clearly not the type to stop and question why disembodied legs were appearing out of nowhere, the troll gleefully raised its club again.

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"

All of a sudden, the club lifted up and flew out of the troll's hand, floating up towards the ceiling. The troll stopped and looked up, trying to grab for it, but the club had already floated up beyond its reach and was now hovering just underneath the high ceiling.

Harry managed to get to his feet to see Neville stand there with his wand out, looking at the floating club with an expression of awed disbelief, as if he couldn't quite fathom that he'd just pulled off the most powerful Levitation Charm of any first-year.

"Nice going, Neville!" Harry cried — and then wished he hadn't, because this broke Neville's concentration and sent the club plummeting down to the floor.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" came Hermione's voice from beside Harry, and the club stopped in mid-air and shot back up towards the ceiling.

The troll jumped and swung its arms at the club, roaring in frustration as it failed to retrieve its weapon. For the moment, it seemed like the creature had forgotten the children and was focused purely on trying to get the club back.

Realising that this little game of "keep-away" would only keep the troll distracted for so long, Harry rushed past the troll and up to Neville, who was still standing there and looking at the floating club in what looked to be a complete stupor.

"Come on," he said, grabbing the boy's hand and pulling him along. "Run, girls!"

Harry and Neville darted back past the troll, and then they were joined by Hermione in running for their lived down the corridor. A pair of extra running footsteps and a flash of red hair that immediately vanished revealed that Ronnie was joining them as well, but was still under the Invisibility Cloak.

"Get under the Cloak, Harry," her voice panted just next to him. "All of you!"

"No room for all of us under it!" Harry managed to say. "Just run!"

They did, hearing the grunts and roars of the troll behind them. Harry didn't risk turning back to see what it was doing — but now he heard thundering footsteps behind him and knew that with or without the club, the troll had decided to chase after them.

So they ran, barely looking where they were going, rushing up the first staircase they came to. The sound of the thundering footsteps behind them grew slightly fainter, as if the troll couldn't quite keep up, but they didn't dare to slow down.

Not looking where you're going, however, has the unfortunate side-effect of often ending up in places where you really don't want to be — and Potter's Gang, fleeing blindly, suddenly found themselves in a dead end; they'd run into a corridor that ended rather abruptly, finding themselves between the approaching troll and a thick stone wall.

"That door!" Hermione heaved for her breath, pointing at a door at the end of the corridor. "Hurry!"

They ran up to the door, and Harry tore it open, hurrying the others through before going through himself and slamming it shut behind him.

Neville collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily, and Ronnie's head — the only part of her that was visible — slammed against the wall, looking red and almost delirious, before it too vanished under the Invisibility Cloak.

Hermione, however, while looking like she was about to collapse herself, pulled her wand out again and motioned it towards the door. "Colloportus!" she said, almost breathlessly, and the door locked itself with an odd squelching sound. "Locking charm — troll won't — get us now," she panted.

Harry leaned against the wall, breathing out. His heart was racing in his chest and his throat hurt slightly from heaving for his breath, but it was okay now, they were safe.

And then he heard Neville's voice, a terrified, soft squeak. "Oh, no..."

Harry opened his eyes and realised that at once that they weren't safe at all, but had managed to stumble into an even bigger danger.

Right there, in front of them, was the biggest, most monstrous-looking dog he had ever seen. So big that it filled the whole space between ceiling and floor, and with three heads. Three angry-looking, snarling heads with sharp, yellowed, enormous fangs.

The door hadn't led to a room like they'd thought, but to another corridor. To be more precise, it led to a certain third-floor corridor, the very same one that during the welcoming banquet had been declared forbidden by Dumbledore for anyone who didn't "wish to die a very painful death."

Now they knew exactly what he had meant by that.

Two of the dog's heads snarled at them, but the third was looking another way, snapping at something Harry couldn't see, and it was clear that the only reason why it hadn't attacked yet was because it didn't know which direction to attack first.

"N-nice doggie," said Neville, his voice still high-pitched. "Hermione, open the door! Open the door!"

"The troll's on the other side of the door," Hermione panted,.

"Great!" Harry gulped, taking a step back. "Choose your death; clubbed by troll or eaten by monster dog!"

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's Notes: Another cliffhanger! What will happen next? Well, come next chapter, we'll see if we can find out (I've already started writing chapter eight, so hopefully it should be a shorter wait this time).

Harry's Invisibility Cloak is one of those things that he, and we, perhaps get a little too used to in canon; in the end it's little more than a convenient way of going about unseen. It's all too easy to forget the awe it's treated with in its first appearance, and how rare and valuable even normal Invisibility Cloaks are in the wizarding world. It was fun trying to recreate some of the feeling of almost reverence from a Potter's Gang to whom the Cloak is something completely new and awesome.

Even if things are changing for Harry and friends, the plot that goes on behind the scenes is the same as in canon, and there was no reason to believe Quirrell's Halloween stunt wouldn't still take place - and I knew that if I was going to include the "Troll in the dungeon" scene, I had to include a part where Harry and friends face the troll. And things sort of went from there.

8. I Wish I Was Dead!

Told you the wait wouldn't be as long for this chapter - I had some extra time and some extra inspiration, so I finished this chapter in less than a week! Let's re-join Potter's Gang and see how they tackle Fluffy...

(By the way, the author's note at the end contains a question for my readers concerning the future of this story. I'd be grateful if you weighed in with your opinions here.)

WEASLEY GIRL

Based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling

CHAPTER EIGHT
"I Wish I Was Dead!"

t truly looked like Potter's Gang had managed to get out of the frying pan only to throw themselves headfirst into the fire. The troll had been bad enough, but this three-headed dog looked like it ate trolls for breakfast. With three mouths.

The dog snarled at them, two of its heads baring their enormous teeth at them, while the third one still ignored them and stared angrily into the shadows to one side. Harry's mind raced; something was there, something that kept the dog from attacking them on the spot; they had to do something quick before it made up its mind —

Then, Ronnie's head and part of her body came back into sight, the Invisibility Cloak parting around her and sliding down to the floor to reveal her in full. Her hair was a mess and her face paler than ever, but she looked strangely calm, looking up at the dog and speaking in a soft, soothing voice.

"Hello," she said. "Did we intrude on your territory? I'm so sorry, we didn't mean to. It's all right, we're friendly, see?"

One of the dog's heads perked up at the sound of her voice. The growls softened a little, and the while the second head was still glaring suspiciously at Harry, Neville and Hermione, and the third head was still glaring in a different direction, the first head slowly moved towards Ronnie to sniff her outstretched hand. Tentatively, Ronnie reached up and stroked the enormous nose.

"I don't believe this," said Hermione in a voice that suggested that she was half a second away from panicking. "She's petting it...! And it's letting her!"

Harry swallowed several times, trying to get his breath back under control. He was a hundred percent certain that if he, Neville or Hermione had tried anything like this with the dog, they'd be dead — but for Ronnie, it somehow worked. Just like it had with the Thestrals, even if this dog was clearly ten times worse.

"Don't panic... Don't panic," said Ronnie soothingly. She was looking at the dog, but her words were clearly meant for Hermione. "Be calm. Never run or shout or scream when you're dealing with animals, especially ones you don't know. Harry, Neville, Hermione..." she added, still in a calm and soothing voice. "Get behind me. Slowly. I think this head at least likes me, but I can't vouch for the other two."

The dog was calmer now. The head being stroked by Ronnie had stopped growling, thought the other two still looked somewhat agitated, and Harry was fairly sure that it wouldn't take much for all three heads to decide to attack.

Slowly, careful so as not to make any sudden moves that might upset the giant beast, Harry, Neville and Hermione moved up behind Ronnie.

"Poor little thing," said Ronnie, using the word 'little' without any apparent irony, "locked up here, all alone... No wonder you're grouchy. You should be running free in the Forbidden Forest. Who could be so mean as to do this to you?"

"Ronnie," said Hermione softly, seeming only a little calmer once she was behind the other girl. "I think it's a guard dog. Look, it's standing on a trapdoor. It must be here to prevent people from going down that trapdoor."

"Oh, so you're on the job, are you?" said Ronnie. "Well, then, I hope they give you plenty of food and —"

She was cut off by a sudden noise from outside, a thump and an angry roar that revealed that the troll had caught up to them. The dog raised all three of its heads and looked towards the door, growling threateningly. Several more thuds followed, and the locked door shook as the troll apparently took its frustrations out on the obstacle.

And then, without any warning, Harry's scar exploded in pain. He gasped and clutched his forehead, biting his tongue to avoid screaming out, and desperately trying to keep his balance in between the loud thrashing of the troll and the increasing growls of the dog.

"Harry — Harry, no —!" Hermione hissed, grabbing him and trying to keep him steady.

Through his pain, Harry could hear more noises from outside the door, another, angrier roar... And then, for some reason, running footsteps and a muffled cry. Once again, the pain faded as suddenly as it had come, and his head cleared again. He steadied himself and blinked, looking around at the others. Hermione looked at him with concern, while Neville looked like he wasn't sure whether he should be more worried about Harry, the dog, or the troll, and Ronnie was dividing her attention between Harry and the dog.

The dog was still growling, looking towards the locked door with all three heads, as if daring whoever was out there to come in and fight, but there was a weird commotion out there, with the troll roaring again, and a high-pitched voice shouting something Harry couldn't quite make out. Then, there were two more thuds, one small and one large... And then, everything went quiet.

"Harry, what —" Neville began, but Harry just shook his head.

Taking a nervous glance at the dog (who seemed to be ignoring him for the moment), Harry pressed an ear against the door and listened.

At first, he couldn't hear anything, but then all of a sudden, he heard the unmistakable voice of Professor Flitwick. "Would you please tell me what is going on, Severus?! What on earth is a mountain troll doing here? Goodness, quite an ugly brute, isn't it? I do hope I didn't kill it. They are magic resistant, you know, so the only thing I could think of was to enchant the club."

Harry blinked. Professor Flitwick, the tiniest man in school, had just defeated that huge troll?

He didn't really have time to reflect on how astonishing this really was, because now, the cold tones of Harry's least favorite teacher at Hogwarts sounded: "I believe it is just unconscious." There was a strange edge to Snape's voice, as if he wasn't certain whether he should be impressed or annoyed. "I take it you missed Professor Quirrell's little scene down in the Great Hall?"

"Quirinus?" said Flitwick. "I haven't seen him since breakfast. He hadn't arrived yet when I left the Great Hall. What happened?"

"That," said Snape, "I am still trying to work out." There was a slight pause, before he continued: "But I did have a hunch that something would be going on up here, and that it would be prudent to check while all the other teachers were scouring the dungeons for trolls. Evidently, I was right."

"You don't think the troll was sent here to fetch the — no, that's ridiculous!" said Flitwick, cutting himself off before he got around to saying what the troll might have been sent to fetch.

"I think the troll was a distraction," said Snape. "I suggest you go and find Professor Dumbledore and the other teachers. I will watch the troll in the meantime."

Harry pulled back from the door as Flitwick's tiny footsteps hurried away. He turned to his friends, ready to tell them what he had heard, when two of the dog's heads suddenly turned and snarled at the shadows.

It was then Harry realised it: Someone else was in there with them. Someone hiding in the shadows, possibly using magic to protect themselves from the dog but lacking Ronnie's ability to befriend animals — and if Snape's words could be trusted, that very same someone had probably let the troll into the school while they themselves tried to get past this dog in order to get... what? What was the dog guarding?

Once again, they were between two bad situations. In here was not only the dog but also an unknown person, possibly a thief — but out there was Snape. Harry really didn't want to find out what Snape might do if he found four students trespassing in the forbidden corridor. Why couldn't Flitwick have been the one to stay and guard the troll? He would probably have been willing to at least listen to them.

Harry cast a glance at his friends. He had to let them know that they weren't alone, but he wasn't too keen on letting whoever it was in on the fact that he knew — then again, the dog was still growling with two heads towards the shadows, so...

Before he could make up his mind about it, Ronnie turned her head sharply towards the shadow and said, still in a calm voice: "Someone else is in here with us."

"What?" Neville squeaked.

"That's what that head is so occupied with," said Ronnie, motioning towards the head that was glaring into and growling at the shadows. "It's got them cornered. Oy!" she said, a little louder. "We know you're there!"

And then a voice sounded from the darkness. And it was possibly the last voice Harry would have expected: "W-W-W-Weasley? Wh-wh-whatever charm you've p-p-placed on the dog, p-p-please keep it up! I d-d-don't think my protection charm will h-h-hold out for m-m-much longer!"

"Professor Quirrell?!" Harry exclaimed.

"Y-yes," Quirrel's voice sounded. "P-please don't let that dog kill me!"

The growling head snapped towards the sound of the voice, and then the teacher came into sight, falling out of the shadows - turban askew, robes torn, body trembling as he dropped to the floor and let out a squeak of terror. The dog's head snarled and was about to go for a second attack, when Ronnie's voice called out: "No no no, it's okay, it's okay! Calm down, look, everything's all right, we're all friends here! Nice boy!"

The head turned to look at Ronnie, and now the dog turned slowly to look at the girl with all six of its eyes. A long moment passed, and then the dog slowly relaxed as Ronnie once again began petting the head closest to her. Two heads still looked around suspiciously at everyone who wasn't Ronnie, as if warning them that if anyone made one false move it would be all over them - and then it began wagging its tail, gazing adoringly at the girl with the one head that was being petted.

"Professor Quirrell, what are you doing here?" Harry whispered, staying as still as possible so that the dog wouldn't believe he was making any sort of false move.

"I, er, I w-was hiding from the troll — I, I, I mean, I was t-trying to protect — I mean, I mean —" Quirrell stuttered and then looked up, his eyes focusing on Ronnie. "N-n-nice charm, whatever it is," he added hurriedly, "H-how did you manage to calm the, the, the...?"

"It's not a charm," said Ronnie, halfway nervous and halfway embarrassed. "It's just that, er, most animals tend to like me. Lucky that this one seems to be one of them... I think we're all right long as we don't annoy him too much, or try to get to that trapdoor."

"R-really?" Quirrell's eyes widened. "Th-that's, er, interesting. G-good to know."

Harry swallowed again. There was something wrong about this. Why would Quirrell be here? Had he panicked and ran here by mistake to get away for the troll, was he telling the truth about wanting to protect something, or...?

Harry looked at the quaking teacher. Quirrell was almost only a silhouette in the darkness. It was weird, the silhouette looked oddly familiar, as if —

Something fell into place inside Harry's head.

"It was you," he said to Quirrell. "You're the shadow bloke! You were the one we met in the Forbidden Forest!"

"What?!" said Quirrell, sounding surprised.

"I thought it was Snape. We all thought it was Snape. Even the way my scar began hurting... But every time it did, you just happened to be there!" Harry couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. "You trashed the Potions classroom and then came running to Snape, pretending to have just discovered it... Just so you could get him out of his office! You were the one who made that shelf collapse! You even let the troll in, just to create a panic! You tried to kill us!"

"Harry, are you mental?" said Ronnie, still stroking the dog's head.

But Quirrell smiled. A change had come over him; he'd stopped shivering and quaking and now he raised his head, slowly (and under the watchful eye of the dog) standing up. "Well done, Potter," he said in a calm and collected voice, completely unlike his normal, nervous stuttering. "You're not as stupid as I thought you were. Too bad nobody will believe you. After all, with teachers like Severus around, who would ever dream of suspecting p-p-poor st-st-stuttering P-P-Professor Quirrell of anything?"

"But —" said Hermione in a small voice.

"Impressive control over the dog, Weasley," Quirrell continued calmly. "It's true, then, animals do love you... I bet it would obey your every command. If you ordered it to bite me in half, it would do so without hesitation. You wouldn't even have to stop petting that one head... after all, one set of fangs is all that's needed. Of course... the dog would have to be put down after that. You've grown up in the wizarding world, you know as well as I do what happens to a beast that kills a human."

Ronnie whimpered. The dog nuzzled her hand and wagged its tail sympathetically.

"Can you do it, Weasley? Can you turn the dog into a killer?" said Quirrell.

"That dog is already a killer," said Neville, gulping. "If Ronnie hadn't been here, it would have killed us all by now!"

"But she is, and it hasn't," said Quirrell. "But she can change that if she wants to. How about it, Weasley? Do you want the dog's death on your conscience? Do you want my death on your conscience?"

Ronnie shook her head. As if to comfort herself and hide from the awful situation around herself, she wrapped her arms around the dog's head and buried her face in its fur. The dog let her do it, the one head surprisingly gentle even as the other two were still eyeing everyone else suspiciously.

"What a surprise," came a sudden, silky-soft voice from behind them, and as Harry almost without wanting to turned to look, he saw Snape came stepping in through the now-open door, his black eyes glittering maliciously. "I hear voices from the forbidden corridor, and what do I find? Potter's Gang, up to their necks in trouble — and Professor Quirrell."

"Ah, Severus." If Quirrell was surprised, he didn't show it — nor did he show the terror he'd displayed of Snape earlier. "Come in. Don't worry about the dog, Weasley has it under control."

"You've certainly changed your tune, Quirrell," said Snape. "Finally decided to drop the pretense and show your true colours? Tell me, what's the occasion?"

"I don't know if you should talk too loudly about true colours," said Quirrell. "How did you get Dumbledore to hire you as a teacher? Especially as Potter's teacher, after what you did to his parents."

Harry felt a sharp, sinking sensation in his stomach, even as Snape drew a sharp breath and turned even paler than usual.

"Dumbledore will be here any minute," the Potions master said coldly. "Together with the other teachers. They will be quite interested in seeing you here."

"I'd better talk fast, then," said Quirrell calmly. "Potter, did you know that Severus Snape is responsible for the death of your parents?"

"What?!" Harry's voice was joined by the voices of Hermione, Neville and even Ronnie, who had pulled her face out of the dog's fur and was staring at Snape. The dog, sensing the tension, growled at Snape.

"Oh, yes," said Quirrell. "Severus went to school with your parents, Potter. Everyone knows it, but nobody wants to tell you. He and your father loathed each other. Perhaps no surprise, then, that when they left school, your parents joined the fight against the Dark Lord, while Severus... now, Severus went and became a Death Eater."

Before Harry could wonder what a Death Eater was (probably nothing nice, given the name), Snape had his wand out. His hand shook with rage as he pointed the wand at Quirrell. "Shut - up!" he snarled, only barely managing to keep his voice steady.

"Touched a nerve, have I?" said Quirrell. "Everyone knows you were right in the Dark Lord's inner circle, Severus. And I'd be careful with pointing your wand around if I were you. You'll upset the dog, and I don't think even Weasley could stop it from attacking you if it got angry enough."

Snape snarled almost as loudly as the dog did, but lowered his wand.

Harry only vaguely noticed it at this point, because the black pit in his stomach was threatening to swallow him up. The faces of his parents, such as they had appeared to him in the Mirror of Esired, flashed before his inner eye; parents that Harry would never get to know because of Snape...

"How?" he demanded. "How is Snape responsible for the deaths of my parents?"

"You do not know what you're talking about, Potter," Snape growled. "For that matter, neither does he!"

"I know more than you think," said Quirrell. "I have a very reliable source of information."

And then, a high, ice-cold voice spoke, a voice that made Harry's blood run cold: "Indeed, Severus... indeed..." It was a voice Harry would never forget; the same voice that he had heard from the shadowed figure in the Forbidden forest, and it seemed to be coming from Quirrell... though the teacher's mouth wasn't moving.

Snape's eyebrows raised in shocked surprise, Neville and Hermione both gasped, and even the dog began growling again, directing its suspicions towards Quirrell.

"It has been such a long time..." the ice-cold voice continued. "But I remember... Oh yes, I remember... Thwarted by a boy, reduced to a shadow, less than a shadow of my former self... but I held on. Did you think I died, Severus...? I, who had gone longer than any other mortal man in conquering death...?"

Harry hadn't thought the black pit in his stomach could have grown any deeper or blacker, but now discovered just how wrong he'd been - because now he knew with absolute certainty that this voice belonged to none other than his parents' killer, the man all wizards feared even so long after his disappearance, the reason Harry had the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead... he didn't know how it was even possible, but Voldemort was here in the room with them.

Snape seemed to have reached the same conclusion. "The Dark Lord..." he said, his voice even softer than usual and his face completely unreadable. "Dumbledore always did say you would find a way to return."

"And he was right," said the voice of Voldemort. "I do apologise for not showing myself fully, Severus... I fear I am in a somewhat... reduced state at the moment... But Quirrell has generously agreed to be... my body... for the time being..."

"I am the Dark Lord's eyes and ears," said Quirrell, his voice strange. "I am his hands, his form. Where I go, he goes. Where he goes, I go."

"That," said Snape tonelessly, looking at Quirrell, then at Potter's Gang, and then back at Quirrell, "explains a great deal. I knew something was going on with you, but I never suspected this."

Voldemort chuckled; a high and bone-chilling sound. "Don't feel bad, Severus... no-one expected, not even the great Dumbledore himself. You know what I want... you know what the dog is guarding. And you were once my faithful servant... I have not forgotten this... Lord Voldemort is capable of great mercy, even to those who failed him... and will reward those who aid him. Join me once more, help me attain my goal... and be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams!"

"NO!" Ronnie suddenly shrieked, as if she was snapping out of a trance and going straight into panic mode. "Kill him! Kill him!" she screamed, pointing in Quirrell's direction.

The dog, who had been growling at Quirrell since Voldemort's voice began sounding, sprang into action. It leapt on Quirrell with its fangs bared, while another of the heads snapped at Snape for good measure.

As Snape fell back, Harry felt like he snapped out of a trance as well. "Run!" he shouted, grabbing the now-hyperventilating Ronnie and dragging her with him towards the door. Only seconds later, Hermione and Neville were there as well, and together they managed to haul Ronnie out the door, as the sounds of snarling and screams and sounds of a carnage behind them grew louder.

Hermione slammed the door shut behind them, muffling the horrible sounds.

They were back in the first corridor, greeted by the rather unpleasant sight of the troll lying sprawled out on the floor with its club next to it. After just having met first the three-headed dog and then Voldemort, though, it seemed rather less scary than it had. Besides, whatever Flitwick had done to it seemed to have rendered it unconscious for the moment.

They stood there for a moment, uncertain on whether to keep running or not.

"Well," said Ronnie in a monotone voice, "that was fun. Let's never do it again."

Harry vaguely remembered her having said the exact same thing after their outing in the Forbidden Forest. "Ronnie..." he began.

She ignored him and began shaking. "At least I made sure that dog'll get a nice meal. Nicely matured — vintage Dark Lord — with sautéed Potions master — for afterwards!" And then she burst out laughing. "Let's — let's throw the troll to it as well — make a nice dessert!" she managed to squeak out between her fits of laughing.

"That's not funny —" Hermione began in a shaky voice, but stopped when she saw the expression on Ronnie's face.

The girl was heaving for her breath, shaking violently with uncontrollable laughter. Harry, almost without thinking, grabbed hold of her and held her close, because this wasn't normal laughter. This was the laughter of someone close to breaking down completely.

Ronnie shook in Harry's arms, and now she'd started crying as well, tears streaming down her face and huge blubbering sobs bubbling up between the laughs.

"I wish I was dead!" she sobbed.

Harry felt an awful lot like breaking down and crying as well, and a quick look at Neville and Hermione revealed that they weren't too far behind. Hermione had tears in her eyes and Neville was shivering and pale as a sheet, opening and closing his mouth a few times without making a sound.

Tentatively, Harry tried to speak. "Look," he said. "You shouldn't —" And then he stopped in mid-sentence, because he had no idea where he was even going with this.

To his immense relief, that was when the teachers appeared, with Dumbledore leading them, and Flitwick and McGonagall following right behind, and making up the rear and lumbering over everyone else was Hagrid.

"Harry?" said Hagrid, looking surprised as Harry met his eyes.

"What is going on here?" said Professor McGonagall sharply. "Potter — Granger — Longbottom — Weasley! What are you doing here?!"

"Where is Professor Snape?" said Flitwick.

Ronnie was still sobbing, and Neville was still opening and closing his mouth, unable to say anything. Hermione, however, raised a hand and pointed to the closed door. "In there," she said. "Together with Professor Quirrell and — and a three-headed dog. And — and —"

"Voldemort!" Harry exclaimed, finding his voice. "Voldemort is there! Somehow! With Quirrell!"

As one, the teachers gave a start; Flitwick almost dropping his wand in astonishment and McGonagall's face twisting into an expression of stunned disbelief.

"You-Know-Who?" she said, clearly trying to regain her composure. "Here? Nonsense, Potter!"

Dumbledore, however, took a step towards Harry; he didn't look shocked or disbelieving, but urgency and worry were clear in his eyes. "Are you certain, Harry?" he said. "Did you see him?"

"No, but I heard him. We all did." Harry looked at his friends, who all nodded in support. "I think he's somehow possessing Quirrell... Said something about Quirrel being his body for now."

"It was this high, cold voice..." Hermione shuddered. "It was horrible. It talked to Snape, and... The dog..."

"You-Know-Who is in there with Fluffy?" Hagrid made his way past the other adults and towards the closed door. "Hang on, Fluffy! Daddy's comin'!"

"Hagrid!" said Dumbledore before the huge man could tear the door open. "Be careful!" He turned to look at the others. "Stay out here, and make certain the troll does not wake up. Hagrid and I will go in."

Hagrid opened the door and squeezed himself in through it, closely followed by Dumbledore. Both men vanished into the darkness, and an eerie silence followed in which the ones remaining outside could do nothing but stare in horror at the door. Even Ronnie had stopped crying and had grabbed hold of Hermione, clutching her tightly as she stared.

"...Fluffy?" said Neville, apparently having found his voice again. "That dog's named —? Someone please tell me this is all a horrible dream."

"This is all a horrible dream," said Harry, who was starting to wonder if it might be — Snape and Quirrell and Voldemort and trolls and three-headed monster dogs named Fluffy, it all seemed like something out of a bizarre nightmare.

"No, Potter, this is not a dream!" said McGonagall, shattering Harry's desperate hopes that he'd soon wake up in the Gryffindor common room. "This is all too real — even parts of it is unbelievable — You-Know-Who, here at Hogwarts, indeed —"

Just then, Dumbledore reappeared in the doorway, looking unhurt but even more worried than before. "They are gone," he said.

Ronnie let out a loud wail. "I killed them! I told the dog to kill them and it ate them and I'm a murderer!"

"Miss Weasley!" Dumbledore raised his voice to be heard over her wails. "You are not a murderer! I said they were gone, not that they were dead!"

Ronnie stopped in mid-wail, her eyes widening and her tear-streaked face betraying the storm of conflicting emotions that were raging within her. "They're — not dead?" she said in a hoarse, cracked voice.

"Merely gone, as I said," Dumbledore replied soothingly. "There was some blood on the floor, but nowhere near as much as there would have been, had the dog eaten them — so the only explanation is that one, or both, of them, were injured, but they managed to escape."

Professor Flitwick raised both his eyebrows. "Did they go down the trapdoor?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I think not. The trapdoor had not been opened. Fluffy guarded that rather too well."

"Fluffy..." Neville muttered, shaking his head as if this was the most unbelievable thing about the entire ordeal.

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, nodding to Neville, and for a brief moment there was a hint of the normal twinkle in his eyes. "Don't let that name deceive you, Neville. He takes his job as a guard dog very seriously. Hagrid is taking care of him as we speak." Then, he grew serious again. "But there must have been another exit in that corridor, one we did not know about."

"There are no other exits from that room!" said McGonagall firmly. "We made certain to check!"

"My dear Minerva," said Dumbledore with a sigh, "you know as well as I do that Hogwarts holds too many secrets for any one person to discover. Even I, after having called the castle my home for over sixty years, do not know all of them. Perhaps the other exit only shows itself to someone whose life is in danger, or when certain words are spoken. In any case, they are both gone." He turned to Potter's Gang. "We must do all in our power to find them, of course - but first, I must ask the four of you to tell me exactly what happened."

Naturally, it was Hermione who ended up telling most of the story. She kept it brief and to the point; how she, Harry and Ronnie had gone to look for Neville under the Invisibility Cloak, how they had encountered and run from the troll, how they had ended up at the forbidden corridor by accident, and how Ronnie's talent with animals had kept Fluffy from harming them.

Harry helped her out by adding a few details that she left out of her story, and had to take over a few times, when Hermione's voice wavered at certain points, such as the description of Voldemort's voice and the revelation of Snape.

"Quirrell said Snape was responsible for the deaths of my parents," said Harry. "And Voldemort said Snape used to be his servant!"

He hadn't really known what sort of reaction he had expected from Dumbledore at this revelation, but strangely enough, the old wizard didn't show much of a reaction at all. "I believe we need to talk, Harry," he said. "There are a lot of things you need to be told — but not here, and not now. There are too many urgent matters that demand out attentions. You said you had your Invisibility Cloak. Where is it?"

Harry suddenly realised that in the sheer confusion, he had forgotten all about the Cloak. "Er — Ronnie had it," he said. "But it fell off her. It must still be in there, on the floor."

"I did not see it," said Dumbledore. "I will look again, it may be that I've simply missed it — but if it truly is gone, Harry, this could quite possibly mean that Quirrell, and by extension Voldemort, now has your Invisibility Cloak."

Harry gulped. He could all too well imagine all the uses an evil wizard might have for an Invisibility Cloak. "That's not good," he said.

"It may be worse than you think," said Dumbledore gravely. "And with Voldemort roaming around the castle unseen, we are all in danger — particularly you and Miss Weasley."

"Me?" Ronnie squeaked. "Why me?"

Dumbledore turned to face her. "Voldemort now knows of your gift with animals," he said. "He has seen you calm down a guard dog that would have killed all of you as soon as look at you — and he very much wants the object that the dog is guarding. Simply put, he will see you as his key to getting past it. We shall of course tighten the security, but I think you need to be aware of the danger nonetheless."

Ronnie swallowed, but then straightened herself. "I'd never help You-Know-Who with anything!" she said. "I'm a Weasley! There's never been a Dark Weasley before, and I'm not gonna be the first!"

"I believe you," said Dumbledore. "But even in his reduced state, Voldemort has methods for making others cooperate. Stronger wizards and witches than you have fallen to his power. You need only to look at Professor Quirrell to realise that."

"Quirrell? But he's —" Hermione began, then apparently decided not to continue that particular statement. "How is You-Know-Who controlling him? Possession? But that doesn't make any sense, how could he make his own voice sound like that without Quirrell moving his mouth —?"

"I do not know yet," said Dumbledore. "But the bigger question is why, after what must have been months of successfully concealing his presence, Voldemort chose that moment to reveal himself? He must have had a reason for it."

"Months?" said Harry. "You mean — you mean he's been with Quirrell the entire time?"

"I did not want to believe it, but it explains too much," said Dumbledore. "But," he suddenly added in a stronger voice, "we have no time for speculation now. Minerva, please take the children to the Gryffindor common room. All students are to stay in their respective common rooms until further notice."

McGonagall nodded. "Come along, you four!"

"We will talk," said Dumbledore at Harry's reluctant look. "But for now, I have two teachers and one Dark Lord to look for. Be safe, Potter's Gang."

It was the first time he had used their collective nickname.

McGonagall was rather grim-faced as she escorted Potter's Gang back to the common room. While she had been the first one to declare the idea of Voldemort's appearance to be nonsense, she apparently trusted Dumbledore's judgment on the issue enough that she was willing to accept the story

It didn't mean she was going to be gracious about it, though.

"This is madness," she muttered. "Absolute madness. Quirrell, working for You-Know-Who, and Snape going with him."

"Dumbledore didn't seem all that surprised when we told him about Voldemort," said Harry carefully.

"Ever since You-Know-Who vanished, the Headmaster has been of the firm belief that he would one day make a return," said McGonagall. "He tends to get extra concerned around Halloween. In fact, Potter," she added, looking at him, "This very day marks the ten-year anniversary of his disappearance."

"That's right!" Hermione sounded astonished. "I can't believe I didn't think of that. All the books say that Voldemort was vanquished on Halloween. Harry, that means that it was exactly ten years since, well, since you saw him last!"

Neville gasped. "It has to be almost down to the hour!" he said, sounding about as astonished as Hermione. "That can't be a coincidence, can it?"

"Whether it is or not," said McGonagall brusquely, "I would advice the four of you to not speak too loudly of this, at least until the Headmaster can make a formal announcement. It would cause a panic. And you would do well to not use that name among people."

Hermione looked up at her, and there was a hint of defiance in her eyes. "Professor Dumbledore told me to call him Voldemort. He said that fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself."

"That may well be, Miss Granger," said McGonagall, "but you will do yourself no favours getting people agitated by speaking the name unnecessarily."

"But—"

"You are too young to understand what it was like back in those days," said McGonagall, not unkindly. "You-Know-Who gathering followers in any way possible, not knowing who you could trust, knowing that they could strike at any time. I pray that you will never truly find out what it was like...though if You-Know-Who is here in the castle with an Invisibility Cloak, you may just get a taste of that feeling sooner than either of us would like."

"Professor McGonagall," said Harry. "Was it true what Quirrell and Voldem— what You-Know-Who said about Snape? Did he really cause the death of my parents? Was he You-Know-Who's servant?"

McGonagall didn't answer at first. Then, unexpectedly, she turned to the left and said: "Pig snout!"

Harry blinked at the non-sequitur, before realising that they had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady that hid the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, and McGonagall had just spoken the password.

As the painting swung aside to reveal the entrance to the common room, McGonagall waved for the children to hurry through, while positioning herself right behind them. "Just making certain nobody invisible follows you though," she said in a low voice, before swinging the portrait shut and separating her from them.

Harry turned back to look at the wall behind them, but McGonagall did not come through, and he realised to his disappointment that he wasn't going to get any answers for the moment.

"Why won't any of the teachers answer any of our questions about Snape?" he lamented.

"I suppose I could write and ask Dad," Ronnie said softly. "He works for the Ministry, he was one of the people who sorted out You-Know-Who's followers, which of them were serving willingly and which of them had been in his power... Bloody hell," she added, swallowing and suddenly looking scared. "He's really here. This is really happening."

They stood in silence for a while. At the other end of the short stone hallway, they could see into the circular common room, where a cosy fire burned in the fireplace and all the Gryffindor students were gathered around tables and in the stuffed armchairs, talking to one another and eating - the food from the Halloween feast must have been brought up to the common rooms. The smells of all the skilfully-made foods would normally have made Harry feel hungry, but right now the mere thought of food made his stomach turn.

"I'll tell you what's worse," said Neville. "If we hadn't happened to stumble across the forbidden corridor today, Quirrell would probably never have found a way to get past Fluff - that dog. He wouldn't have met Snape either."

"Voldemort wouldn't have revealed himself, though," said Hermione. "None of us would have had any idea that possessing Quirrell - or whatever it is he's done to him. At least now Dumbledore knows..."

"But thanks to us, Voldemort has the Invisibility Cloak," said Harry glumly. "We all but delivered him one of the most useful tools he could have for skulking about unseen. He could go anywhere, strike at any time, and nobody'll ever see him coming!"

"It was my fault," said Neville. "If I hadn't been such an idiot in Charms class and gone off to practice on my own, we wouldn't even have been near that corridor."

"No, no, it was my fault!" said Hermione. "I was the one who showed you up in class."

"You didn't, you tried to help me," said Neville. "I should have handled it better —"

"I should have found a better way of helping you," Hermione insisted. "I hurt your feelings, and —"

"None of you could have known what was going to happen!" Harry interrupted. "I was the one who insisted we go look for Neville ourselves —"

"I was the one who wanted to kill Quirrell!" Ronnie hissed. "And I was the one who showed You-Know-Who a way to get past Fluffy!"

They looked at each other.

"Well," Ronnie finally said, "at least we can all agree that this was not Potter's Gang's finest hour."

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's notes: It's really amazing how a story can spin out of control and take an entirely different turn than you'd expected. This chapter especially kept changing direction as I wrote it, and as a result the story changed direction as well - in fact, things have taken a sharp turn for the worse for Potter's Gang. That's all I'll say on that subject for now.

9. Ignorance Is Death

It was originally a long time between the previous chapter and this one. It took five complete rewrites before I got this chapter to even resemble how I wanted it. I still managed, though it'll never be my favorite chapter of the story.

WEASLEY GIRL

Based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling

CHAPTER NINE
Ignorance Is Death

The following morning, as the sun peeked up over the horizon to give light to a cold, grey November the First, Professor McGonagall called a meeting in the Gryffindor common room, and, to the surprise of everyone by Potter's Gang, announced that none of them would be allowed to leave Gryffindor Tower today.

"All classes are cancelled for the day," she said, "as are any extra-curricular activities — yes, Wood, that includes Quidditch," she added as the Quidditch Captain raised himself in half-protest.

Wood was livid. "We were going to have our last tryouts today!" he protested. "We have our first match against Slytherin in a week, and the Gryffindor team still doesn't have a decent Seeker —"

"I am all too aware of that," said McGonagall sharply. "But much as it pains me to admit, this is a more pressing matter than Quidditch."

Wood looked like he didn't think that was even remotely possible. "Just because some troll is running around the dungeons?"

"The troll is no longer an issue," said McGonagall. "You will be informed about the current situation when the teachers are less busy. In the meantime, I suggest you all look upon this day as a day for independent study, though I suspect more of you will use it for gossip and speculation."

McGonagall was right, of course. After she had left, there weren't many Gryffindors who got much studying done; the common room buzzed with wild speculations on what was really going on outside (guesses ranged from "someone's been murdered" to "the professors just want an extra day off"), mixed with a fair few angry rants about how nobody ever told the students anything and it was unfair to keep them locked up without even saying why.

Potter's Gang, after some brief internal debate, had decided not to tell their fellow Gryffindors about their disastrous misadventure with Snape, Quirrell and Voldemort. There wasn't anything either of them could do about it now, and informing the Gryffindors would probably just lead to panic and hysteria, and make the common room an even worse place to be. Much better then to leave the informing over to the teachers, let them decide when and how the information should be given out.

Curiously enough, nobody seemed to have noticed that they'd been gone the night before, and nobody so much as mentioned Potter's Gang in their speculations...

...or so Harry thought.

He turned out to be very much mistaken in his assumptions when, soon after McGonagall had left and the students were gathering in small groups around tables or in the deep armchairs, all three of Ronnie's brothers came marching up to Potter's Gang, with a determined look on their faces.

"All right, you lot," said Percy, in his most pompous 'listen-to-me-I'm-a-Prefect' voice. "What do you know about this?"

Ronnie looked up at him and swallowed, while Neville and Hermione avoided his eyes.

Realising that he was going to have to be the one to answer, Harry took a deep breath. "What makes you think we know anything about this, Percy?" he said, trying as hard as he could to sound casual.

"Well, let's see now," said Fred, crossing his arms and looking more like Percy than Harry had ever seen him. "You vanish yesterday while the rest of us hurry to the common room —"

"Didn't think we noticed that, did you?" George added.

"— and then you appear after half an hour, looking terrified of something."

"That's bloody typical," Ronnie snapped, turning pink. "You have to play protectors, you never think I or my friends can handle things on our own! Why don't you back off?"

"We have been, in case you didn't notice," said Percy. "We didn't so much as bring the subject up yesterday. We merely assumed you had been separated from the group or something but since you were there and clearly none the worse for wear, we all decided to let the matter drop instead of nagging you. You're welcome," he added, with a pointed look at his sister.

Said sister looked down at the floor and murmured something inaudible.

"But now Professor McGonagall is giving vague hints about something else going on," said Percy. "and you might say I'm jumping to conclusions here, but it wouldn't be the first time the four of you got into some sort of trouble that the teachers decided to hush up. What is going on?!"

"You heard the Prefect," said George, using Percy's title without a trace of mockery or irony for what was probably the first time in his life. "Spill it."

Harry looked at the rest of Potter's Gang. They looked back at him, all of them with similar looks of indecision on their faces.

Finally, Hermione appeared to decide that enough was enough. "All right, fine," she said. "You want to know what happened? Last night, we —"

But just as it looked like she was about to tell the three Weasleys about their encounter with Fluffy, Snape, Quirrell and Voldemort, she was interrupted by the timely re-entrance of Professor McGonagall, who came striding in through the entrance.

"Mister Potter," she said, looking at Harry. "Mister Longbottom, Miss Granger and Miss Weasley. The Headmaster wishes to see you in his office."

There was a surprised murmur among the students who had turned their attention towards her, though surprisingly (or perhaps not so surprisingly, come to think of it) the loudest of all was Percy.

"Professor McGonagall," he said. "If something is going on with our sister again, I think it is only fair that we, as her family, should be informed what it is."

"The Headmaster has requested the presence of your sister and her friends, Mister Weasley," said McGonagall shortly. "I am not at liberty to discuss his reasons with you."

"What, you're taking her away without her bodyguards?" said Fred. It was clearly meant to be a joke, but Harry suspected that, what with how protective the Weasley boys seemed to be of their sister, it probably wasn't too far off from how Fred really felt.

"Without, as you say, her bodyguards." McGonagall looked at the three, not unsympathetically. "I will have quite enough with the four of them if I'm not going to have the three of you along as well. I assure you I will have them all back as soon as I can. Now come along, you four."

The Weasley brothers sighed and reluctantly stepped back, but Harry couldn't help but worry.

"Can't they come with us?" he pleaded as they walked down the short corridor towards the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Yeah!" said Ronnie. "They'll pester us endlessly when we come back, might as well -"

"No," said McGonagall with a sense of finality. "They are far safer in here. The only reason I'm taking you four is because the Headmaster requested you. Come on!"

To Harry's surprise, on the other side of the portrait hole, a man was waiting for them.

It was a man Harry had never seen before; a grizzled and grey-haired man with a face so scarred and scathed that it looked like he'd been attacked by a rabid lawnmower. Scars and cuts criss-crossed over his cheeks and forehead, and a large chunk of his nose was missing. This would have been enough to make him stand out in any crowd, but what really drew your attention about him was his eyes. Or, more precisely, his eye. While one of his eyes was normal enough; small, dark and beady, the other was large and round, its iris a striking, almost electric blue colour. This eye, eerily enough, was constantly moving, quite independently of the other eye, and without ever blinking. Up and down, from side to side, and occasionally even rolling around and pointing into the back of his head, so that all Harry could see was the white.

For a fleeting moment, Harry wondered if this might be Voldemort, somehow having gained a different body, and felt Ronnie and Neville tense up beside him as similar thoughts apparently struck them — but McGonagall nodded calmly to the man. "Children," she said, as if this was completely normal, "This is Alastor Moody. He will be our escort to the Headmaster's office."

"Not — Not Mad-Eye Moody?!" said Ronnie, for some reason sounding excited. "Dad's told me about you! The greatest Auror of our time! I thought you'd retired!"

Harry had no idea what an Auror was, but from Ronnie's tone of voice, it probably had nothing to do with killing first-year students.

"You'll be Arthur Weasley's girl," said the admittedly-accurately-nicknamed 'Mad-Eye' Moody. He had just the sort of voice Harry would have imagined; a gruff snarl that sounded ready to bark curses and threats at anyone foolish enough to oppose him. "Yeah, your father's told me about you too. And you're right; I am retired, at least officially. But retirement means nothing if Voldemort is making a comeback, now does it?"

Harry blinked. This man was the first wizard he'd met, outside of Dumbledore (and, lately, Hermione), who was willing to say Voldemort's name.

Moody seemed to sense Harry's astonishment. "And here's Harry Potter, of course." The beady eye looked at Harry while the blue one kept whirling around in its socket, glancing in turn at Neville and Hermione.

"Pleased to meet you, sir?" said Harry, not a hundred percent certain he really was.

Moody grunted. "Well, come on, then, all of you," he said. "We're not here to hear me jabber on about how I knew Potter's and Longbottom's parents."

Neville opened his mouth as if to speak, and then apparently thought better of it.

"Follow Professor McGonagall. Granger, you go first, then Potter, then Weasley and then Longbottom. I'll take up the rear and make sure nobody invisible is sneaking up on us. Constant vigilance!" This last part came so forcefully that Harry almost jumped backwards, the girls both gasped and Neville lost his balance and dropped on his bottom.

Heart pounding furiously as he helped Neville get back on his feet, Harry wasn't quite sure he liked this Mad-Eye Moody character. But nobody else seemed to want to say anything, so he decided to follow suit and keep his thoughts to himself for now and get in line.

They set down the corridor. The school was silent around them in a way it wasn't normally; Hogwarts was big enough, of course, that it wasn't hard to find abandoned corridors or rooms and even in the middle of the busiest days you could always go to places of the castle that were empty and far enough away from everyone that you didn't hear the normal noise from students, teachers, ghosts or portraits — but, perhaps because Harry was fully aware of the possibility of an invisible Voldemort waiting around every corner, this silence was somehow more... silent.

The only thing that broke the silence was the curious thunk-thunk-thunk sound that came with every other step Mad-Eye-Moody took. The man was quick enough on his feet, but he was walking with a heavy limp, and Harry realised to his astonishment that he was not only missing part of his nose, but one of his legs as well. It was a pretty natural-looking prosthetic, so Harry hadn't noticed it while Moody was standing still - but when he was walking it became very apparent that one of his legs was artificial. His skepticism grew; was it really such a good idea to send a one-legged man as their escort?

After a brisk walk, McGonagall rounded a corner and came to a halt by a very large and very ugly stone gargoyle before turning to look at Moody. "Are there any invisible people following us, Alastor?" she asked - and the hint of sarcasm that you would expect this sort of question to be asked with was notably absent.

Moody's electric-blue eye rolled around in its socket. "No," he said. "Hurry up."

McGonagall turned back to the gargoyle. "Chocolate Frog," she said. This was evidently a password like the one the Gryffindors used to get to their common room, because the gargoyle suddenly sprang to life and moved aside as the wall behind it split in two, revealing a spiral staircase that was moving smoothly upwards, like an escalator.

"It's the way to the Headmaster's office," Hermione whispered to Harry, sounding halfway awed and halfway nervous. "I read about it in Hogwarts: A History. There's a lot of enchantments on —"

"Today, please, Miss Granger," said McGonagall, uncharacteristically brusque towards the girl who was normally one of her favourite students. Hermione shrank back, and for a moment it looked like McGonagall regretted her harsh tones, but then she simply turned and stepped up onto the staircase. "Follow me, all of you."

The others followed. First Hermione, then Harry, with Ronnie and Neville coming in directly behind them, and finally Moody. The wall slid shut again as she staircase began moving.

It really was a lot like a Muggle escalator, but a lot faster and going in rapidly ascending circles. Higher and higher they went, Harry feeling a slight queasy feeling in his stomach as their ascent finally slowed down and they were standing in front of a large oak door with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.

McGonagall rapped at the door, which opened silently.

"Ah, Minerva," came Dumbledore's voice from inside. "Bring them in!"

They all followed McGonagall into a large, circular room; one of the most packed, beautiful and all-around interesting-looking rooms Harry had seen even at Hogwarts. There were bookshelves packed with books of all shapes and sizes, and high on the walls were large, intricate portraits of what must be all the previous Headmasters of Hogwarts, all of them sleeping peacefully in their frames. A fire was crackling merrily in the large corner fireplace, and all sorts of strange (and likely magical) instruments and devices were whirring and emitting little noises or small puffs of smoke from their places on shelves or spindly-legged tables. Even the Sorting Hat, Harry vaguely noticed, was there, perched on a shelf all to itself on the wall behind the large, claw-footed desk at the end of the room.

McGonagall moved aside to let Potter's Gang past her as Dumbledore came towards them, hands raised in greeting. "Come in, come in," he said, giving the children a brief, but warm smile. "I hope you'll all forgive me for this sudden summoning, but time is rather of the essence here."

"Have you found Voldemort?" Harry blurted out.

"Alas, not yet. Which is the primary reason why time is of the essence. Please, sit." Dumbledore walked to take a seat behind his desk, indicating the number of available chairs around it with his hand. Potter's Gang and McGonagall took the offered seats, but Moody just limped over to the desk and remained standing. Dumbledore looked at him, but didn't insist.

"To take the first matter first," the Headmaster began, "you told me of your encounter with Voldemort yesterday in some detail, but since we despite all have slightly more time now; are there any other details you would like to tell me?"

Potter's Gang all looked at one another. They had gone through the encounter pretty thoroughly (well, Hermione had), and Harry couldn't think of any other details to add. Well... No, that wasn't quite true. He remembered the first encounter he and Ronnie had had with the shadowy figure he now knew to be a Voldemort-possessed Quirrell, back during their illegal first flying lesson and subsequent visit to the Forbidden Forest. But no, he didn't want to admit to having broken those rules... Besides, it had been ages ago and the encounter so brief, surely there wouldn't be anything helpful to Dumbledore in it?

"No, sir, I don't think so," Harry finally said.

Dumbledore looked at him over his half-moon spectacles, but didn't press the issue. "Well, then, I suppose I am the one who should tell you a few details. I warn you, these aren't good news," he said, folding his hands and once again looking at each member of Potter's Gang in turn. "I have searched for the Invisibility Cloak but have been unable to find it, so we must work out from the assumption that Voldemort indeed has the Cloak."

Harry bit his lip. He'd known this was likely, but to hear Dumbledore say it so, well, blatantly... "In other words, I've handed him a foolproof way of sneaking around unseen." He couldn't help but hear the bitterness in his own voice.

"Oh, Harry, don't blame yourself," said Hermione.

"Foolproof?" Dumbledore mused. "Perhaps so, though it never does to underestimate the powers and abilities of fools. You need only to look at me to know that." Before anyone could ask him what he meant by that, he continued: "In any case, and this is something we would all do well to remember, no magic is infallible. Even the Cloak has its weak points, if we know how to exploit those weak points — which fortunately, having had it in my possession for so long, I do."

Harry leaned forward, feeling a surge of hope. Of course, there had to be ways... Why else would Dumbledore have risked giving a student something like the Invisibility Cloak for free use at school grounds?

"First of all," said Dumbledore, motioning towards Mad-Eye Moody. "You have already met our not-so-secret weapon, Alastor Moody. His magical eye can see through very nearly anything, and that includes Invisibility Cloaks." (There as no question which eye was the "magical" one; the electric-blue eye was still rolling around independently of the brown one and though it might just be his imagination, Harry could have sworn he heard a faint whirring sound as it moved around.) "He has graciously agreed to pause his well-earned retirement in order to aid the school security. Other measures will be taken as well, but Moody will be the most visible one."

Moody grunted.

"I doubt Voldemort, in his current state, will want to risk an open confrontation," Dumbledore went on. "And I do not believe he will stay at Hogwarts any longer than he has to. Even with the Invisibility Cloak, it would be hard to stay undetected on school grounds for any lengths of time."

"But —" Ronnie said weakly. "Quirrell and Snape..."

"Quite so. Voldemort is not operating alone."

"You said he'd want me specifically." Ronnie's voice was small.

"He will," Dumbledore agreed, looking at her with sympathetic eyes. "That is quite an impressive ability you have with animals, Miss Weasley. Normally, only Hagrid can go near Fluffy without fear."

Ronnie turned pink and looked down. (So did Neville, and Harry was certain he could see the boy mouth "Fluffy" with a slight shake of his head.)

"Which, unfortunately, presents us with a bit of a problem," said Dumbledore. "As you no doubt have guessed, Fluffy is currently guarding something that Voldemort is desperately seeking, and which he must not get. There are other security measures, and more will be added, but for the moment I fear that few, if any of them are quite as efficient as a three-headed dog who is resistant to most forms of magic. We could, of course, replace Fluffy with another security measure, one that did not involve any sort of animal, but with how the situation stands now we can't be certain Voldemort will know of the change... so it would not necessarily stop him from targeting you."

Ronnie swallowed. "You're — you're not kicking me out of Hogwarts, are you, Professor?"

"What?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in astonishment. "Goodness, no! Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Well, if You-Know-Who wants to use me to get past Fluffy..."

"...then it is our job to make certain he does not get to you," said Dumbledore. "Indeed, I would go so far as to say that you will be safer here at Hogwarts than anywhere else, especially with Alastor Moody on the job. Sending you away would be most irresponsible of me."

Ronnie sighed in relief.

"And Harry," said Dumbledore, turning towards him, "you of course have been a target for Voldemort and his followers for a long time. As much as he wants Miss Weasley, he wants you even more. A Dark wizard's hatred and vengeance is a terrible thing, but also very powerful - and Voldemort has had ten years to nurture his hatred and plan his vengeance towards you."

Harry nodded slowly. It still felt strange to think about it — all the time he had been with the Dursleys, being made to sleep in a cupboard, doing all the chores and being called "freak" several times a day, there had been people out there who were out to kill him, and he'd never known.

"Headmaster," said McGonagall, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "They are children..."

Dumbledore sighed. "I know, Minerva. Were it up to me, no child would ever have to face such circumstances. Alas, it is not up to me, and I feel it would be wrong to sugar-coat this. Harry and Miss Weasley are targets — Neville and Miss Granger are in the danger zone as well, purely through their association with the two. The entire school knows that Potter's Gang is inseparable."

The sound of the name 'Potter's Gang' suddenly brought to Harry's mind thoughts about the one who had thought up the name in the first place. "Snape!" he burst out. "Professor, yesterday I told you that Snape was —"

"Professor Snape, Potter," said McGonagall, almost automatically, and then seemed to realise what she was saying.

"I think we can dispense with the formalities just this once, Minerva," said Dumbledore gently. "Please continue, Harry."

Harry forced himself to calm down a little. "Like I told you yesterday," he said, impressed at how calm he managed to make his voice sound, "Quirrell and — and Voldemort, they said that Snape had once been one of Voldemort's servants. They told me that Snape had been the one responsible for —"

"Yes. I remember." Dumbledore said, leaning forward over his desk to look at Harry. The normal twinkle of good-natured humour was gone from his blue eyes, and his voice was grave. "Harry, listen to me. There is exactly one person responsible for the death of your parents, and that person is Voldemort. Voldemort was the one who sought them out with the intent to kill, and it was Voldemort's wand that administered the Killing Curse. Putting the blame on Severus Snape is to diminish Voldemort's responsibility for his own actions."

The room was completely silent; everyone was watching Dumbledore.

"However," the Headmaster went on, "it is true that Severus Snape, in his youth, served Voldemort. He was part of a group who called themselves the Death Eaters; Voldemort's most loyal followers."

"And you let him teach at Hogwarts?!" Hermione's voice was one of outrage.

"Miss Granger, that is quite enough!" McGonagall snapped.

"But -" Ronnie began.

Dumbledore held up a hand. "Miss Granger is asking the same question I have been asked countless times, often by people using far less polite words," he said. "My answer is that Severus Snape was something so rare as a Death Eater who genuinely saw the error of his ways. Before the downfall of Voldemort, he rejoined our side and became our spy in Voldemort's inner circle — at great personal risk, might I add. When the war ended, he was cleared of all charges. He has never been accused of any Dark activity since."

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it again; whatever she had planned on saying remaining unsaid.

Harry remembered Snape's utter fury when Quirrell had brought up his past as a Death Eater. Had it been the anger of a man who didn't like to be reminded of a dark past, or the anger of a man who thought his cover was about to be blown? Somehow, it seemed that much easier to believe the latter. "He rejoined Voldemort quickly enough, though," he said. "And why did Quirrell say he was the one to blame for killing my parents?"

"The latter, I can't answer, at least at the moment," said Dumbledore. "I implore you to keep in mind what I said about the blame lying with Voldemort, though. I know it can be hard to accept. Severus Snape is a very difficult person, as I know you have had plenty of opportunity to discover."

"That's putting it mildly," Hermione murmured, earning herself another glare from McGonagall (who seemed determined that she at least would come down hard on any show of disrespect even if Dumbledore didn't).

"But," Dumbledore said, "though I will admit his teaching methods leave something to be desired, and I have repeatedly told him to not let his own bitterness control the lives of his students... he has held my trust for over ten years and never betrayed it, even when it would have been in his best interests to do so. Oh, he is not, and has never been, a popular man — and admittedly, this has largely been his own choice. But it would be very much unlike the Severus Snape I have come to know over the years to throw away everything he has worked for since the war."

"All right," said Ronnie, who seemed afraid that Hermione would start another tirade, "but even if he didn't go along with You-Know-Who willingly, he could've been made to do it, couldn't he? I mean, there's the Imperius Curse..."

Dumbledore looked at her, with a small amount of surprise. "So you know about the Imperius Curse, Miss Weasley? That is hardly common knowledge among eleven-year-olds."

Ronnie turned pink. "Dad told me about it."

"Ah, yes," said Mad-Eye Moody with some satisfaction. "Arthur Weasley would remember that particular curse. Caused no end of trouble for the Ministry, it did." He looked at Harry, his electric-blue eye whirling around in its socket. "The Imperius Curse, Potter, is one of the Unforgiveable Curses, which means using it'll grant you a lifetime in Azkaban. If a poor sod gets put under the Imperius, he's under the caster's complete control. He can be made to do anything — anything, you understand? He'll betray everything he holds dear; he'll kill his own parents, his own children, even commit suicide at command. Complete and total control!"

Harry felt a shudder down his spine, but wasn't completely certain whether it was the information about the curse or Moody's eye that frightened him the most. Then, quite unexpectedly, a memory struck him. "Hagrid told me about that!" he said. "He didn't use that name, but he did say that after Voldemort fell, some of his followers kind of awoke from some sort of trance —"

"That's the Imperius, all right," said Moody grimly. "Ministry had a hard time after the war, because damn well nearly everyone on Voldemort's side claimed they'd been Imperiused. Apart from a few nutters who kept ranting about how their precious Dark Lord would return and have all our hides."

Neville, who had been very silent through all of this, gulped.

Moody looked at him and made a grimace that could be interpreted as a grin, or a sneer. "Yes, Longbottom, you would know about that. Two of those same nutters are responsible for your parents' condition, after all."

Neville nodded miserably.

"One of the Ministry's greatest failures," Moody growled, "was that the Lestranges weren't caught and locked up immediately after Voldemort fell. If we'd been just a little quicker...!" He clenched his teeth. "At least they were easy to deal with, though. With the rest of them, it was quite a job trying to sort out who really had been Imperiused and who hadn't. I still say far too many Death Eaters were let go far too easily."

"As you indeed have often said, Alastor," said Dumbledore. "But without the evidence... Well. Enough on that. We certainly cannot rule out that Severus, or indeed Quirrell, is acting under the influence of the Imperius. So, though it pains me to say it, they should both be treated as hostiles until we know more. But," he added, looking back at Potter's Gang. "I do feel we're rather getting away from the real reason why I asked the four of you here. Sherbet lemon?"

Harry blinked at this sudden change of tone, and then realised that Dumbledore was indicating a transparent glass jar on his desk, half-full of hard, yellow sweets. He declined politely, as did Hermione, McGonagall and Moody when the offer was extended to them - though Ronnie and Neville accepted one each, Neville putting his in his mouth and sucking furiously on it as if desperate to have something, anything, to focus on other than Voldemort and Death Eaters.

"Normally, I would have trusted more to the security measures at Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued, "but since Voldemort now has the Invisibility cloak — a grave situation which I must take my fair share of blame for — and since you four are particularly likely targets, I have asked Moody here to lend you a couple of items from his vast collection of Dark Detectors."

Moody shifted and pulled out of his robe pocket what proved to be four identical necklaces, which he wordlessly handed to each member of Potter's Gang.

The necklaces were rather plain, each consisting of a thin, dark leather string to which was attached what looked like a fang from an animal, but it had strange designs of faint metallic yellow on it, as if the metal had been folded into and fused with the fang itself.

"Is that gold?" said Harry, examining the fang.

"Pyrite," said Moody. "Also known as 'fool's gold.' These are Warning Fangs. If danger approaches, they'll grow hot. If that happens, get out of the area as soon as possible and by any means necessary. Never take them off, not even when you go to bed or go for a shower. Constant vigilance!"

"Er, thank you," said Harry, not a hundred percent certain whether he appreciated the gift as much as he probably should. The Fang was at least quite cool in his hand, so it didn't seem like any danger was around at the moment.

"I thought about giving you Sneakoscopes, but they're completely useless in a school environment," said Moody, not bothering to explain what a Sneakoscope was or even seeming to consider that they might not know. "Too many students getting up to mischief and plotting new ways of breaking rules without getting caught. And don't give me that look, Miss Granger, I was young once myself."

"I wasn't going to say anything," Hermione murmured, in such a tone that Harry was pretty certain she was lying.

Before anyone else could say anything more, a strange noise came from the corner where the fireplace was located. Harry instinctively turned his head to look, and then had to blink several times to make certain he wasn't seeing things. There, in the fireplace, completely undisturbed by the flames dancing around it, was a human head. A living human head, belonging to a bald man with dark skin and a single gold hoop earring. Harry was absolutely certain the head hadn't been there when he'd entered the room.

"Dumbledore," said the head, and then - just as if this was a completely normal situation - moved around to nod at the others in the room as well. "Hi. Don't mean to be rude, but I've got an urgent message for Dumbledore."

"What is it. Kingsley?" Dumbledore had raised himself and was halfway over to the fireplace, followed by Moody, before anyone else had managed to react.

"Quirrell's been spotted in Hogsmeade," said the head named Kingsley. "We've sent a group of Aurors and Hitwizards."

"What about Severus?" Dumbledore asked.

"No sign of him."

Harry couldn't see Dumbledore's expression, but the Headmaster's voice was very grave when he spoke: "Very well. Thank you, Kingsley."

"Heard about this Invisibility Cloak, though," said Kingsley. "So I figure Quirrell was only seen in Hogsmeade because he wanted to be seen. Draw our attentions away from Hogwarts, most likely."

"You lot keep looking for him," Moody growled. "Even if it is a distraction, leave no stone unturned, and inform me the instant you see either him or Snape again!"

"Duly noted," Kingsley replied. "Er — by the way, Dumbledore, the Minister wanted me to ask if you were absolutely certain we're dealing with Voldemort here and not just another nutter who thinks he's acting under his orders? (Here was yet another person who said 'Voldemort' instead of 'You-Know-Who,' Harry dimly noted; maybe such people weren't as rare as he'd thought?)

"I have four witnesses right here who swear that Quirrell was indeed possessed by Voldemort," said Dumbledore, motioning to Harry and his friends. "And I trust their word."

"Hmm." Kingsley looked at Harry with a contemplative glance in his eyes, and then went on to give Neville, Ronnie and Hermione the same looks before nodding. "If you trust their judgment, that's good enough for me," he said. "I doubt the Minister will see it the same way, thought."

"I will talk to Cornelius," said Dumbledore (and Harry remembered that Hagrid had said something about the Minister For Magic being named Cornelius or something like that, and that he was in constant contact with Dumbledore). "For the moment, though, I expect I will be rather busy."

"Same here," Kingsley agreed. "In fact, I'd better sign off now. I'll be in touch as soon as I know more!" With that, there was a small popping noise, and his head vanished, leaving behind only a normal-looking fire.

"Well," said Dumbledore, turning back to the group at the desk. "It appears we will all be quite busy for the foreseeable future. Before we send you children back to your common room, though, there was one more thing..."

There was another strange noise, this time from one of the windows. Harry turned his head again to see a large, crimson bird appear in a puff of flames, beat its wings twice and then sailing majestically over to Dumbledore in order to perch on his shoulder, sweeping its head from side to side as if giving them all a look-over.

The reactions varied around the room. Dumbledore merely smiled at the bird and raised his hand to stroke its head, Moody stared suspiciously at it with his magical eye for a moment before apparently accepting that it wasn't Voldemort in disguise, McGonagall gave it a curt nod, Neville looked about as overwhelmed as Harry felt, Hermione stared at the bird with curious interest, and Ronnie...

Ronnie gasped and stared at the bird as if completely starstruck. "A phoenix..." she whispered. "I've only ever seen them in books. I — Is he yours, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore looked fondly up at the bird, which looked back down at him and blinked its eyes. "Impeccable timing as always, Fawkes," he said, which the bird answered with a strange trilling sound, quite unlike anything Harry had heard from any bird before - but it did sound oddly affectionate. "Yes, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore continued. "I have had the honour and pleasure of Fawkes's companionship for — goodness, it must be close to seventy years now. By the way, well spotted — Fawkes is indeed a 'he.' Not many people can tell the differences between the sexes when it comes to phoenixes."

"Only male phoenixes have been known to be domesticated," said Hermione, never one to pass up the chance of showing her knowledge on any subject. "And even then, the number of known domesticated phoenixes from the last century can be counted on the fingers of one hand. "

Dumbledore nodded, looking impressed. "Quite so, Miss Granger. Are you interested in zoology, by chance?"

"I'm interested in most things, sir," said Hermione, clearly trying (and failing) not to look too proud of herself.

"Fascinating creatures, phoenixes," said Dumbledore. "They're highly intelligent and loyal, and they have so many unique powers and abilities. I have lost count of how many times Fawkes has helped me out in sticky situations — so I've asked him to help me out with this one as well"

Fawkes opened his beak and made another strange trilling sound. Then he lifted off from Dumbledore's shoulder and flew — where else? — straight over to Ronnie, perching on her shoulder instead.

Ronnie was in love. She stroked the phoenix's crimson feathers with a careful finger, starting to talk to him in a low voice, marveling out loud at how pretty and how warm he was, and Fawkes closed his eyes briefly, looking like he was enjoying the attention.

"I trust you will not mind," said Dumbledore, "but Fawkes will be keeping an eye on the four of you for the time being. If you need to contact me, or if you are in danger, look for him. He will find you. Now, I think we've kept you from your common room long enough , so —"

"Wait," said Neville, speaking up for the first time since they had left the common room. "What do we tell the others? They're going to ask us all sorts of questions when we come back."

"He's right," said Harry, remembering the grilling they'd narrowly escaped from Fred, George and Percy. "We have to tell them something."

Dumbledore nodded. "Point well made," he said. "Minerva, could I trouble you to fetch Pomona and Filius? I think our students have gone for long enough without being told what is happening, and I think it's only right that each Head of House tells his or her respective house what is going on. Since Severus is unavailable, I myself shall inform the Slytherins."

McGonagall looked disapproving. "They are children, Headmaster," she said again. "Let us not place such a burden on their heads, at least not yet."

"If I thought we could best keep them safe by keeping them ignorant, I would," said Dumbledore softly. "But such as the situation has become, they need to know. And it is better they find out from us than from exaggerated rumors and half-truths."

"Ignorance is death," said Moody.

"I would not go that far, but sometimes it is far better to know," said Dumbledore. "Please, Minerva."

"As you say, Headmaster," she relented. "I just hope you know what you are doing."

"As do I," said Dumbledore, so silently that Harry wasn't certain if he'd heard right or not.

"Professor Dumbledore," said Harry, raising himself from his chair. "If it's better to know, then — can you answer me something? You never said exactly how my parents died. Even if Snape wasn't to blame... he was still involved, wasn't he? Why would you even trust him after something like that?!"

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "Now that, Harry, I'm afraid I cannot tell you."

"What?" Harry felt oddly betrayed. "Why not?"

"Because I promised I would not. And a promise, Harry, is not something to be given carelessly, nor is it something to be broken out of mere convenience." Dumbledore looked genuinely regretful. "I will, however, make a promise to you, here and now. If it ever becomes necessary that you know, I will tell you. Until then, I must ask you for that most difficult of all virtues — patience."

Harry looked at Dumbledore's serious expression. Several more questions were churning around in his head: Who had Dumbledore promised, and why? What did it all mean? What exactly had Snape done, anyway? But he knew he wasn't going to get any answers, at least not for the moment.

"All right, sir," he finally said. "But I'll hold you to that promise."

Dumbledore smiled. It was a weary smile, but a warm one nonetheless. And then he said something that, to Harry, really didn't make sense: "And I would expect no less of you."

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's notes: Lots of set-up in this chapter and not much action, I know, but it was all necessary. Quite a few things are introduced here that'll play an important part later on. If you think Dumbledore's being more hands-on here than in canon... well, he kind of is and kind of not. I'm of the firm belief that even in canon, Dumbledore does a whole lot more to try and protect Hogwarts and its students than is evident on-page - we just don't see it because the narrative is following Harry. Here, we see a bit more of it, and he's forced to take more drastic measures earlier in the story because things happen faster than they do in canon. Such as bringing in Mad-Eye Moody, for instance; Voldemort is at Hogwarts, wearing an Invisibility Cloak, so what do you do? You call in the one person who can see through Invisibility Cloaks, of course!

In any case, I'd better make one thing clear: Dumbledore is not evil. This doesn't mean he's infallible, or that he will always do the right thing, but he is genuinely trying to help. There's a lot of hatred for Dumbledore in fanfics, with people denouncing him as either a manipulative bastard or a complete monster whose only interest in Harry is as a weapon against Voldemort and who uses "it's for the Greater Good" as a universal excuse for everything he does. I don't agree with this characterization at all. For all his flaws (and he does have several), Dumbledore is ultimately benevolent, and will be treated as such in my stories.

And, since this is shaping up to be one of my longer author's notes anyway, I'd like to address a few more things that I've had comments about over the months:

My goal here is not necessarily to make a universe that's inherently "better" or "worse" than the canon one. A lot of AU fanfics in the Harry Potter fandom try to change things up to make Harry's (or, more rarely, another character's) situation better than it is in canon; thanks to a few changes here and there he's stronger, or happier, or more equipped to deal with Voldemort, or has more friends, or "better" friends, or a "better" love interest. Whatever the change, it's usually because the author sees a problem in canon and sets out to fix it. That's not what I'm doing here; I'm not going to say "Harry's life would have been so much better if Ron was a girl," because that's hardly realistic. Things would obviously be different; but I hope I've shown that some of the changes have been for the better while others have been for the worse.

Also, I'm not interested in just re-hashing canon, because... Well, you all know the canon story. If you wanted to read that, you would have read the books, right? You know how the original story goes. I'm much more interested in seeing if I can introduce some twists of my own and keep the fic from becoming too predictable.

As for pairings... I'm not planning any in particular. The main characters are eleven (or twelve in Hermione's case), which means they're just entering the age when a lot of kids start to feel that there's something about the opposite sex, but don't really want to admit that to themselves or each other just yet. Which is why there's the occasional awkward shyness between Ronnie and Neville, and to a lesser extent between Ronnie and Harry - and of course why Hermione felt so mortified at Snape's mention of being "seduced." Doesn't mean there's any actual romance going on; it'll be a few years still before any of Potter's Gang are ready for that sort of thing. And who knows what might happen in the meantime?

And that's all for now.

10. Questions, Lessons and Stories

'm overwhelmed. A hundred reviews! One. Hundred Reviews. That's a three-digit number. I've never had a hundred reviews for anything I've done before! So a big thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and an extra special thank you to Lord Ultimus, who wrote review number 100!

(And to those of you who haven't reviewed - don't worry about it. While it's always nice to hear what people think about my work, and I appreciate every review, I never agreed with the "review every fic you read" policy. Sometimes you plain don't have anything to say, and I'd rather have a review that you left because you wanted to, than one you left because you felt you had to.)

WEASLEY GIRL

Based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling

CHAPTER TEN
Questions, Lessons and Stories

To Harry's immense relief, when the story of Snape and Quirrell was told to the other students, a number of details was left out.

When Professor McGonagall addressed the Gryffindors in their common room, all she said was that the staff had reason to believe that Professor Quirrell had been the one to let in the troll on Halloween, and that he had been — or at least believed himself to be — possessed by and acting on the orders of You-Know-Who. Furthermore, Professor Snape had either been kidnapped by Quirrell or gone with him of his own free will, and both these Professors were currently missing, possibly using an Invisibility Cloak to hide.

Nothing whatsoever about the involvement of Potter's Gang.

"And until the two Professors have been located," said McGonagall sternly, looking at all the members of her house, "None of you are to go out looking for Professor Quirrell or Professor Snape. I know what some of you are thinking —" (and a number of older Gryffindors suddenly looked either very innocent or very nonchalant) "— but going off looking for two potentially very dangerous men is not brave, and it is not the actions of a true Gryffindor."

"But, Professor," said one of the second-years hopefully. "If we happen to spot them, and if we happen to be holding our wands at the time, and we happen to get the drop on them..."

"In that very unlikely event, Mister McLaggen, there are two possible outcomes," said McGonagall. "Either you get out of the area as soon as possible and inform a teacher, or you foolishly try to engage two of the most skilled wizards at this school and are promptly subdued and possibly killed for your trouble. This is not a game."

Mister McLaggen did not seem altogether convinced, but didn't comment further.

As it turned out, on the whole the majority of the students at Hogwarts took the news fairly well. In fact, Harry was surprised to learn that the common reaction was not the utter terror he'd expected from how nearly everyone in the wizarding world panicked from the mere mention of Voldemort's name, but more a mild concern and annoyance at the inconvenience, and even a few comments that this was all "kind of exciting."

(The strongest reaction by far came from Oliver Wood, and that was in response to the announcement that while lessons would resume as normal, all outdoors activity, including Quidditch, was cancelled until this situation was cleared up. "This year was going to be our big year!" the Quidditch captain howled. "The year when Gryffindor finally won the Quidditch Cup! And now we can't even play!")

Because, as it turned out, most of the students didn't believe for a moment that Voldemort was actually possessing Quirrell. They found it much more likely that the Defense Teacher had finally gone off his rocker.

"It was bound to happen," one sixth-year Ravenclaw commented, summing up the general opinion among students. "The way he was jumping at everything, it was obvious either his heart would stop working or his brain would. As for Snape... well, he's Snape, isn't he? It was only a question of time before he revealed that he was up to no good."

Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws alike agreed. There were even some quiet sniggerings at the thought that Snape (easily the least popular teacher in school) may have been kidnapped.

What the Slytherins thought, Harry didn't know, because they refused to talk about it at all.

As the days and weeks passed, things seemed to settle down in some kind of routine again, though it was a slightly different routine than before. With the cancellation of the outdoors activities, the students were barely allowed outside the castle at all, and the schoolgrounds and Quidditch pitch lay completely unused.

Another marked change was in Percy, Fred and George. They were among the few who did believe that Voldemort was back, and so they had decided that they were going to keep an eye out for their little sister no matter if she wanted them to or not.

"Honestly," Ronnie complained. "You make it sound like I went 'At last, a chance to get myself killed!' and painted a target on my chest before I ran off to call You-Know-Who names! It wasn't like that!"

"Even so," said Percy, "despite me pleading with you to take it easy, you keep behaving recklessly and irresponsibly —"

"It was really my fault," said Neville. "I was the one who went off to practice —"

"Please, Neville, let's not go through all that again," said Hermione. "Percy, Neville was missing and there was a troll running about!"

"Yeah!" said Ronnie. "What did you expect us to do, just ignore that Neville was in danger?"

"You could have told a teacher," said Percy. "You could have told me, I was right there!"

"You were busy organising everyone," said Ronnie sullenly.

"Now you're just making excuses!"

"I'd blame the three of you for leading our dear sister out into danger," said Fred, looking mock-sternly at Harry, Hermione and Neville. "But I know her too well to even begin thinking she wouldn't have gone anyway. Besides, you're all first-years. How well do we remember when we were young and foolish —"

"You're getting a bit deep again, brother," said George.

"Actually, I'm just saying a lot of random things in the hope of sounding profound. Is it working?"

"Will you two stop it!" Percy snapped. "Ronnie could have died! Don't you even care?"

Fred and George looked taken aback at Percy's outburst, Fred raising his hands defensively. "Relax, Percy," he said. "We're just joking around! Of course we care!"

"You have a peculiar way of showing it," Percy huffed. "Nevertheless, Ronnie, as your older brothers, we can't allow you to roam around unsupervised, not if Dark wizards are out there and targeting you."

"She's not going to be unsupervised," said Hermione carefully. "Professor Dumbledore —"

"— has an entire school to take care of," said Percy. "I'm certain he'd appreciate a pair of extra eyes and a helping wand."

Harry remembered that he'd said something very similar when he'd shown up for their first flying lesson — and apparently, so did Ronnie.

"I don't need a babysitter!" she snapped. "And even if I did, do you really think You-Know-Who would let you stop him? 'Aaah, there she is, the Weasley girl'" she hissed, in a surprisingly good imitation of Voldemort's ice-cold voice. "'Now I have her in my — oh, wait, what's that? Oh no! A fifteen-year-old Prefect! I must run away at once!'"

Despite himself, Harry laughed, which earned him an annoyed glare from both Percy and Hermione.

"Why is it," Percy grumbled, "that no-one in this family can take anything seriously?"

"Probably because you used up the family quota of seriousness when you were born, so there was none left for the rest of us," said Fred.

"Listen," said George, looking first at Ronnie, then over at Harry, Neville and Hermione. "No matter how you look at it, and what did and didn't happen, the fact remains that Weasleys stick up for each other, and Gryffindors take care of their own. Ronnie's a Weasley, and the rest of you are Gryffindors. So we're going to keep an eye on you all, no matter if you want us to or not. Sorry, that's just how it is."

Ronnie muttered something inaudible, but didn't protest.

As the days passed, and as Harry quickly discovered, the Weasley brothers were serious about looking after them; wherever he and his friends went in the castle, Fred and George (who knew the many secret passageways of the school better than anyone and could appear just about anywhere at a moment's notice) would never be far away. In fact, they had an uncanny ability to know exactly where everyone was at any given time, though they refused to say just how they managed this.

Percy, in the meantime, had taken it upon himself to keep an eye on things in the common room. He lost quite a bit of goodwill with both Ronnie and the twins by insisting that all Weasleys — and by extension Potters, Grangers and Longbottoms — should all do their homework together after dinner.

"We'd consider refusing that part," George sadly confessed to Harry, "but Mum's always on about how we have to study more, and take care of our sister, and Fred and I are already in trouble with her over the entire Draught of Living Death episode and — er — a few other harmless mishaps she may have had a few letters from Hogwarts about."

"But your Mum's not even here," Harry had to point out.

"No, but Percy's a snitch if ever there was one," said George. "He writes a letter home every week, haven't you noticed? I think Mum and Dad know more about what's going on at Hogwarts than we do. But, well, they haven't insisted on taking us out of school so far, so that's something."

And so, for the next few weeks, Potter's Gang spent an extraordinary amount of time with the Weasley brothers. Which was mostly okay by Harry; Fred and George were always good for a laugh and Percy, while pompous and more bossy than Hermione, was helpful and knowledgeable about a lot of things.

However, well, it might be a little too much at times.

Even Hermione, who had been the Weasley brothers' biggest adevocate when Ronnie started to complain about them, started to agree that they might be getting a little bit smothering. It was impossible to really find a moment to themselves anymore, because Percy, Fred and George were always around.

And they weren't the only ones keeping an eye on Potter's Gang, either, though the others were at least much less intrusive.

While nobody saw Dumbledore other than at mealtimes, the children would occasionally catch a glimpse of Fawkes, either flying past a window or perched on a windowsill and peeking in. Once or twice, the phoenix even came in to perch on Ronnie's shoulder for a while and let himself be admired by any students who happened to be nearby before he took off and remained out of sight for the rest of the day.

Mad-Eye Moody remained at Hogwarts, lurking around the corridors and occasionally startling unsuspecting students with his sudden appearances and cries of "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Sometimes he vanished and wasn't seen for days (and Harry suspected that these were the times he had received leads from his colleagues about the whereabouts of Voldemort), and then he would be back again with no explanation as to where he had been.

As if all this wasn't enough, there was the Warning Fangs that Moody had given to Potter's Gang — though these proved to be not as much use as Harry might have hoped. Yes, the Fangs could detect malicious intent from those around, but couldn't tell the difference between someone who had murder on their mind, someone who just didn't like the bearer and someone who just wanted to play a prank.

This led to one of the more embarrassing scenes during the month of November, when Potter's Gang were just leaving Charms class when the Fangs suddenly grew hot, and Neville panicked. He pulled his want out and began firing curses at their attacker — who proved to be Peeves the Poltergeist, lurking in the shadows with water balloons ready for the throw.

Neville's ineffective curses did not hurt Peeves at all, but somehow managed to turn his hat into a very pink, very feminine sun bonnet (which, as Hermione said later, would have been a very impressive display of Transfiguration if it had been on purpose).

As revenge for his ruined hat, Peeves chased Potter's gang all the way back to Gryffindor Tower, hurling water balloons and other random items at them, even as Neville kept yelling apologies at him.

With all this going on, Harry didn't really get a chance to discuss everything he had learned about Snape, Voldemort and Quirrell with his friends. Though Dumbledore had answered some of his questions, there were so many others that still needed answering, but which Harry didn't feel he should talk about in front of Percy, Fred and George. It wasn't that he didn't trust the Weasley brothers, it was more that, well, he didn't think they needed any sort of reason to get more protective than they already were.

The only one he could really talk with undisturbed was Neville, as the two shared a dorm room and could at least grab the chance to talk when Dean and Seamus weren't around. Still, as it turned out, Hemione had her methods of sharing her thoughts indirectly.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER:
1: Is Snape evil?
2: How was he involved in the deaths of Harry's parents?
3: Why does Dumbledore trust him?
4: What made Dumbledore promise not to reveal his reason for trusting Snape?
5: Who did he make that promise to? Was it Snape, or someone else?
6: What was Quirrell/Voldemort doing in the Forbidden Forest?
7: What is the thing that Fluffy is guarding that Quirrell/Voldemort wants?
8: How does the Mirror of Erised tie into all this?

Harry looked up from the parchment to see Neville's anxious face. They were both sitting on Neville's bed, having grabbed the opportunity while Dean and Seamus were off somewhere else in the castle.

"Can't say Hermione isn't thorough," said Harry. "When'd she give you this?"

"During Potions," said Neville. "Hard to imagine Hermione ever passing notes during a lesson, but you know Binns, he didn't even notice."

Harry nodded and groaned internally. With Snape gone, and no substitute potions teacher having been found (according to rumour Dumbledore was in talks with with a new teacher to come in and substitute, but apparently there were details they couldn't quite agree on), Professor Binns had temporarily taken over the class.

Though the ghost had insisted that he'd been "quite the potioneer" while he was alive, it turned out that he taught Potions exactly the same way as he taught History of Magic: He'd glide into a classroom, barely noticing if the students were there or not, and then start lecturing in a monotone voice that could put even the most eager listener to sleep. He would continue talking until the lesson was over, upon which he would leave the room, never bothering with practical assignments. More often than not, he'd forget that he wasn't teaching History of Magic at the moment and would start talking about the goblin rebellion in 1612 or the creation of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.

"I suppose that's one good use for Potions, anyway," said Neville, obviously trying to lighten the mood, and immediately realising that he was making a bad job of it. "Er, I think what Hermione means for us to do is add our own thoughts and questions and then pass the parchment back to the girls so they can discuss it, and then they can write down what they think and so on."

"Hmm." Harry looked at the list again. It did seem a slightly awkward way of communicating, and he would much have preferred being able to talk to the girls in person about this, but there didn't seem to be any place where all four of them could gather without having Fred and George barge in on them. "Too bad we can't do this by magic. Or — can we?"

"I don't know," Neville admitted. "There are a lot of magical ways to talk to people, but I don't think we learn any of them this year."

"Oh. Never mind then." Trying to pretend he wasn't disappointed, Harry looked back down at Hermione's question list - and then he remembered something. "Wait," he said. "I think I know part of the answer to question number seven!"

"You do?" Neville looked surprised. "Wait, which one's number seven, again?"

"The one about what Fluffy's guarding," said Harry. "I don't know for certain, but I think I've seen the thing. Well, not the thing itself, but — look, on my birthday, when I was with Hagrid at Diagon Alley to shop for school things, we stopped by Gringotts! And Hagrid got something out of one of the vaults that he said he was fetching for Dumbledore. He wouldn't tell me what it was, only that it was secret Hogwarts business."

"Gringotts... I think that reminds me of something," Neville muttered. "If only I could remember what. What was it Hagrid got?"

"Just a brown paper bag, about this big." Harry showed with his hands. "Didn't look very full either. Any idea what it could be?"

Neville shrugged helplessly. "Could be any number of things, really. Oh!" he suddenly exclaimed, his eyes widening. "Harry! I remember what it was about Gringotts! Someone broke in there this Summer!"

"Isn't that supposed to be impossible?" said Harry, remembering the goblins and all the nasty security procedures that had been more than implied to him.

"Yeah, but they did it anyway! And," Neville continued, "they didn't manage to get what they were after because the vault they broke into had been emptied the same day! When's your birthday?"

"July the thirty-first," said Harry.

"Mine's the day before. Wow, I didn't know I was a day older than — no, forget that right now. What I was going to say was that the Gringotts happened on July the thirty-first!" Neville was so worked up he was practically jumping up and down. "I remember the date because Gran and I always visit my parents in St. Mungo's on the day after my birthday, and everybody was talking about it..."

Harry took a deep breath as this sank in. "I'll tell you something else, then," he said. "I know for a fact that Quirrell was in Diagon Alley at the time. I met him at the Leaky Cauldron."

Neville stopped almost jumping up and down. "Can't be a coincidence, can it?!" he said. "If Quirrell and You-Know-Who wanted this thing so badly they broke into Gringotts... And now the same thing is here at Hogwarts..." He trailed off. "But that must mean Hagrid knows what it is that You-Know-Who is after!"

"All the teachers know," said Harry. "Remember we heard Flitwick and Snape talk about it after Flitwick had knocked out the troll?"

"Oh yeah..." said Neville. "I'm afraid my memory's not very good when it comes to details. I can't even remember what I had for breakfast this morning."

"Well, er," said Harry, who at the moment couldn't remember what he'd had for breakfast either (had the eggs and bacon been today or yesterday?). "I suppose some things just stick with me. We should write this down, by the way. Got a quill?"

"What about the rest of the questions?" said Neville as he rummaged around in search of one. "Anything else you remember?"

"Hermione seems to think the Mirror of Erised is involved somehow," Harry muttered. "Dunno why."

"It was in Snape's office," said Neville. "Maybe she thinks he... saw a way to get to whatever it was in the Mirror? No, that doesn't make sense..."

"Maybe —" Harry began, but was interrupted by the sound of someone entering the dorm room. He managed to roll up the parchment just in time before Dean and Seamus came in, making so much noise that it sounded more like ten boys entering instead of just two.

"Hey!" Dean called to Harry and Neville, either ignoring or just not noticing the parchment. "Have you heard it?"

"Er — heard what?" said Harry.

"Defence against the Dark Arts is back on!" said Dean. "There was a notice about it on the board in the entrance hall! And get this - it's going to be in the Great Hall, and for all students at the same time!"

"What, all of us?" said Harry. He couldn't imagine why anyone would think this would be a good idea; surely any lesson that would be of any use to the older students would be much too advanced for the younger students?

"First-years to seventh-years!" Seamus grinned. "But that's not all! Guess who the teacher's gonna be!"

"Right!" said Mad-Eye Moody, his magical eye rolling eerily around in its socket and scanning the students assembled in the Great Hall. His voice echoed around the Hall, much louder than it should have. "Welcome to this extra Defence lesson. Since that traitor Quirrell is out there with Voldemort —" (several students gasped and winced at the mentioning of the name) "— I'm here to teach you a thing or two about not dying."

The students, seated by their respective house tables, were all watching Moody with a mix of curiosity, intimidation, exasperation and — in the case of some of the older students, particularly Slytherins — annoyance.

"I know what some of you are thinking," said Moody. "Mad-Eye Moody's gone paranoid in his old age. It's in all the papers; old Mad-Eye was forced to retire from the Auror force because he couldn't tell the difference between friend of foe anymore, so why should you take anything he says seriously?"

Harry noticed that a couple of students exchanged glances as if this was exactly what they had been thinking.

"Well, let me tell you something," Moody continued in a calm tone. "The Aurors are Britain's elite force against the Dark Arts and those who practice them. The Auror office accepts only the best, and every single Auror has to pass a number of fiendishly difficult tests and then go through three years of intensive training before they're even allowed out in the field." He paused for a second, and then with sudden and surprising force, he exclaimed: "And yet more than half of them ultimately end up DEAD because they got careless!"

Moody limped a few strides over the stone floor, his wooden leg making loud "thunk-thunk-thunk" noises for each step. "I didn't get this leg, or this eye, because I thought they would go well with my furniture," he continued, calmer again. "Constant. Vigilance. All it takes — all it takes — is a moment's carelessness. You might say to yourself that you're safe, that your protections are infallible, but they're not. You can't rule out anything as impossible. Everyone said it was impossible to break into Gringotts, and yet someone did exactly that this very summer. Just because something has never been done before doesn't mean some clever bugger won't ever figure out a way to do it! And!" He spun around, fastening his magical eye at a random third-year Hufflepuff,. "Don't ever think you are untouchable. Nobody is so great and powerful that he can't be brought down, and nobody is so weak and insignificant that he can't be noticed and targeted. But —" (he took a few steps towards the Hufflepuff boy, who looked nervous) "— nobody is so helpless that he can't give himself a chance to survive when he needs it. What's your name, boy?"

"Er — Diggory, sir. Cedric Diggory," said the Hufflepuff.

"Diggory," Moody repeated. "Ah, yes, of course, Amos Diggory's son. So, Diggory — say a Dark wizard suddenly gets the drop on you and raises his wand to throw a curse at you. Split-second decision. What do you do?"

"I —" Diggory gulped. "I suppose I could use a Shield Charm?"

"Mmm, yes, you could," said Moody, as if willing to give Diggory half a point. "But Shield Charms are notoriously difficult to pull off, and the most powerful curses can go right through them."

"A Disarming Charm," said Diggory hurriedly. "He can't curse me if I remove his wand!"

"Better," Moody nodded. "But only if you're quick enough. Remember, the Dark Wizard has the drop on you."

"I could counter the curse," said Diggory, obviously thinking like mad. "Most curses have their counter-curses!"

"True enough, and you could," Moody agreed. "But not all curses can be countered." He turned from Diggory to look around the Hall. "Anyone else?"

Ronnie carefully raised a hand. "Kick 'im in the balls?" she suggested, turning pink when more than half the students groaned, several of the older ones repressed laughter, and Percy shot her a disapproving look.

"Oh, brilliant, Weasley!" said Draco Malfoy from the Slytherin table, his voice filled with scorn. "Trust you to fight like a filthy Muggle."

But Moody spun around, snarling. "Right, who said that?!" he snapped.

The Slytherin table suddenly got very quiet.

Moody glared at them, and then his magical eye fell on Malfoy. "Oh yes," he said. "Draco Malfoy, if I'm not mistaken. Son of Lucius Malfoy and grandson of Abraxas Malfoy. Yes, your family's quite well-known. One of the oldest, richest, most influential Pureblood families in the country. Your father's even the chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Governors."

(This was news to Harry, but it did perhaps explain why Malfoy so often walked around Hogwarts as if he owned the place.)

Malfoy didn't answer, though he did meet Moody's glare.

"Well, you're a fool if you think any of that makes you untouchable," said Moody. "The world is full of people who won't care who your father is if you get in their way. Especially if you shoot your mouth off like that."

Malfoy was slowly turning red and clenching his fists, but he remained silent.

"For your information," said Moody, raising his voice again. "Weasley's suggestion wasn't such a bad one." He turned around again, now addressing the entire student body. "If you can't block or counter the curse, you need to be prepared to use other methods, even if it involves fighting dirty. Yes, even if it means getting physical, Muggle-style!"

Ignoring the glare from Malfoy (and the cautiously pleased grin from Ronnie), he moved away from the Slytherin table, slowly at first but then all of a sudden he was over at the Ravenclaw table, faster than he should have been able to move with that wooden leg. "There are three curses," he continued, "known as the Unforgiveables. They are among the Darkest magic in existence, and using any one of them on a fellow human being — wizard or Muggle, understand?! — will earn you a nice, permanent home in prison. And believe me, Azkaban is not a place you ever want to see the inside of!"

The majority of the Ravenclaws cowered, but whether if was thanks to the subject matter or Just Moody's presence was hard to say.

"But a Dark wizard, he won't care about that, he'll use Unforgiveables on you if he can," said Moody. "And right now, we have one of the Darkest ones on the loose, one who's a master of all three curses. Now, the older among you will know about these curses —" (he took a step back from the Ravenclaw table and once again let his magical eye swipe the entire room, taking in everyone and everything) "— but most of the younger will not. The Ministry thinks you're not ready to know. But I say, what you don't know can kill you! So for the benefit of those not yet in the know, can anyone name at least one of the three Unforgiveables?"

Several students raised their hands, and to Harry's surprise, Neville (who usually never volunteered information in class) was one of them.

"Longbottom," said Moody, nodding at him.

Harry got another surprise when Neville spoke — he'd thought Neville would mention the Imperius curse, the one Moody himself had told them about. But instead, Neville said, in a timid voice: "There's Crucio — the Cruciatus curse."

"Yes," said Moody, nodding. "Also known as the Torture Curse. It inflicts pain on its victims. Horrible, excruciating pain. Pain worse than anything you have ever felt. The Cruciatus can be resisted, but not easily. Better wizards than me have failed and been driven irrevocably mad from the torture."

Something stirred within Harry. Neville had said his parents had been tortured and gone mad from it. Was that the curse that had been used on them? If so... no wonder Neville looked so pale right now. He would have grown up knowing about that curse and what it could do to people.

The entire room was eerily quiet now. Everyone was hanging onto Moody's words.

"Anyone know another Unforgiveable?" said Moody, breaking the spell. "Yes, you, in the back."

"The Imperius curse," said one of the seventh-year Ravenclaw girls. "It places the victim under the caster's complete control."

"Textbook answer," said Moody, though whether he meant that as a compliment or not was hard to tell. "Yes, it's the curse that allows you to operate people like puppets. It's the sneakiest of all the Unforgiveables. For one thing, it's the hardest to detect. The person next to you might be under the curse and you'd never know it!"

The students all looked at each other. Several of them visibly shuddered.

"There are telltale signs, that you all need to look out for," said Moody. "Uncharacteristic behaviour is one, of course. Someone with glazed, milky eyes or behaving like they're intoxicated or in a trance might indicate that they're under a a poorly- or hastily-cast Imperius. But a properly-cast Imperus, where the caster is given enough time, can be almost impossible to notice. And unlike the Cruciatus curse, the Imperius curse doesn't need constant wand contact and doesn't have any kind of time limits. I've known of poor sods who were under the Imperius for years, helplessly under someone else's control. Doing all sorts of horrible things, completely unable to stop themselves."

He looked at the students solemnly. "Now, the Imperius too can be resisted. Again, not easily, but a person with a sufficiently strong will can fight it off. The third and final curse, however, can not be resisted — who can name that curse? Yes, you!"

"Avada Kedavra," said a fifth-year Slytherin, with no visible emotion. "The Killing Curse."

"The Killing Curse," said Moody. "Does exactly what the name says. You're hit by one of these, you're dead. Instantly. There's no counter-curse, no Shield Charm strong enough to resist it. Only one person in living memory has been hit by the Killing Curse and survived. We don't know how he did it, but he's sitting right there."

Harry felt all eyes in the room direct towards him. "Er..." he said, uncertain how to react to this. It had been the Killing Curse then, that claimed the life of both his parents, and the vague image he could sometimes catch in his dreams... "Excuse me," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, "but does this curse involve green light?"

Moody's normal eye kept focused on Harry while his magical eye rolled around in its socked. "Yes," he growled. "The Killing Curse is visible as a flash of green light."

For a moment, Harry was certain that Moody was going to ask why he wanted to know this — but no, after a long look at him the man simply turned around again and raised his voice, addressing the entire student body. "Now, because the Killing Curse has no known counter-curse, passes right through all Shield Charms, and its effect is instantaneous, it's been wrongly classified as unblockable." He sneered. "Which goes to show what they know. The Killing Curse has one weakness; It can't pass through physical objects. It might shatter or destroy them, but it will stop there. So if you're up against that curse, get as many physical objects between yourself and the caster as possible, because if that flash of green light should hit you, any part of you, that's it for you."

He smiled, rather bitterly. "Your only chance then would be that you happen to be the next Harry Potter and somehow miraculously survive. But I wouldn't trust to those chances if I were you."

To say that Mad-Eye Moody's teachings changed the lives of the Hogwarts students would be a gross exaggeration. After the first extraordinary Defence lessons, the next were sporadic, and Moody kept vanishing for days at a time — but everyone had to agree that for such an absent and frankly paranoid Defence instructor, Moody was still vastly superior to Quirrell.

There may even be one or two students who were less certain than before that Voldemort couldn't be back, and there were notably less complaints about the lack of outdoors activities, though Oliver Wood still loudly mourned the continued absence of Quidditch.

November came and went. The parchment with questions were passed back and forth between the male and female members of Potter's Gang several times, but it became depressingly obvious that none of them were getting any closer to finding any sort of answers. And still Quirrell and Snape were gone.

Meanwhile, the weather grew colder and colder, the mountains surrounding the school became icy grey, the lake froze and frost was covering the grounds every morning — until the morning in mid-December, when Hogwarts woke to find the grounds covered in several feet of snow.

Now that winter had officially arrived, a few of the negative sides of living in such an old building were making themselves known in full: The Hogwarts castle was ancient and most of the rooms drafty and poorly-isolated. While the common rooms and the Great Hall were kept nice and warm thanks to continuous roaring fires, the corridors were freezing and several places icicles formed on the ceilings, providing Peeves with a new game: breaking off as many icicles as he could and drop them right in front of unsuspecting students in order to startle them.

The classrooms were a little better than the corridors, though students tended to dress extra warmly for lessons these days. Worst by far was Potions, because the dungeons were almost unbearably cold, which of course Professor Binns completely ignored as he showed up to teach.

"Won't I be glad to return to the Muggle world at Christmas," said Dean Thomas as Gryffindors and Slytherins alike huddled together in clutches for warmth. "Central heating! I never knew what a marvellous thing that was until I didn't have it!"

"Muggle central heating," sneered Malfoy, who wasn't even bothering to listen to Binns's drone. "You people live like animals. I'd offer to show you my home at Christmas, Thomas, just to demonstrate how civilized people live — but it would be wasted on someone like you." He turned to give Harry a cool glance. "I would feel sorry for those who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home, but then I realised that most of them don't even have real homes."

After his dressing-down by Mad-Eye Moody in front of the entire school, Malfoy had grown even sulkier and more inclined to snap at people — probably trying to re-insert some form of superiority — and being Malfoy, he tended to go for the easy targets. Harry's lack of family was always a winner, as was Ronnie's lack of money, Neville's low school performance and Hermione's Muggle heritage.

And it was true that all of Potter's Gang were staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. When Professor McGonagall had come around the week before to make a list of all the students who would be staying for the holidays, she had implored that Potter's Gang all stay at Hogwarts this year, for security reasons.

This was fine with Harry and Ronnie. Harry hadn't been planning on going back to Privet Drive unless he absolutely had to, and the Weasleys were also staying anyway, since their parents were going to visit Charlie in Romania.

Neville and Hermione were disappointed, though; they had both been looking forward to seeing their families for the holidays , but McGonagall had promised to personally visit both Hermione's parents and Neville's grandmother to explain ("Don't tell them about Voldemort!" Hermione had begged. "They wouldn't understand, they'd take me out of Hogwarts!"), and Harry had offered to lend them Hedwig, so they could at least send letters home.

Still, both Hermione and Neville were a little subdued as they left the dungeons at the end of Potions — but they soon got other things to think about as they suddenly and unexpectedly found a gigantic fir tree, of all things, blocking the corridor ahead.

It turned out to be Hagrid carrying the tree up to the Great Hall.

"All righ', you four?" he huffed, peeking out from between the branches. "Chin up, Christmas is comin'!"

"Would you mind getting out of the way?" said Malfoy, who was coming up from behind them. "I get that you enjoy spending your times with brutes and savages, but at least have the decency to do it somewhere where your superiors aren't walking!"

"Right, that's it!" Ronnie snarled, and thew herself at Malfoy. She would probably have knocked him to the ground if Neville and Hermione hadn't had the presence of mind to grab her arms and hold her back. "Let go!" she demanded, struggling to get free. "C'mon, Malfoy! You and me! I'll kick your arse so hard —!"

Malfoy, who for once wasn't accompanied by Crabbe or Goyle, took a step back. "You're barking mad, Weasley!" he snapped, though he didn't quite mange to get the usual amount of venom in his voice. "I'll see you expelled from this school if it's the last thing I do — you and the rest of Potter's Gang!"

"Say, Fred, did you just hear a Malfoy make idle threats?" came a sudden voice from the other side of the tree.

"I did, George, but I wouldn't take it too seriously. It's how Malfoys breathe, after all."

As was their habit, the Weasley twins had shown up out of nowhere, and now they came out from behind the tree, looking at Malfoy with disdain.

Malfoy looked at the gathered crowd. "One of these days," he hissed. "You'll be sorry. You'll pay. The lot of you." With that, he turned and slinked away as fast as he could while still trying to make it look like he wasn't running.

"I could have taken him," Ronnie growled.

"An' he woulda reported you, and you would get inter trouble for fightin'," said Hagrid from somewhere between the branches of the fir tree. "Jus' as well tha' Neville an' Hermione stopped yeh."

"He's right," said George. "You've got to learn to control that temper of yours, dear sister."

"Or at least learn to pick your battles," said Fred. "Hey, Neville, you dropped this." He bent over and picked up a piece of parchment that had fallen out of Neville's pocket. "Er - 'questions to consider'?" he read out loud. "'One, is Snape evil?' What's this? Wait, what's the Mirror of Es... Mirror of 'Ess-ired'?" he said, completely mangling the pronunciation. "No, wait, it's Err-ised..."

"That's ours!" Ronnie yelped, rushing over to her brother to try and snatch the parchment away from him.

"Ere now, what's this?" said Hagrid, his huge shaggy head poking out from within the tree branches. "Din't I tell yeh not ter bother abou' that Mirror? 'Sides, it's bin put in the - I mean, it's long gone by now."

But Harry saw the opportunity. "Hagrid," he said. "That thing Quirrell and Voldemort are after —" (he ignored the winces at the mention of the name) "— the thing that Fluffy's guarding. It's the same thing you fetched from Gringotts this Summer, isn't it?"

Hagrid gaped. "How the devil did yeh —?" he began, but then gathered himself. "Listen, Harry. All o' yeh. I get that yer worried abou' what migh' happen, with Quirrell, an' — an' You-Know-Who an' all, but yeh got ter trust Dumbledore! He won' let that Stone get inter the hands o' —"

"Stone?!" everyone chorused.

"I din't say that," said Hagrid, looking mortified. "I absolutely did not say that."

"But Hagrid, what kind of stone —" Hermione began.

"Not sayin'. Not tellin' yeh any more," said Hagrid. "Shouldn'ta told yeh that much in the firs' place. Now please, drop it. I'm off ter put this tree up in the Great Hall. Final touch on the Christmas decorations, it'll look a treat. See yeh later." With that, he withdrew his head back into the tree branches and hurried off, tree and all.

Feeling awkward and slightly guilty about the entire thing, Harry watched him leave. He liked Hagrid and didn't want to put him on the spot like this, but... at the same time, it was getting frustrating that nobody wanted to tell him what was going on.

"What's this all about, anyway?" said Fred, holding out the parchment. "You-Know-Who's after a stone?"

"Heh, maybe it's the Resurrection Stone," George smirked.

"Er, what's the Resurrection Stone?" said Harry, deciding to focus on this rather than on Hagrid.

He wasn't sure how he'd expected the Weasleys to react, but he definitely hadn't expected all three of them to stare at him as if he'd asked what the Sun was or what colour grass had. "The Resurrection Stone!" George repeated. "You know, The Tale of the Three Brothers?"

Harry shook his head in confusion.

"Beedle the Bard!" said George , as if this should mean anything to Harry.

Harry shook his head again, and was surprised to see that Hermione, of all people, was looking completely blank as well.

"Er, you know, Harry and Hermione grew up in the Muggle world," said Neville. "Maybe Muggles don't have Beedle the Bard?"

"What?" said Ronnie. "No, that's impossible, everybody knows Beedle the Bard!"

"What on Earth are you talking about?!" said Hermione impatiently.

"Beedle the Bard! C'mon, Beedle the Bard!" said Ronnie, apparently under the impression that repeating the name often enough would make Hermione know all about it. When this tactic failed, she amended: "The bloke who wrote all the old kids' stories? Babbitty Rabbitty? The Hopping Pot? The Warlock's Hairy Heart?...The Fountain of Fair Fortune, I even told you that one back when we were in the Hospital wing, remember?"

"Er..." Hermione clearly didn't like being the ignorant one for once.

"So they're wizard fairy tales, then?" said Harry. "Like, er, Cinderella?"

Ronnie blinked. "Cinderella? What's that, a disease?"

"Look, the Resurrection Stone is in an old kids' story called The Tale of the Three Brothers," said George hurriedly. "It's a stone with the power to call the dead back to life! I just mentioned it as a joke, it doesn't actually exist!"

Harry felt his heart skip a beat. "But if it did," he said, "it would be extremely valuable, right? And Voldemort would want it, wouldn't he?"

George was so confused he didn't even flinch at the mention of the name. "Well, yeah, I suppose he would? But it really is just a story, Harry."

"Until my eleventh birthday, I thought magic was just a story," said Harry. His head swam with the possibilities. Was it possible — was it possible that the grubby package from Gringotts had contained the Resurrection Stone? Could it be here at Hogwarts, right now? That could mean — it could mean that if he could... he could see his parents again, for real and not just as an image in a mirror. Maybe he could call them back to life, and go live with them, and be free of the Dursleys forever...

"Ronnie, if we go back to the common room now, can you tell me that story?" he asked. "I want to know about the Resurrection Stone."

"Of course," she answered, looking bewildered. "But Harry, are you certain that..."

"Hagrid said 'Stone'! We all heard him!" Harry was trying to not shout with the excitement. "And if I had a stone that could call the dead back to life, I'd keep it secret and in a safe place too! In fact —" Harry lowered his voice. "When I first asked Hagrid why we didn't tell Muggles about magic, he said it was because if we didn't, everyone would want magical solutions to all their problems! It would be the same with the Resurrection Stone, they'd keep it secret because everyone would want to call the dead back!"

The others stared at him.

"I think you're jumping to conclusions here," Fred finally said. "Mind you, personally I wouldn't have minded helping Muggles out with magical solutions to their problems, maybe in exchange for a small fee. Could've been a profitable business, that."

"All right, all right, maybe I am jumping to conclusions," Harry admitted, trying to get his enthusiasm under control. It was of course possible that he just wanted this to be true... but... "But what if I'm not? It could be the Resurrection Stone. It would fit everything we know about the thing so far: It's small, it's a stone, the ones who know about it want to keep it completely secret, Voldemort wants it —" He lowered his voice again. "Remember, Voldemort said he was just a shadow of his former self and had to use Quirrell as a body! He could want the Resurrection Stone to return fully back to life! It would make sense, wouldn't it?"

The others exchanged glances. Finally, Ronnie shrugged. "Make as much sense as anything, I suppose."

"Right. So, why don't we go back to the common room, and you can tell me the story."

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's notes: Yes, I know, I'm mean to get Harry's hopes up like that.

Oh, how many scenes I cut from this chapter in order to get the story to flow better. Among the cut scenes were an extended scene with Percy, Fred and George, one scene with Oliver Wood trying to convince Harry what a great game Quidditch is, and even a scene with Fay Dunbar that highlighted just how isolated the wizarding world is from the Muggle one when she casually mentioned she had never actually talked to a Muggle. I liked all these scenes, but ultimately they didn't add anything to the story.

When it comes to Mad-Eye's lesson on the Unforgiveables, you'll notice that it had some very obvious differences from how his impostor taught Defence against the Dark Arts. There are two reasons for this: The first, and most obvious reason is that I didn't want to just write a carbon copy of Moody's lesson from Goblet of Fire without adding a new spin to it, because where would the fun be in that? And the second, in-universe reason is that while Barty Crouch Jr. Could imitate Moody to perfection, even well enough to fool Dumbledore, he couldn't accurately predict his teaching methods - and even if he got the gist of them from the Imperiused Moody there would be details he missed, either accidentally or deliberately. After all, Muggle-hating Barty might have been loath to teach his students that Muggle-style fighting would ever be acceptable.

11. A Very Weasley Christmas

Well... I'm taking a few words off because of author's notes and such, but by now there can be no doubt: This story's officially longer than the first Harry Potter book. (If we count the early chapters from Philosopher's Stone, the parts before Harry first meets the Weasleys, as part of this story, it already has been longer for quite some time.) And we're just now reaching Christmas!

However, the end of the story is in sight - can't say exactly how many more chapters there'll be, but it's probably no more than three, and then the first Weasley Girl story will be finished! And after that, well, I've decided to follow the majority of readers and split the story up into individual school years. I've actually plotted out large parts of Year Two already, and it should be... interesting.

But enough about that. Let's start chapter eleven; Christmas is upon us!

WEASLEY GIRL

Based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling

CHAPTER ELEVEN
A Very Weasley Christmas

After hearing the story of the Three Brothers, Harry had to admit that it probably wasn't going to help as much as he'd hoped. Or, well, at all.

The story described how three brothers once met Death but escaped from dying, and so Death (apparently a sore loser) offered to give them each a gift. While he pretended this was a prize for besting Death, it was in reality a cunning trap to ensure the three brothers' death.

The oldest brother asked for a wand that always ensured its owner victory, the second oldest asked for the power to call the dead back to life (so that was where the Resurrection Stone came in), and the youngest, who was clever enough not to implicitly trust Death, asked for a way of making himself undetectable by Death himself, and so Death ("mentally cursing because he'd been outsmarted," said Ronnie) gave him an Invisibility Cloak.

The oldest brother foolishly began bragging to everyone that he had an unbeatable wand, so in the end another wizard murdered him while he slept and took the wand, and so Death got the oldest brother.

The second oldest brother used the Resurrection Stone to call back his fiancee from the dead, but apparently she didn't like being brought back because she didn't really belong in the world of the living anymore ("I never really got that part," Ronnie admitted), and so logically the second oldest brother killed himself instead, and so Death got the second oldest brother.

The youngest brother hid under his Invisibility Cloak for many years and became an old man, but then decided he'd lived long enough, took off the Cloak, gave it to his son ("Don't ask me how he had a son if he'd been invisible all his life," Ronnie added) and went with Death of his own free will.

"I told you it was only a story," said Ronnie, when she was done telling it. "Look, it's just one of those moral tales, you know, don't do what the two oldest brothers did."

"Right," said Harry, deciding to hide his disappointment with a joke. "So if I ever meet Death, I'll make sure not to ask him to give me an unbeatable wand. Thanks for the tip."

Ronnie and Neville both snorted, but Hermione looked disapproving. "That's not funny," she huffed. "Besides, if the Resurrection Stone is real, it obviously wasn't really a gift from Death. Much more likely that some extremely clever wizard or witch made it long ago, and then legends were spun around it and eventually the entire thing got turned into a story for children. Well," she added in a resigned tone. "Since I'm not going to go home to my parents for Christmas anyway, I might as well make the most of it and look through the library to see if I can find any mention of that Stone. Someone must have written something about it."

"Not if they wanted to keep it a secret," Ronnie pointed out.

"You'd be surprised how many secrets are hidden in books," said Hermione. "You'd know that if you ever bothered to read anything that wasn't about Quidditch or animals."

"Oy, that's not fair!" said Ronnie. "I sometimes read comics, too."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm certain that The Beano and Bunty are just filled with important information about the real world."

"The what?" Ronnie blinked. "Seriously, didn't you get any normal kids' stories or comics in the Muggle world? You know, like Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle or Loony Nonby v.s. Cornish Pixie or -"

"I've never heard of either of those," said Hermione with a bit of exasperation in her voice. "But unless any of them had information about the Resurrection Stone, which I doubt, I can't see how it matters here."

"All right, that's enough speculation for one night," said Percy, who had suddenly arrived from who-knows-where and was apparently not eager for them to continue along this track. "Anyone for chess?"

Ronnie groaned. "Percy, you know I hate chess!" she complained. "I can never remember how those horses are supposed to move and the pawns are always yelling at me, and besides, the way things have been going lately, Harry and Hermione probably don't know what chess is either."

"Ronnie, that's unfair!" said Hermione. "Chess is a Muggle invention! We're not completely uncultured just because we didn't grow up with Martin Miggs or Rabbitty Babbity or —"

"That's Babbitty Rabbitty!"

Harry decided to ignore the increasingly loud expressions of culture clash and instead let his thoughts go back to the Resurrection Stone. Despite the others expressing doubts, he was almost completely certain that it was the Resurrection Stone that was hidden underneath Fluffy's trapdoor, and that Voldemort, Quirrell and Snape were after it. What if he could get the Stone, call hos parents back to life... What would they be like? Would they be unhappy to be alive again, like the second brother's fiancee, or would they be glad to see him? He hoped it would be the latter.

But to both Harry's and her own disappointment, Hermione couldn't find anything in the Hogwarts library about the Resurrection Stone; the only book she could find that even mentioned it was an old copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard, which simply recounted the story of the Three Brothers.

Still... the next few nights, as Christmas drew nearer and most of the students went home for the holidays, Harry kept dreaming about his parents.

The dreams were almost always the same: He'd somehow (none of the dreams were clear on the details) managed to get the Resurrection Stone from Voldemort, and called them back — and there they were, just as he had seen them in the Mirror of Esired, smiling and hugging him tightly.

"Our son," they said. "We're so proud of you. We'll be together forever..."

But in the morning, he would wake up, and they were gone, and he was alone again.

On Christmas morning, he woke up from the smiling expressions of his parents, thinking that he'd heard something.

Sitting up in bed and reaching for his glasses, he wondered what could have woken him. Dean and Seamus had both gone home for the holidays, and Neville was still asleep. The last few days before Christmas had been blessedly quiet, with most of the students gone and no lessons, so what could have pulled him out of his happy dream?

Then he heard it again: Ronnie's voice, coming from down in the common room. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but she sounded excited about something — which was odd, because in the months he'd lived with her he had never known her to want to get up early, or to be this loud in the morning. Then again, he remembered, it was Christmas. Even Dudley got up early on Christmas, to get to his presents faster.

Wait, presents? Harry blinked at the small pile of parcels and packages at the foot side of his bed. They hadn't been there when he went to sleep. It was too good to be true — he'd been looking forward to a Christmas spent in pleasant company for once, and the food and the fun, but presents as well? He almost didn't dare to touch the parcels, in case it was some sort of trick or illusion...

There was Ronnie's voice again. And now he heard Fred, or possibly George, too. And then a number of other voices, voices he didn't recognise. It seemed like something noisy was going on in the common room, involving a lot of people. But who could it be, apart from Ronnie, Fred and George? It didn't sound like Snape or Voldemort...

Deciding that finding out what was going on was more important than presents at the moment, he got out of bed, hastily put on his dressing-gown, and hurried out the door and down the stairs.

And discovered that the common room was full of redheads.

All right, "full of," might be a slight exaggeration, but still there was a considerable number. There was Percy, looking frightfully smug as Fred and George were standing together with a balding, bespectacled man and a stocky, heavily muscled boy, and Ronnie was caught in a hug between a plump woman and a little girl - and after a few seconds, Harry recognized Ronnie's mother and sister from King's Cross.

George was the one who spotted Harry first. "Hey, Harry!" he called. "C'mon down and meet the family! It's a Weasley Christmas party!"

"Er — hi," said Harry, feeling a little self-conscious in his dressing-gown as all the Weasleys, both the ones he knew and the ones he didn't, raised their heads to look at him.

"Can you believe it?" said Ronnie, untangling herself from her mother and sister. "They just showed up! Percy knew all about it, the prat, he'd been planning this with them for weeks, even got Dumbledore's okay, and he never told us...!"

"Isn't Christmas meant to be the time for secrets and surprises?" said Percy, still looking rather smug.

"I can't believe it; pranked by Percy the Prefect!" said Fred, though he was grinning. "Keep this sort of thing up, Perce, and we might have to start admitting to people you're our brother!"

Percy just shook his head with an expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement, while Ronnie practically bounced up to Harry and grabbed his hand to drag him over to meet her family.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were, apart from the flaming red hair, very different from one another; Mrs. Weasley was short and plump with a broad face, while Mr. Weasley was tall and thin, balding and bespectacled — it was obvious that Ronnie and Percy had inherited their father's build (and in Percy's case, poor eyesight) while the rest of the Weasley kids present were more stocky like their mother. Both of them had warm eyes and smiles, though, and Harry liked them immediately.

"So nice to see you, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley. "Ronnie's told us all about you in her letters, of course."

"Yeah, she's told me about you too," said Harry, shaking Mr. Weasley's hand. "I thought you were going to Romania to see Charlie?"

"You're right, we were," said Mrs. Weasley. "But in light of everything that's happened —" she paused, and for a fraction of a second looked like she was uncertain what to say. But then she smiled again. "Well, we thought it would be better to stay in the country. So we managed to get Charlie to visit us instead."

"I managed to get a few days off from work," said the muscled boy, who had to be Charlie. He had a broad, good-natured face, with skin so weatherbeaten and freckled that he almost looked tanned. "By the way, Ronnie, you owe me ten Galleons for the journey — joking! Joking!" He held up his hands as Ronnie opened her mouth to protest, and then turned to shake Harry's hand. "Good to meet you, Harry. Charlie Weasley here; I'm the nutter who handles dragons for a living."

"And this is Ginny," said Ronnie, pushing forward a surprisingly-reluctant younger girl forward. "All the family's here, except for Bill, but he's too busy breaking curses in Egypt... C'mon, Ginny, you always said you wanted to meet Harry Potter! Say hello!"

The Weasley sisters didn't resemble one another much either, apart from the red hair and freckles; Ginny was much smaller than Ronnie, and — though Harry knew he would never say this out loud — much prettier, completely without the awkward and gangly features so prominent in the older sister. She also seemed, well, much more shy and quiet (which didn't at all match up with how he remembered her from Kings Cross, but he'd only seen her for a few minutes then).

Her eyes met Harry's for a brief moment, and then her face turned bright red and she looked down, apparently overcome with an intense interest in her shoes.

"Er, hi," said Harry, feeling extremely awkward. "So, er, Ronnie tells me you're starting Hogwarts next year?"

"Squeak," said Ginny (or at least that was what it sounded like to Harry) and refused to look back up at him.

"So... That's a yes?"

"Squeak."

"All right, Ginny, come on," said Ronnie, grabbing her sister's shoulders and leading her away from Harry. "You can come along to the dorms and help me wake up Hermione and Neville." Sorry about this, she mouthed over her shoulder to Harry.

Harry shrugged, not quite sure what to make of the situation but deciding that Ronnie would probably be better-equipped at taking care of Ginny than he would.

"So, Harry," said Mr. Weasley, a little louder than strictly necessary, "I hear you grew up with Muggles!"

"Er, yes, sir," said Harry, glad for the distraction.

"Fascinating, absolutely fascinating, how they live completely without magic," said Mr. Weasley. "All those inventions that I can't for the life of me figure out! For example, those fellytones — how Muggles can use them to talk to people in different countries, with no magic at all! Oh, but you must know all about such things, right? You've grown up surrounded by light switches and plugs and haccum-cleaners and food professors and all those other devices!"

Harry blinked. "Er —" he said again.

"Now, Arthur, don't overwhelm the poor boy," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Don't mind him, Harry," said Fred. "Dad's mad about Muggle things. Every time he meets a Muggle-born he'll start asking them about smellevisions and eckletricity and all that."

"Remember that one Muggle-born bloke who got so fed up with him that he started telling him all sorts of rubbish just to see what Dad would swallow?" said George.

"Oh yeah, what was his name? Ted Tonks?"

"Quit it, you two!" said Mrs. Weasley (but Mr. Weasley just chuckled and shook his head , and didn't seem to take offence). "It's a shame, really, how little we know about Muggles. I think your father should be commended for trying to learn more — though he should perhaps keep in mind that it's not always appropriate to ask questions."

"I don't mind," said Harry hurriedly. "I mean, when I first learned about wizards, I had a lot of questions too. Er — I'm sure you remember, Mrs. Weasley, how I had to ask how to get onto Platform Nine and three-quarters, and you were kind enough to help me..."

"Oh, well, it was my pleasure, dear," said Mrs. Weasley warmly. "I hope you and your friends don't mind that we intrude upon your Christmas? Professor Dumbledore did say he didn't think you would, but we know it's a bit sudden..."

"What Mum means to say is that we would very much like to celebrate the holidays with you, if that's all right," said Charlie.

Harry looked at the Weasleys. For the briefest of moments, he was back on the Hogwarts Express, secretly watching the red-haired family say goodbye to one another on the platform and thinking what a pleasant contrast this chaotic, bickering-but-loving family made to the uptight, strict and loveless Dursleys.

He felt a smile stir up inside him. Well, until he could have his own parents and his own family Christmases, he wouldn't mind spending a little time with this family.

"Yeah," he said. "Definitely all right."

Christmas with the Weasleys did not disappoint. The red-haired family was a cheerful bunch, and while they were clearly a very close-knit family, they really did their uttermost to include Harry, Hermione and Neville as well. While Neville and Hermione, both still a little upset because they couldn't spend Christmas with their own families, took some time to warm up to the situation, they soon caught the general good humor of the crowd and were talking and laughing as much as everyone else.

It was quickly agreed that everyone should open their presents in the common room, and they had quite the fun time as everyone unwrapped their gifts, strewed wrapping-paper everywhere, and admired and compared gifts.

Harry, who was still astonished that he was getting presents at all, was even more astonished that the Weasleys had brought him two presents - one huge box of home-made fudge and a thick, hand-knitted jumper in emerald green. It turned out that this was Mrs. Weasley's standard-gift for everyone in the family, and soon everyone (including Neville and Hermione) were wearing their new, surprisingly warm and comfortable, jumpers.

"I've really been looking forward to this jumper," said Charlie, now wearing a dark green sweater with a big letter C on the chest. "My old one's getting worn-out, and winter in Romania gets cold."

"Hey, Mum, how come only Fred, Percy, Charlie and I have letters on our jumpers?" said George. He and Fred were both wearing blue jumpers, one with a large yellow F on it, the other one a G, and now he was pointing towards Ronnie and Ginny, who were wearing their respective jumpers (maroon for Ronnie, dark pink for Ginny). "Are the girls the only ones you trust not to forget their own names?"

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "Of course not, dear," she said. "But I do trust your sisters not to get their jumpers mixed up the way you boys do."

"Oh." George's face fell for a moment, as if a really good joke had just been lost, but then he smiled again. "Yeah, of course we'd never get our names mixed up, that would just be silly!" He turned to Fred. "My name is Gred, and yours is Forge, right?"

"Right, right," Fred nodded. "And of course you remember our brothers Chercy and Parlie!" He turned to Ronnie. "I'm sorry, Miss, but you don't have a letter on your chest, so I forget — what was your name again?"

"You're such a git," said Ronnie, though she couldn't help giggling.

Harry had a few more presents — from Hagrid he got a roughly-cut wooden flute, which the groundskeeper had obviously whittled himself and which sounded a lot like an owl when Harry tried it out. And, perhaps most surprising of all, he even got a very small parcel from the Dursleys.

Inside was a note with a fifty-pence piece taped to it and the word "We received your message and enclose your Christmas present, from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia."

"How thoughtful," said Harry with a bit of sarcasm, loosening the coin from the note.

"Oh, is that Muggle money?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Could I have a look at it? I'll give it right back, of course — thank you!" He held up the coin and studied it eagerly. "How marvellous — what a strange shape! Look at this, Molly, a very detailed engraving of the Queen, and... I'm not quite sure who this person on the other side is supposed to be..."

"Er, you can keep it, if you like," said Harry, eager to give something back to the Weasleys.

But Mr. Weasley looked horrified. "Oh — oh, no, Harry, I couldn't! This is your money, you might need it in the future! Here, you'd better take it back!"

Harry opened his mouth to say that it was only fifty pence and no big deal, but then he realised that neither Mr. Weasley nor any of the others save Hermione knew anything about Muggle money. For all they knew, fifty pence could be a perfectly decent sum. And all of a sudden, he didn't want to tell them otherwise. He didn't want them to know that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were the sort of legal guardians who would give him fifty pence as a Christmas present; they'd just start feeling sorry for him, and he didn't think he could handle that right now.

"A-All right then," he said, accepting the coin back and looked pleadingly at Hermione, who had looked up from her brand new copy of Tales from Beedle the Bard and stared at the coin in disbelief.

"Your Aunt and Uncle gave you 50p for Christmas?" she hissed as everyone else was concentrating on Ginny unwrapping her final present. "What sort of people —"

"Could we talk about this after Christmas?" Harry pleaded. "I'm really having a brilliant time here and I don't want to ruin it."

"Hmmm." Hermione gave him a long look, but finally nodded.

Relieved, Harry slipped the coin into his pocket, and was about to stretch his neck to see what Ginny had just unwrapped, when a sudden puff of flames by the window announced the arrival of Fawkes, who sailed elegantly through the air and circled once around Charlie before flapping his wings and gently landing on Ronnie's outstretched arm.

Ginny, who hadn't said much so far, gasped and stared wide-eyed at the phoenix, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley also looked quite astonished at the new arrival — but Charlie grinned widely. "Why, if it isn't Fawkes!" he said.

"You know him?" said Neville curiously.

"We've met," said Charlie, scooting over to gently stroke the phoenix with one finger. "Hello, Fawkes. Went straight for Ronnie, didn't you? No doubt whose sister she is!" He looked proudly at his sister and smiled widely as Fawkes opened his beak and replied with his characteristic trilling sound.

"You didn't tell me about him," said Ronnie, almost accusingly, to Charlie. "You talked about all those animals in the Forbidden Forest and the unicorns and the school owls, but you never mentioned Fawkes!"

"No, I thought there were some things you should be allowed to discover for yourself," said Charlie. "Besides, Fawkes hardly ever shows himself to students, and I didn't want you to spend your first weeks trying to look for him. Come on, you know you would have."

Ronnie went pink. Instead of answering, she turned back to Fawkes to talk to him.

"Ah," said Fred as Ronnie and Charlie both concentrated on a delighted Fawkes, "now we know it's Christmas. It's just not a Weasley holiday without those two finding some animal or other to to go nuts over."

The unwrapping of presents came to a close and everyone spent some time admiring "this year's haul" or just talking to each other. Charlie was full of stories, and Ronnie full of questions, about training dragons in Romania (though Mrs. Weasley did sigh that she wished Charlie wouldn't encourage his little sister so). Mr. Weasley was eagerly asking Hermione all sorts of questions about Muggle life, and Percy tried to teach Harry and Neville wizard chess — which was exactly like Muggle chess except the chess pieces could move and talk on their own — only taking time off to chase Fred and George around the common room a couple of times because they'd stolen his Prefect badge. This merry chase was eventually put a stop to by Mrs. Weasley, who threatened to turn their hair blue if they didn't start behaving.

Ginny was acting strange, or at least Harry thought so. For the most part she looked to be enjoying herself; she absorbed Charlie's dragon stories, was visibly thrilled when Fawkes allowed her to stroke him, and laughed merrily at the twins' antics — but every so often she'd meet Harry's eyes or remember that he was there, and then...

"Squeak."

"Ginny, you sound like Scabbers when you squeak like that," said Ronnie, as Ginny blushed furiously and looked down at her shoes for the fifth time that morning.

"I think our littlest sister fancies Harry!" Fred stage-whispered.

"I do not!" Ginny snapped. And then looked at Harry, accidentally knocked over the pile of books Hermione had received for Christmas, blushed twice as hard and hid herself behind one of the chairs.

Harry had absolutely no idea how to handle this sort of thing, and in the end he decided just to deal with it by pretending it wasn't happening. If he paid more attention to Ginny, she'd probably get worse — and besides, Ronnie was taking care of it; she yelled at Fred and then went to comfort Ginny, who eventually came out from behind the chair but was oddly silent afterwards and stayed close to her mother.

Fawkes stayed with them for the entire morning, alternating between perching on Ronnie's shoulder and Charlie's, and looking quite content with this.

All in all, despite Ginny's perplexing behaviour and the occasional instance at one Weasley snapping at another over something, Harry had never had such a pleasant Christmas.

The Great Hall looked amazing. No less than twelve Christmas trees had been brought in (no doubt by Hagrid), all of them beautifully decorated, festoons of holly and mistletoe had been hung on the walls, and stacks of wizard crackers had been places anywhere and everywhere they might fit, and even some places where they didn't.

Most of the students had gone home for the holidays, and a number of the teachers were gone as well, though the Heads of the Houses (excluding, of course, Snape) were all there, dressed up rather nicely in their finest robes and warmly greeting everyone who entered the Hall.

As Harry, Neville, Hermione and the Weasleys came down for Christmas dinner, the tables were set and overflowing with roast turkeys, roast and boiled potatoes, gravy and cranberry sauce. It was almost as spectacular as the welcoming feast had been, even if the number of people were much lower this time around. It all looked and smelled so wonderful that Harry felt his stomach rumble.

Before they could find a place at the table, though, Dumbledore came up to them. He was dressed in magnificent crimson, and his eyes twinkled merrily as Fawkes took off from Ronnie's shoulder to land on his.

"I hope you are having a pleasant holiday?" he said, and beamed at their nods of confirmation. "Excellent, excellent! And so glad to see you both, Arthur and Molly — and Charlie, of course! And this must be young Ginevra!"

Ginny nodded shyly.

"Well, I do believe this must be the new record for number of Weasleys under the Hogwarts roof at the same time." Dumbledore chuckled, but then grew a little more serious. "I truly am glad you could come. I think your children and their friends needed some extra Christmas cheer this year."

"Still a breach of safety," growled Mad-Eye Moody, who was also coming over, studying the Weasleys intently with both magical and normal eyes. "Arthur — what is your dearest ambition?"

"To find out how aeroplanes stay up," Mr. Weasley answered with a smile. "And a happy Christmas to you too, Mad-Eye. It's all right," he said to his astonished family, "Mad-Eye always asks control questions in order to make certain people aren't impostors."

"Can't be too careful," said Moody, but seemed to accept that Mr. Weasley was who he claimed to be. "No need to remind any of you who's out there right now!"

Mrs. Weasley pulled Ronnie and Ginny close to her (something neither girl seemed to appreciate much). "You're not expecting any sort of attack now, are you?"

"No," said Moody. "But it's when you're not expecting an attack you have to watch out for one!"

"Nevertheless," said Dumbledore. "We win nothing by denying ourselves the joys of the holidays. Indeed, if we allow our fears to rule us to the extent that we cannot celebrate Christmas, then Voldemort has already won."

Moody didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue either.

"Old Professor Kettleburn isn't here for the holidays, then?" said Charlie, who had been looking at the teachers gathered at the High Table. "Shame, I was hoping to see him, always loved his Care of Magical Creatures lessons... What about Hagrid, he's not here either?"

"Oh, Hagrid is always at Hogwarts for the holidays," said Dumbledore. "He is out bringing some of our animals their Christmas treats, but he should be back any minute. I am positive he would love to hear about your dragons in Romania. In the meantime — ah, well, this is impressive timing. Here he comes now."

And indeed, there was Hagrid, entering the Hall with snow in his beard and a surprisingly solemn look in his beetle-black eyes.

"Professor Dumbledore!" he called, hurrying up to them. "Professor — oh, er, hello, you lot," he added as if he just now was seeing that Dumbledore wasn't alone. "Charlie, good ter see yeh! Sorry — sorry, need ter talk ter Dumbledore... Unicorns, in the Forest..."

"Calm down, Hagrid," said Dumbledore, walking up to him and leading him away from the crowd. "Tell me what happened."

Harry looked at them as they retreated to over by one of the trees (the one decorated with the golden baubles), but their voices was too low for him to hear. Mad-Eye Moody, however, took one look at them and frowned before beginning to limp up towards them.

"Er - D'you know if Moody can read lips?" said Neville.

"Yes, and he also has very good hearing!" said Moody, without turning around and without stopping, causing Neville to gulp and take a step back as if he'd done something wrong.

"Oh dear..." Mrs. Weasley murmured, finally letting go of Ronnier and Ginny. "What's going on now?"

After having talked to Hagrid and Moody for about a minute, Dumbledore nodded to them both and then turned his head to Fawkes, still on his shoulder, and said a few words to him. The phoenix looked at him for a moment or two, and then took off from his shoulder, once again flying over to the Weasleys in order to settle on Ronnie's shoulder.

"What's happening, Fawkes?" Ronnie asked as he settled down on her shoulders, but not surprisingly he didn't answer.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, walked swiftly over to the High Table to exchange a few words with Professor McGonagall. Then, he turned to the room and spoke, loudly and clearly: "I do beg your pardon, everyone, for leaving dinner before it has even started, but there is a minor situation in the Forbidden Forest that requires my urgent attention. Molly, Arthur, I was wondering if I could borrow Charlie for a moment? We might need his skills with animals..."

"You want my son to go into the Forbidden Forest?!" said Mrs. Weasley.

"I'll do it!" said Charlie.

Mrs. Weasley turned towards him. "You jolly well will not, young man!"

Charlie sighed. "Oh relax, Mum, there's nothing in that Forest worse than the dragons I handle every day. Just —" he cast a longing look at all the food. "— save me a slice of turkey, will you?"

Mr. Weasley placed a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Molly, Charlie is an adult now. He has the right to make his own decisions. Besides, he will be with Dumbledore and Hagrid."

"Fine," Mrs. Weasley finally said. "But Mad-Eye, you go with them too!"

"I intend to," said Moody, who was already moving towards the door.

"And you two —" Mrs. Weasley looked at her two daughters. "You're staying right here where I can keep an eye on you, is that understood?"

Ronnie and Ginny exchanged glances and then looked back at their mother with what was probably the fakest innocent looks Harry had ever seen.

"We weren't going anywhere, Mum," said Ronnie.

"Honest, Mum," Ginny added.

The rest of the gathered teachers and students watched as Dumbledore took the lead and strode out of the Great Hall, followed in short succession by Hagrid, Moody and Charlie.

Harry's heart was pounding. Something was happening in the Forbidden Forest. That was where he had first met Voldemort, though he hadn't known it at the time. Was that where Quirrell and Snape were hiding out? And if so, what were they doing there? Hagrid had said something about unicorns...

Now Harry wished that he hadn't kept his, Ronnie's and Neville's trip to the Forbidden Forest a secret. If he'd been honest with Dumbledore about that from the start, maybe they would have thought of the Forbidden Forest — but, he thought desperately, maybe Dumbledore already suspected the Forest as a hiding place anyway? Yes, yes, surely he must have thought of it, it was really quite obvious, and that was why Moody was coming along too. If they met Voldemort out there, they would be prepared. And Charlie would be fine, obviously he would. Besides, it would be rather thoughtless of Voldemort to hide out on Hogwarts grounds now that everyone knew about him, so it was unlikely that it was him. Yes, it was probably just something unrelated. There was no reason to assume the worst.

Professor McGonagall raised herself at the High Table. "Well," she said. "Since the Headmaster left, it falls to me to wish everyone a happy Christmas and bid you to take your seats. Go on, it would not do to let the food get cold."

Harry walked to the table together with the Weasleys and sat down with Ronnie and Neville on each side of him... but he suddenly wasn't as hungry for the magnificent Christmas dinner as he had been.

While he noticed that Neville, Hermione and Ronnie were also a little more subdued than they had been, Mrs. Weasley seemed determined to keep up the good cheer; she started encouraging the twins to tell them more about the school year, told everyone to eat ("it would be a shame to let all this lovely food go to waste!") and in general kept up a steady stream of light conversation as everyone began tucking in.

Hermione mostly picked at her food, but Ronnie and Neville ate heartily once they'd started. (Ronnie did offer some of her food to Fawkes, who still refused to leave her shoulder, but he didn't seem to want any.)

The other students who had stayed behind at Hogwarts, and whom Harry mostly didn't know beyond what they looked like and what house they were in, were eating with gusto and didn't at all seem bothered about the Headmaster's leaving — but then again, none of them even believed that Voldemort was out there. The teachers at the High Table also seemed to be enjoying their dinner, though Harry couldn't help but wonder how much of this was genuine and how much was an act in order to not upset the students.

Nevertheless, he allowed Mrs. Weasley to talk him into filling his plate, and when he first started eating, he had to admit to himself that it was nice to have a proper Christmas dinner for once and not just small portions and table scraps from the Dursleys...

He'd eaten about half his portion when he suddenly heard a loud yawn from across the table.

He looked up just in time to see Ginny look at him with a glassy stare... then go limp and slump over the table.

"Ginny!" he cried. "Ginny, what's wrong?!"

"Mum! Dad!" Ronnie suddenly shrieked.

Alarmed, Harry raised himself to discover that all around him people were collapsing. The Weasleys were drooping just like Ginny had, the twins leaning on one another and Percy falling against his mother. Further down the table, the other students were likewise collapsing, one Hufflepuff girl falling off the bench and lying limply on the floor with her eyes closed.

And by the High Table, even the teachers were collapsing, even Professor McGonagall going slack and sinking down from her chair.

Neville had raised himself and gone pale. "What — what's going on? Why's everyone — Are they —"

"No — no, they're breathing," said Hermione, who was crouching by Mr. Weasley. "I think they're just asleep!"

Harry looked around. An eerie silence sank around him as he realised that every single person in the Great Hall apart from him, Neville, Ronnie, Hermione and Fawkes had fallen into a deep sleep. Teachers, students and Weasleys alike were sitting or lying completely still — so still that they might have been dead.

Hermione's eyes were wide. "The food..." she whispered. "There must have been a sleeping potion in it. And we weren't affected because we're immune to all potions..."

"...and Fawkes wasn't affected because he didn't eat any," said Ronnie. "But — why? What's happening?"

"We have to get Dumbledore! If we run —" Harry began, but was interrupted by a startling puff of flames Fawkes had taken off from Ronnie's shoulders and vanished.

"— or Fawkes could just get to him like that," said Ronnie.

"That would give us... oh, about five or ten minutes to work with before Dumbledore storms in to the rescue," said a sudden voice from across the room. "Not much, but I think we can manage. No sudden moves, children!"

Potter's Gang turned around to see who had spoken. And there, visible only as a head and a wand-brandishing hand, the rest of him hidden by what could only be Harry's Invisibility Cloak, was Quirrell.

All of a sudden, the Warning Fang around Harry's neck was growing hot.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's notes: Insert dramatic cliffhanger music here!

So... how did Quirrell (or possibly Snape) manage to drug the Christmas dinner? How is he planning to do anything at all with only five minutes before Dumbledore returns? And where is Snape, anyway? Feel free to share your theories! I can't promise any sort of prize to anyone who gets it right, other than perhaps a mention and a congratulations in my author's notes.

And on a final note: You read correctly - Ronnie, unlike canon Ron, does not like chess, and isn't very good at it. I've known this about her from the start; basically I decided that since I was giving her advantages and abilities canon Ron doesn't have, she should also lack some of the advantages and abilities he does have. The talent for chess was the first and most obvious thing to go. What this might mean for any possible scenes with a certain giant chessboard remains to be seen.

12. Love and Sacrifice

We're actually not too far off from the end of this story. There's only a couple more chapters to go! And here, months before it happened in canon, comes the confrontation with Voldemort... Are Potter's Gang ready for this?

(There are a couple more swear words than usual in this chapter, because Ronnie can be quite foul-mouthed.)

WEASLEY GIRL

Based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling

CHAPTER TWELVE
Love and Sacrifice

The Warning Fang was uncomfortably hot against Harry's skin as Quirrell stepped closer, still holding them all at wandpoint (Stupid, useless thing! Harry already knew he was in trouble!).

"No sudden moves," Quirrell repeated, for some reason sounding a little out of breath. "If you cooperate, you live."

Life in hiding did not seem to have agreed with the former Defence teacher. He was pale, hollow-cheeked and with large, dark circles under his eyes, though his turban was as neatly wrapped around his head as ever. He was moving slowly, but steadily towards them, still visible only as a head and a wand-brandishing hand.

Harry gathered his courage. "Dumbledore will be here any minute!" he said, trying to sound defiant instead of scared witless.

"I know," said Quirrell. "That's why I just stopped by to pick someone up. Weasley, come with me!"

"Make me!" Ronnie snarled.

"Gladly. Imperio!" Quirrell shouted, flicking his wand at her.

"I wish Fluffy had killed you, you bastard —" Ronnie's tirade stopped before it properly started. She fell silent, stiffened and then her arms went slack. Wordlessly, like a sleepwalker, she began walking towards Quirrell.

Harry, Neville and Hermione threw themselves at her, grabbing her to hold her back, but she barely seemed to notice them, staring blankly ahead of her with a glazed, empty expression as she silently and mindlessly struggled to get away from them. She was surprisingly strong, and all three of them had to fight hard in order to keep her under control.

"Ronnie!" Hermione shrieked in the girl's ear. "Snap out of it!"

"Fight it, Ronnie!" Harry screamed. "Moody said we could fight it!"

Quirrell made a strange sound that might have meant to be a chuckle, but sounded more like a wheeze.

"Fight it?" came a horribly familiar, icy-cold voice that seemed to come from Quirrell and yet wasn't Quirrell's. "This is the Imperius Curse. Grown wizards are helpless to resist it. She's a child... she is quite unable to fight... Come, Veronica."

"Yes, my Lord," said Ronnie, calm and emotionless. And then, with sudden force, she elbowed Neville in the gut, causing him to let go of her and double over in pain, and then she threw off both Harry and Hermione, who both lost their footing and fell to the floor. It was as if the Imperius curse was adding to her already considerable strength, and she didn't even seem to notice; once free she just resumed walking up towards Quirrell.

Neville, still on his feet and recovered from the blow to his gut, leapt upon her and tackled her, and both of them fell to the floor, Ronnie wordlessly struggling and fighting as Neville tried to pin her down, "Ronnie, you have to listen!" he begged in between the struggling. "You have to fight it! I know you can!"

"Oh, for the sake of..." Quirrell wheezed, and pointed his wand at Neville. "Crucio!"

Neville let out a scream of excruciating pain and let go of Ronnie, starting to twitch uncontrollably. Hermione was back on her feet and rushed over to Neville. "Stop it — stop it!" she shouted, whipping out her own wand. "You monster — Finite incantatem! Finite incantatem!"

Though her spell didn't seem to do anything, Quirrell broke wandpoint after a second, and Neville stopped screaming, just twitching a few more times and then lying still. Hermione dropped to her knees next to him, and Ronnie, who didn't even seem to notice what was going on around her, had used the moment of distraction to get back to her feet and walk the rest of the distance over to Quirrell and was now right next to him.

As the pain in his forehead ceased, Harry finally managed to get back onto his feet. They were outclassed; Quirrell knew the Unforgiveables, Ronnie and Neville were out of commission (please, please let them be all right!), and he and Hermione were untrained first-years. They didn't have a chance.

Unless he could stall things for long enough that Dumbledore could get there.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, using the first spell that came to mind. One of the turkeys from the table rose up into the air and hurled itself at Quirrell.

Quirrell hastily raised a glowing silver shield around himself, and the turkey bounced harmlessly against it, but now Hermione had picked up on Harry's idea as well, and the next thing any of them knew a myriad of items from the Christmas table became airborne and stared flinging themselves at Quirrell; slices of turkey and ham, potatoes, empty goblets, full goblets, sprigs of mistletoe, all of them flying and bouncing against Quirrell's shield to Harry's and Hermione's repeated cries of "Wingardium Leviosa! Wingardium Leviosa!"

Christmas crackers that exploded and sent colorful confetti everywhere when they hit the shield, and Quirrell actually stumbled and swayed a couple of times, while Ronnie stood motionless as food and explosions rained all around her.

"Expelliarmus!" Quirrell shouted. All of a sudden, Harry's wand went flying out of his hand, spinning through the air and landing on the floor several feet away, Moments later, Hermione's wand followed its example, shooting out of her hand and flying far out of her reach.

All the flying food, crackers and mistletoe fell harmlessly to the floor as Quirrell's silvery shield vanished and melted into nothing.

Quirrell panted and heaved for his breath, while Voldemort's voice sounded again, a somewhat dry tone mixed in with the horrible cold: "Are we done with this childishness...? I could kill the both of you right now for that display, but..." a brief chuckle. "...if that glorified food-fight truly is the best you can do, then you are hardly worth it... Besides, we are in a hurry! Veronica, come with me."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Ronnie!" Harry cried, desperately hoping to get through to her. "You have to fight it! They want to use you to get to the Resurrection Stone!"

He was cut off by a burst of laughter. It was quite possibly the most terrifying laugh Harry had ever heard; cold and cruel and completely without humor... And now Harry's scar was hurting again, but ten times worse than before, and he felt himself go weak.

"The Resurrection Stone...?" said the voice of Voldemort. "That's what you think I am after?"

"...isn't it?" Harry could hear how pathetic he sounded, but at the moment he was much too busy fighting off the pain in his forehead and staying upright to care overly much how his tone came across.

Voldemort simply laughed again, as Quirrell reached out and grabbed the unresisting Ronnie, pulling her close to him and letting the Invisibility Cloak cover them both... and then the laughter faded and both Ronnie and Quirrell were gone, along with the pain in Harry's forehead.

For a brief, horrible moment, Harry and Hermione could do nothing but stare.

Then, quite without warning, there was a brilliant burst of flame, and a magnificent streak of golden red swooped over Harry's head.

It was Fawkes. Like a red and yellow bolt of lightning, the phoenix flew straight for the spot where Quirrell and Ronnie had stood and grabbed out with his talons. There was a strange blur in the air, and then all of a sudden both Quirrell and Ronnie came back into view as Fawkes pulled the Invisibility Cloak off them and flew off with the silvery cloth in his talons.

Quirrell started. For the first time since Halloween, Harry could see the man clearly — and if his face had looked bad, his body looked worse. Skinnier and scrawnier than ever before; he stood hunched-over and wobbled slightly on his feet. It seriously looked like a strong gust of wind would break his spine.

"Damn bird — Avada Kedavra!" he shouted. A beam of sickening green light shot out of his wand and hit Fawkes just as he was flying over Harry.

The phoenix had just enough time to drop the Cloak onto Harry before he exploded in red flames and, as the Cloak spread out and covered Harry up, Fawkes fell to the floor several feet away, partly as ashes and partly as a burnt, shriveled, surprisingly small body.

"Fawkes — NO!" Harry realised in a flash that Fawkes had just been hit with the Killing Curse, that Fawkes was dead; he'd just sacrificed himself to get the Invisibility Cloak away from Quirrell and back to Harry.

He felt numb. Fawkes was dead.

"Dumbledore!" Hermione suddenly cried, tearing him out of his shock.

And true enough, there by the entrance stood the Headmaster, still dressed in magnificent crimson and not even seeming out of breath. He was holding his own wand and looked remarkably calm - but his blue eyes were as steel behind his half-moon spectacles. Harry had seen him like this once before, back in the hospital wing; not the pleasantly eccentric, if frustratingly mysterious, old Headmaster, but the powerful and forceful wizard, the only one Voldemort ever feared.

Hermione was clutching Neville, who seemed to be coming around, was turning his head towards Dumbledore and groaning lightly. Only Ronnie did not react; she stood by the wavering Quirrell with the same blank look on her face and seemed completely uninterested in the entire deal.

"Quirinus," said Dumbledore. His voice was soft, yet it carried all around the hall. "Let the girl go."

Quirrell heaved for his breath and didn't seem to manage to talk, but the voice of Voldemort sounded again, high-pitched and cruel: "And give up an excellent hostage? I don't think so... Veronica, if Dumbledore moves so much as an inch... kill yourself."

"Yes, my Lord," said Ronnie, as easily as if she was agreeing to do the dishes.

Dumbledore did not move. Neither did Hermione or Neville.

"You are slipping, Tom," said Dumbledore, in an unreasonably calm voice. "Usually you were so much more careful and subtle about making your moves. The Imperius curse you placed on Miss Weasley is even blatantly obvious."

"And you... are as much of a fool as ever, Dumbledore..." Voldemort hissed. "Sentimental to the last... You do not want the child dead, do you? I will spare her... if you give me the Stone."

(Behind his Invisibility Cloak, Harry gave a small start. Hadn't Voldemort just said that he wasn't after the Resurrection Stone? Had he been lying?)

"You truly are slipping," said Dumbledore, in the same kind of tone he might have used to comment on the weather. "Ten years of hiding, and you reveal yourself in such a manner? Even after attaining the Invisibility Cloak, which could have concealed you for an infinite length of time?"

It was the mention of the Invisibility Cloak that made Harry snap out of his stupor. Of course! He was covered by the Invisibility Cloak again, which meant nobody would be able to see him - and what was more, Quirrell's (and presumably Voldemort's) eyes and attentions were on Dumbledore now. That meant Harry had a chance.

A chance — but not his wand. The only things he had in his possession right now were an uncomfortably-hot Warning Fang and the fifty-pence coin that the Dursleys had given him. Neither seemed like they could be much use. Then again, he had his Cloak back; maybe he had all he needed.

As silently as he could, he raised himself, his eyes firmly on Ronnie as he began sneaking closer to her. He had to act fast, because he wouldn't get a second chance, and then Fawkes's sacrifice would be all for nothing.

"Quit stalling for time!" Voldemort snapped. "The Stone - or the child dies!

"The Stone?" said Dumbledore, still calmly as ever. "Ah yes, I thought you might want to make that particular demand. There are only two — no, make that three problems with that. The first one is that I have no intention of giving you the Stone."

"Then... she dies!" Voldemort snarled.

Harry knew the time had come. He pulled the fifty-pence coin out of his pocket and threw it. And, luck over all luck, hit Quirrell right in the forehead. The former Defence teacher took a startled step back, and Harry took the opportunity to grab hold of Ronnie and pull her in under the Invisibility Cloak. As he had hoped, Voldemort had failed to give her any orders on what to do if she was unexpectedly grabbed — and so she was like a limp rag doll in his grasp, not even bothering to struggle.

"What — no!" Quirrell yelped, turning around, hand on his forehead as Ronnie suddenly became invisible to him.

"The second problem is that you are one hostage short," said Dumbledore, flicking his wand in Quirrell's direction.

Quirrell once again raised a shining silver shield around himself, but Dumbledore's spell, whatever it was, hit it with such force that it shattered, sending Quirrell to the floor, and his wand almost flying out of his hand before it hit the floor and rolled away. The former Defence teacher was on his stomach, panting and wheezing, his turban starting to come undone.

Harry clutched Ronnie tightly under the Cloak. The girl made no move to escape or to aid her enslaver, but she was like a sack of flour and he'd have to drag her along... Then, on a wild impulse, he pulled the Warning Fang, hot as ever, out from underneath his robe and pressed it against her forehead.

She gasped and winced at the sudden pain of the uncomfortable heat against her head, twitching and murmuring "No, stop, I don't like it, I don't — Ah!" With a jerk, she snapped out of her trance, spinning around to look at Harry with a wild look on her face. There was an angry red mark on her forehead where the Warning Fang had burned her, but her eyes were clear again.

"I'LL KILL THAT FUCKING BASTARD!" she shouted. And before Harry could stop her, she had stormed away from him and out from the Invisibility Cloak, and Harry almost lost his balance from the sudden force, stumbling towards Hermione and Neville, who were still on the floor and watching the scene as if paralysed.

Quirrell had made a grab for his wand again, but Ronnie was by him with a snarl and stomped hard on his hand with one foot, causing him to howl in pain. "MY LORD, WAS IT?!" she screamed in rage. "I'LL 'MY LORD' YOU, YOU STINKING SON OF A —"

"Ah, Miss Weasley," said Dumbledore, interrupting what looked like it would be an impressive tirade of swear words as he walked up towards them. "Glad to see you are feeling better."

"Permission to kick his fucking head off!?" Ronnie snarled, looking up at Dumbledore. "Please?!"

"Permission denied." Dumbledore placed a calming hand on her shoulder while still keeping Quirrell at wandpoint. "I am sorry, Miss Weasley, but getting close to his head would not be healthy for you right now - would it, Quirinus?"

Quirrell was clutching the hand Ronnie had stomped on. His turban was slowly unravelling itself, and it looked like he was completely bald underneath it.

"Now, as I was going to say, the third problem," said Dumbledore, one hand still on Ronnie's shoulder, "is that even if I did give you the Stone, Quirinus, it would be useless to both you and your master. The Elixir of Life would have no effect on you at all. No potions, elixirs or magical substances will affect either of you in the slightest."

"You're lying!" Quirrell wheezed, trying to raise himself with little success.

"Am I? You must have discovered by now that unicorn blood does not work on you. That is why you are so weak... And, I surmise, why you were getting so desperate."

"Severus...!" Quirrell managed to say. "It's Severus's doing — that — traitor!"

"That is a strong word to use, especially for one who has betrayed the trust of all his colleagues and students." Dumbledore shook his head. "Really, Quirinus. What were you hoping to achieve with all this? What could possibly be worth letting yourself get possessed by Voldemort over?"

Quirrell collapsed again and began shaking, making more wheezing sounds that Harry after a couple of seconds realised was supposed to be laughter. "You even — have to ask?" he managed to croak. "Power! Power to do anything — to make them all pay! My Lord — the Dark Lord — he will kill you all in the end!"

All of a sudden, Harry's forehead nearly exploded in pain, and this time he did fall over, almost landing on Hermione and Neville as the Invisibility Cloak fell off him. Ignoring Hermione's shriek of surprise, he clutched his burning forehead, as his vision fogged over.

Even through his pain, though, he saw one thing very clearly; much more clearly than he would have wanted, something that would probably haunt his nightmares for a long time:

Under the turban, Quirrell really was completely bald — but that wasn't the big issue: On the back of his head was a face; a horribly grotesque, pale face with glowering red eyes and snake-like slits for nostrils. In an instant Harry knew, just as certainly as if someone had told him, that this was the face of Voldemort. This was why Quirrell had been wearing his turban all along; he had Voldemort on the back of his head.

Voldemort screamed. A loud, high-pitched scream that hurt Harry's ears, as Quirrell twitched and went limp. Voldemort's face rose up from him; lifting up and away from the man's body, turning into a looming cloud of black smoke, the scream growing louder and louder.

Harry could barely make out Ronnie and Dumbledore in all the smoke, Dumbledore flicking his wand and shouting something that was impossible to make out, upon which a strange silvery light formed a bird-like creature... But the scar was hurting so badly now, it was impossible to concentrate on anything but the pain, and the screaming...

"KILL YOU!" Voldemort screamed, and Harry could just about make out the black cloud coming towards him at great speed.

And then all of a sudden, through the pain, he felt someone throw themselves at him, a pair of arms clutching him tightly. "Stay away from him!" a voice cried — was that Ronnie?

And then, another pair of arms were wrapping around him. "We won't let you hurt him!" Neville?!

A third pair of arms joined the first two. "If you want him, you'll have to go through us!" Hermione?!

Everything went black around him, the smoke was engulfing them all, the scar felt like it was on fire, Harry couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't think, everything had been to no avail, he was going to die —

And then, all of a sudden, it stopped. The pain was gone, as was the smoke. He was half-sitting, half-lying on the floor, while Ronnie, Neville and Hermione were holding him, clutching him tightly as if determined to shield him from harm with their own bodies.

Except there was no danger. Dumbledore was hurrying up towards them, still brandishing his wand as the ghost-like, silver bird of light swooped around him and dissolved. There was concern in the old wizard's eyes as he knelt down by them. "Are you all right, children?" he asked breathlessly.

Neville, Hermione and Ronnie turned to look at him, confusion in their eyes. "I — think so," said Hermione feebly. "Ronnie? Neville? ...Harry?"

"...Yeah," said Harry, drawing a long breath. "But Professor, what just happened?"

"I will explain later," said Dumbledore. "But for now, I must make certain Voldemort is truly gone, as well as see to it that all our sleeping friends are all right. All of you, please, stay where you are. Perhaps you'd better... Yes, that is an idea."

He twitched his wand twice, and all of a sudden, four bars of chocolate appeared in mid-air, each one gently floating down to land in the children's laps. "Best Honydukes chocolate," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "It always cheers me up."

Harry just stared. Not that he had anything against chocolate, but was this really the time for sweets?

"Oh, and one more thing." Dumbledore raised himself and walked off to picking a few things up from the floor.

The last thing he picked up, Harry saw (and felt a pang of pain in his heart) was Fawkes, shrivelled and featherless and dead. The phoenix that had sacrificed himself for Harry.

But then, to his utter amazement, the tiny bird stirred and let out a weak-sounding chirp.

Dumbledore smiled as he gently carried Fawkes back over to Potter's Gang. "Could I trouble you to watch over him for a few minutes? And I believe these belong to you as well." He handed Fawkes to Ronnie, and to Harry and Hermione he handed their wands, as well as the Invisibility Cloak. "Take good care of them, now."

Ronnie held Fawkes in her hands, and Harry held both his wand and his Cloak as he looked over at the bird with awe. There wasn't much left of the elegant, swan-like bird with the beautiful red and yellow plumage; the tiny bird was wrinkled and ugly with squinting eyes and hardly any feathers at all, but alive and moving and not at all dead. It was quite possibly the most beautiful thing Harry had seen in his life.

"But I thought he died," he said. "I saw Quirrell use the Killing Curse — didn't it work?"

"It worked," said Ronnie. Her anger was fading, and now her voice sounded choked. "But when phoenixes die they burst into flame and are reborn from the ashes. Even the Killing Curse can't permanently kill them." She stretched her neck and lightly kissed Fawkes's wrinkly head.

"All three Unforgiveables used within a span of less than five minutes," said Hermione tonelessly.

"Was it only five minutes?" said Harry in disbelief. It felt like they'd fought against Quirrell and Voldemort for at least half an hour.

"Not even that," said Hermione. "From Quirrell first showed himself to Dumbledore appeared. Dumbledore must have ran all the way from the Forest to get here that fast, because you can't Apparate on Hogwarts grounds..."

Harry couldn't believe it hadn't been more than five minutes before Dumbledore had appeared, nor did he have the faintest idea what Apparate was, but these questions paled in comparison to another, much more pressing one. "You actually kept track of the time while we were fighting?!"

Hermione actually blushed. "Quirrell did say there'd be about five or ten minutes before Dumbledore could return, so I — well, it doesn't really matter now, I suppose. Neville... Ronnie... are you okay?"

"I'm still sane, if that's what you mean," said Neville. "How — how long was I under the Cruciatus?"

"A few seconds," said Hermione. "Five, maybe six."

"Oh. Felt longer."

Ronnie let out a small squeak. "It was my fault, he went at you because I — Neville, I'm so sorry!"

"Ronnie, please don't cry." Neville wrapped a careful arm around the redhead, who was blinking rapidly to keep her tears away. "It wasn't your fault, you were Imperiused, and if you start crying, I'll start too..."

"But I couldn't fight it!" said Ronnie, still in a thin, squeaky voice. "I didn't even want to fight it! It — it felt so good, and nothing mattered, and, and that bastard was torturing you and killing Fawkes and I didn't care... If Harry hadn't burned me with that Warning Fang, I wouldn't have — wouldn't have —"

She burst into tears. Still holding the newborn Fawkes in her hands, she pressed herself against Neville and howled, while Neville kept his promise and started sobbing as well, and Hermione looked like she would start crying at any minute, and even Harry felt a huge lump in his throat as he hugged all his friends, not quite sure whether he should be horrified at what had happened or relieved that it seemed to be over.

At some point, Mad-Eye Moody and Charlie returned, though Hagrid remained notably absent. While Moody began helping Dumbledore ensure the place was safe and that all the sleeping teachers and students had not come to any serious harm, Charlie took time to examine Potter's Gang and even Fawkes, to make certain they had not suffered any lasting harm.

Strangely enough, he implored them all to eat the chocolate Dumbledore had given them — and Harry wasn't completely certain why, but somehow, after he'd consumed half his chocolate bar he felt a little better.

Charlie assured them that Hagrid was fine, but he refused to say where they had been or why it had took them so long to get back, only that it was a "long and strange story."

Instead of elaborating, he took Ronnie in his arms (careful not to upset Fawkes) and stroked her hair. She let him do it. "So, do you want to brag about this to Mum, or should I?" he said.

"Don't," Ronnie murmured. "All I did was fall under his spell like a baby." She took a deep breath. "Percy and Fred and George were right. I am just a helpless little girl."

"Helpless? You?" said Charlie. "Ron, get over yourself! Who's been attacked by You-Know-Who twice in less than three months, and survived both times? Not many grown wizards or witches can say as much, and you're only eleven! You're stronger than I ever suspected! In fact, that goes for all of you," he added, looking at Harry, Neville and Hermione.

"Indeed, Mister Weasley," came Dumbledore's voice from behind them. The Headmaster came walking calmly up to them, while Mad-Eye Moody was over by the still-motionless Quirrell. "I apologise for making you wait, but we had to make certain that everything was all right. And it is — everyone lives. Our sleeping friends will be easily revived, with no lasting harm done."

"Mum, Dad and Ginny?" said Ronnie. "And — and Percy, Fred and George?"

"Will make complete recoveries," said Dumbledore. "As will everyone else. Why, within a couple of hours, I daresay our resident Weasley twins will be running around and causing as much mayhem as ever."

Ronnie and Charlie hugged one another. Harry could practically feel the relief radiating from them both; it seemed like Charlie might not have been as calm as he'd pretended.

"Even Quirinus Quirrell still lives, as incredible as it may sound," Dumbledore went on. "Though, sadly, I'm not certain how long he will last. Being possessed by something so dark, and so powerful... Well, I shall have to have a long talk with him before the end."

Ronnie lifted her head to look up at him. "What happened to Vol—" She stopped and choked. "What happened to You-Know-Who?"

"Miss Weasley," said Dumbledore gently. "I told you earlier this year that fear of the name only increases the fear of the person. Call him Voldemort."

"Vol— V-Vol..." Ronnie struggled, and then gave up, burying her face in Charlie's chest. "I can't, I'm sorry, I just can't..." she said in a muffled voice as Charlie hugged her again and Fawkes chirped sympathetically.

Dumbledore didn't look angry or disappointed. "I understand," he said. "It's hard to let go of your fears. But you need not be afraid now. Voldemort has fled. He encountered something he, in his weakened state, could not hope to fight against."

"But — he's not really gone, is he?" said Neville silently. "He's not dead..."

"Alas," said Dumbledore. "Voldemort still clings to a shallow imitation of life. He has fled for now, and I doubt he will be back for some time... his current state is extremely reduced. But you cannot kill someone who is not truly alive."

He knelt down onto the floor and looked at them all with serious eyes over his half-moon spectacles. "For ten years, I have suspected, worried, that he would one day return. Sometimes I managed to delude myself into thinking that the danger was truly over, that Voldemort was gone, but I knew deep down this was a fool's hope. He is out there, and he can still return. Nevertheless," he added, "his return has been delayed. And as long as there are people to fight against him, who are willing to fight what seems a hopeless battle, such as you have, it may be delayed yet again, and again - and the day he returns to power may never come."

"Do you really think so?" said Charlie. He sounded skeptical.

"I know so." Dumbledore was serious. "But I am very sorry you all had to go through this — especially you four." He looked at Potter's Gang with a sigh. "I knew Voldemort would try to get to you, Miss Weasley, but I could not begin to guess when. I am afraid I made an error in judgment; Hagrid's news from the Forest were quite unexpected, and I acted rashly... I thought that Voldemort would not try to attack a room filled with people, some of them expert duelists."

"What were the news from the Forest?" said Harry. "Something about unicorns? And — Snape! Where's Snape? Quirrell called him a traitor! What happened?"

"Well, this might be as good a time as any to tell you that we found Snape out in the Forest," said Charlie suddenly. "More dead than alive. I think he and Quirrell had a fight or something, it was impossible to get anything sensible out of him."

"Where is he now?" Harry demanded.

"Left him at Hagrid's — oh, don't look at me like that," said Charlie. "Hagrid can handle Snape. Not that Snape is in any condition to try anything anyway."

"Speaking of which — Mister Weasley, could I trouble you to go back to Hagrid's hut and see to it that Hagrid is informed of what has been going on here?" said Dumbledore. "I would go myself, of course, but I think I need a few more minutes with your sister and her friends."

Charlie hesitated, but then nodded, ruffled Ronnie's hair and raised himself. "Right you are. I'll be back in a minute!"

As he walked out of the Hall, Dumbledore turned back to Potter's Gang. "I did want to say something to you," he said softly. "I will say it to your families as well, but I thought you four deserved to hear it first: I am tremendously proud of all of you. What you managed today, that was truly magnificent."

"But we didn't manage anything! You-Know-Who practically wiped the floor with us!" Neville protested.

"True, even in his weakened state he had magic far stronger than anything you could show," said Dumbledore. "And yet you stood your ground. You fought. All on your own, you lasted long enough for me to get back to the castle. And what's more important, and truly impressive... you stood against his last, desperate attack, because you — all four of you — showed not only tremendous courage, but true love and friendship as well."

Harry exchanged glances with Hermione, Ronnie and Neville.

"You all protected one another to the best of your abilities," said Dumbledore. "Even in the heat of battle, you were more concerned for each other than for yourselves. I only saw the end of it, of course, but I could not help but notice that Miss Granger refused to leave Neville's side when he was too weak to fight, even though she made an easy target of herself in doing so."

"Well, I couldn't just leave him," said Hermione feebly.

"And I noticed Harry taking advantage of his invisibility not to sneak away but to save Miss Weasley."

"I didn't even think about getting away!" said Harry. "Ronnie was in danger, what kind of friend would I be if —"

"And towards the end," said Dumbledore. "after Voldemort left Quirrell, he made a last attempt to attack or possess Harry the same way. A desperate, last-ditch effort, but he might have managed, if the three of you had not got in his way and shielded Harry. You had no great magic, no special powers to use against Voldemort, yet you did not hesitate to try and protect your friend with your lives."

Ronnie, Hermione and Neville spoke at the same time:

"He'd saved me, of course I had to —"

"We couldn't just let him—"

"Had to do something —"

They looked at one another and seemed to realise they were all talking at once.

"Exactly," said Dumbledore. "In the face of such love, such selflessness, is it any wonder that Voldemort had to give up?"

There was a long pause.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" said Ronnie.

"Ronnie!" Hermione gasped at the rudeness.

"C'mon, Hermione, even you have to admit how completely pants it sounds! You-Know-Who couldn't touch Harry because we're friends?! Because we just love each other that much?"

"Love is a very powerful force," said Dumbledore. "It goes beyond any magic, and far beyond Voldemort's comprehension. You see, Voldemort loves and trusts no-one but himself. If he had known the true meaning of love, of sacrifice, he would not have been the Dark Lord he is."

"Great, just great," said Ronnie. "So the next time we meet a Dark Lord we should just start snogging."

Harry had to stifle a chuckle at the rather absurd mental image, but both Neville and Hermione turned very red and looked down.

"Hardly that, Miss Weasley," said Dumbledore, though he too was chuckling. "You are of course right that there were other factors involved. Your friendship alone could not have defeated him... I would say that both Severus Snape and I helped... But ultimately, it all comes back to love. Today, the love between four friends created a final defence that Voldemort, a being of greed and hatred, could not penetrate. Ten years ago, a mother's love for her child brought about that same man's downfall when he tried to kill a young boy named Harry Potter."

That shut Ronnie up.

"Your mother died to save you, Harry," said Dumbledore silently. "Her sacrifice ended the reign of a Dark Lord. Because she died for you, because she loved you that much, it formed a very powerful protection that caused Voldemort's curse to fail and fall back on himself. Never underestimate the power of love, or of sacrifice. Voldemort did, after all."

"Professor Dumbledore," said Harry. "What happened back then? Really? Everyone says I conquered Voldemort, but — why did he want to kill me in the first place? Or my parents? For that matter," he added, getting a new thought. "What happened today? What was all this about the Resurrection Stone and — and unicorn blood and elixir?"

"Those are a lot of questions all at once," said Dumbledore. "I don't think I can answer them all at this very moment... After all, we still have a Great Hall full of sleeping people who need to be revived. And you four really should try to get some rest after your ordeal. Besides, there are a number of details I am not clear about myself yet. I hope a talk with Quirinus can shed some light on things."

"How do you know he won't lie, Professor?" said Hermione.

"Oh, he probably will," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "He was lying to me for months, while hosting Voldemort, and I doubt he will break the habit now. But I daresay I can manage to distinguish lies from truth in his case. Let me see..." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Yes, I believe you do deserve some answers. If you can curb your curiosity until the day after tomorrow; I believe I'll have more information by then. Is this satisfactory?"

Potter's gang exchanged glances again. Ronnie nodded, and Hermione and Neville looked expectantly at Harry.

"Er — well, if it's up to me," said Harry, "then yes, I suppose?"

"Excellent."

"Oh!" said Ronnie suddenly. "Professor Dumbledore — I have a question!"

"Yes?"

"Why do you call Harry and Neville by their first names, but Hermione and me by our last names?"

Dumbledore actually looked surprised at this, his eyebrows raising and his blue eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles. "Heh," he finally said. "I must admit, that was not a question I had anticipated. Quite encouraging to know that my students are still able to occasionally surprise me! But to tell you the truth... I'm not quite sure. It may simply be the fact that I knew both Harry and Neville when they were very young."

"You did?" said Harry, though Neville didn't seem at all surprised.

"Why, yes. I knew both your parents quite well, after all. I was quite saddened to learn that — well. In any case, I suppose it just feels more natural to use your given names. If you're not comfortable with this, I shall of course do my utmost to use your surnames for the future."

"I don't mind!" said Neville hurriedly. "It's kind of nice, actually."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "You can call me Harry, Professor, I don't mind either."

"Only —" said Ronnie, turning pink again and averting her eyes. "Only I wouldn't mind if you, you know, wanted to call me 'Ronnie.' Not that you have to or anything, but, well, er, I think I would like it."

"Hm," said Hermione, who didn't seem quite convinced that such informality between teacher and student was called for. After a few seconds, though, she smiled. "Hermione."

Dumbledore's eyes actually looked like they were watering over for a moment, but his voice was steady as he said. "I'm quite touched. Yes, I would be most honoured — Ronnie. Hermione." He nodded slowly at both girls. "Now... Shall we go and see if we can wake everyone up?"

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's Notes: Yes, I actually went that route for this year's big Voldemort confrontation. No trip down the trap door, no chess game, no logic puzzle and no Mirror of Esired. I knew from the start that I wasn't going to follow canon in that respect, and while I didn't have all the details ready, I knew that there would be a Voldemort/Dumbledore confrontation. I also knew that Ronnie would get briefly Imperiused, which was why that curse got so much attention from the narrative to begin with, and that Fawkes would get the Killing Curse and survive due to being, well, Fawkes.

Though I didn't actually plan for poor Neville to get Crucio-ed. That pretty much just happened as I wrote the scene, and it happened because I realised that Quirrell in that situation would either use Crucio or Avada Kedavra on him...and I really did not want to kill off Neville, so the non-fatal Curse was used, giving all three Unforgiveables a show.

The confrontation was quite a challenge to write. For one thing, Dumbledore and Voldemort couldn't be too ineffective, but I also had to keep Potter's Gang (particularly Harry) involved and doing things, so it didn't just feel like Dumbledore came swooping in and saving the day single-handedly. I'll leave it up to you to judge whether I managed or not.

Next chapter, Snape returns (I've had a few criticisms on how he's been handled in this story, and I'll see if I can address some of the concerns) and Dumbledore explains a lot, including a brief peek at what's been going on behind the scenes in this story.

13. The Stone

And here's the penultimate chapter! Voldemort is defeated, for now, but there are a few things that need clarification...

WEASLEY GIRL

Based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Stone

Dumbledore had been right. All the sleepers were easily brought out of their deep slumber, and less than an hour later everyone was awake and none the worse for wear, though a few of the smaller and younger students were still a little groggy. Apparently they'd been more affected by the sleeping potion, though Dumbledore promised they would be fine again after a good night's proper sleep.

"Madam Pomfrey is spending Christmas with her relatives, but she will be back after Boxing Day," he said, after having summed up roughly what happened. "If we need to, I'm certain I could persuade her to return before, but I don't think it will be necessary. In the meantime, I know your Heads of House will take good care of you."

The teachers were all completely revived, and especially in the case of McGonagall and Flitwick, seemed quite displeased with the fact that they had slept while students had fought for their lives.

"What I would like to know," said Professor Sprout, her normally good-natured face solemn, "is how that sleeping potion got into the food in the first place. The house-elves would never willingly have allowed anyone to tamper with the food."

Harry didn't know what house-elves were, but didn't get the chance to ask, because Mrs. Weasley was now giving bone-crushing hugs to both him, Hermione and Neville (so that was where Ronnie got her strength from!) and wavered between praising them for their courage and sobbing because they had to go through such an ordeal in the first place. Finally, she wrapped her arms around Ronnie, who looked ready to cry again.

Ginny was still half asleep; she was the youngest and smallest child present, and the potion had apparently affected her the hardest. But after her mother had finished hugging Harry, Ginny stumbled over to him as well, wrapping her arms around him.

"You saved my sister!" she exclaimed, kissing his face repeatedly and murmuring in between kisses: "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you..."

"Er — I really — didn't do — all that much," said Harry, trying desperately to hide his growing embarrassment. (He'd never been kissed by a girl before, and found the experience rather... strange.) "Dumbledore was the one who saved us all, really... And Neville and Ronnie and Hermione saved me..." He took a deep breath as Ginny stopped kissing him and simply held her arms around him. "So... does this mean you're going to talk to me now?"

Ginny suddenly looked a lot more awake. As only now realising what she was doing, she let go of him, her face the color of a tomato.

"Are you okay?" said Harry carefully.

"Squeak!" said Ginny. And then ran to hide under the table.

"I'm gonna have to talk to her about that," said Ronnie, who had managed to tear herself away from her mother's embrace and was next to Harry again. "She's starting Hogwarts next year, she's never gonna get anything done if she keeps squeaking and hiding every time you happen to look at her."

"But why does she —" Harry began.

"Because she likes you, you arse!"

"She hardly knows me!"

"Boy Who Lived, Harry! She grew up with stories about you. Well, we both did, but she liked them more. Mum used to tell us bedtime stories, and I think Ginny sort of dreamed of..." Ronnie slowly turned pink.

Some strange part of Harry's brain that he had no idea where had come from seemed quite fascinated with how differently the Weasley sisters blushed, and how Ronnie always turned pink while Ginny turned red. "I'm in bedtime stories?" he said, trying to take his mind of the embarrassment.

"Yeah..." Ronnie was still pink. "Bloody silly, really. Look, I'll talk to Ginny, see if I can't get her to relax a bit."

"Thank you," said Harry, relieved.

And then, and this didn't come as any kind of surprise, Ronnie hugged him. "You did save me, you know," she said in a low voice. "Quirrell would have had me kill myself if you hadn't grabbed me and snapped me out of it."

"Well, you and Hermione and Neville saved me, so I think we're even..." Harry had no idea what else to say, so he said the only thing that came to mind. "Er — you're not going to kiss me too, are you?"

Ronnie made a face. "Ugh, no. Don't be disgusting."

"Oh... Good."

"I'm just gonna hug you for another hour or so."

Two days later, when the Weasleys had gone back home (and Percy, Fred and George, a little ashamed of having slept through an attack on their little sister, had agreed to back off a little), Professor McGonagall announced at breakfast that Quirrell had died during the night.

Harry didn't know how to feel about it. Quirrell had tried to kill them, had worked for Voldemort, and Dumbledore had even said he wouldn't last long, but still... having it confirmed like this was a little, well, strange.

Professor McGonagall didn't exactly have tears in her eyes, because she never did, but there was something sad in her expression nonetheless. "Foolish boy," she muttered. "I can't imagine what made him keep up that charade of his for as long as he did, but whatever it was You-Know-Who promised him, he never would have lived to enjoy it. Well... there is nothing for it now. The Headmaster was with him during his final moments." A bit of her usual brusqueness returned as she continued: "In any case, the Headmaster requests the company of, ahem, 'Potter's Gang' after breakfast. All four of you are to report to his office when you are done eating. And, Potter... He wants you to bring your flute."

"My —" Harry began, and then remembered the home-made flute Hagrid had given him for Christmas. He still had it in his pocket somewhere; in all the commotion he had forgotten about it. "Oh. Er, why?"

"I suggest you ask the Headmaster that, Potter. "

And so it was that five minutes later, all four members of Potter's Gang made their way to the stone gargoyle on the third floor that hid the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

They were slightly surprised when it turned out that Dumbledore was waiting for them in the corridor. He looked a little tired, as if he hadn't had much sleep lately (and he probably hadn't, Harry reasoned, with all that had been going on), but he smiled pleasantly at them as they approached.

"I promised you an explanation today, " he said, "and I do always try to keep my promises — but I hope you will not be too opposed to talking while we walk? There is a small matter I need to take care of, but I would appreciate your company."

"Of course, sir," said Harry.

"How's Fawkes?" Ronnie blurted out.

"Quite well, thank you," said Dumbledore. "He is resting in my office — rebirth tends to take a lot out of him — but I daresay he'll be back to his normal self soon enough. I shall tell him you asked about him. Now, please, follow me."

He began walking down the corridor at a leisurely pace. After having exchanged glances, Potter's Gang followed him.

"Did — did you talk to Quirrell?" said Hermione. "Before he...?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "I did. He got quite talkative before the end. I also talked to Severus Snape — who will, by the way, make a complete recovery. I will not bore you with everything they said, but I believe that I can now piece together a relatively coherent whole of what happened."

He was silent for a few seconds.

"I suppose," he said, "we must begin with the beginning. In this case, with a young, somewhat timid, but nevertheless brilliant wizard named Quirinus Quirrell, who not too long ago — at least from my perspective — started his first year at Hogwarts, and was sorted into Ravenclaw."

"Ravenclaw?" said Ronnie, sounding surprised. "Not Slytherin?"

Dumbledore smiled grimly. "The world is not split into good people and Slytherins, Ronnie," he said. "You'll find that just as all four Hogwarts houses have produced brilliant wizards and witches, all four Hogwarts houses, even Gryffindor, have produced the occasional Dark wizard or witch."

"That's not what Hagrid told me," said Harry without thinking.

"Oh?" Dumbledore peered at him curiously.

"Well..." Harry suddenly felt silly. "It was nothing really. When he took me to Diagon Alley, he mentioned Slytherin and said that, er, all the bad witches and wizards had come from there."

"I see." Dumbledore shook his head. "That is what I would call a classic example of how even the best of us can let prejudices cloud their thinking. Hagrid was a Gryffindor himself, Harry, and as I'm certain you've noticed, Gryffindor and Slytherin tend not to get along. And of course, Voldemort has somewhat sullied the reputation of his house over the last few decades. I assure you, however, that Quirinus Quirrell was no Slytherin — I was his Headmaster, as I am yours."

They rounded a corner and set down another corridor as Dumbledore spoke.

"Unfortunately," the Headmaster continued, "Quirrell's timid and nervous nature made him somewhat of a laughingstock among his peers, and as he grew older he got more determined to make something of himself, to show all the ones who had laughed at him that he was superior to them. I suppose that was why he sought out the remains of Voldemort."

"So he wanted —?!" Hermione gasped.

"I do not believe his goal was to get himself possessed, no," said Dumbledore. "He was a little unclear on this point, but I believe he hoped to either find the spirit of Voldemort and defeat it for good, or to learn skills from him. Either way, it would ensure he was never laughed at again."

"Didn't work out very well for him, did it?" Ronnie muttered.

"Indeed not. He managed to track down Voldemort, but even in his weakened, half-alive state, Voldemort was much too strong for Quirrell... Ah, please follow me down here."

They'd reached a staircase that was heading downwards to a place Harry knew all too well. And from the looks on their faces, so did his friends.

"This leads to that third-floor corridor," said Neville. "Fluffy's corridor."

"Quite so!" Dumbledore smiled. "Now, I am not altogether certain how it all happened, because Quirrell contradicted himself a few times. But what is beyond any doubt is he was forced or possibly coerced into serving Voldemort."

They had reached the familiar door now, but unlike the last time it was locked.

"Well," said Dumbledore. "It appears I have to pause the story a bit. Hermione, unless I'm much mistaken, you know an Unlocking Charm?"

Hermione looked a little surprised at the question, but of course she couldn't resist the opportunity to show off in front of a teacher. "Yes, of course," she said. When Dumbledore motioned for her to go ahead, she pulled her wand out of her pocket and tapped the lock with it. "Alohomora!"

The lock made a clicking sound, and then the door swung open.

"Expertly performed," Dumbledore praised. "Now I believe we'll need some help from Ronnie." All at once the deep, rumbling sound of three heads growling at once filled the air. Fluffy was on guard, it seemed, but Dumbledore showed no sign of intimidation - he barely motioned to Ronnie. "If you would?"

Ronnie looked at him, half-awed that she was actually being told to enter the forbidden corridor, and stepped in through the door. "Hello, Fluffy... Remember me?"

The growling stopped. Dumbledore paused for a second, then motioned for the rest of Potter's Gang to follow him inside.

And when they did, they found Ronnie by the huge, three-headed dog, stroking his fur with both her hands and making crooning noises to him as if he was a tiny puppy and not a huge monster. One head was gazing adoringly at her, though the remaining two kept a suspicious eye on the rest of the intruders.

"The rest of you, stay away from him," said Dumbledore calmly. "Let Ronnie handle him, as I am perfectly confident she can."

And true enough; Fluffy was surprisingly gentle with Ronnie. Harry was certain that if he or Hermione or Neville had tried to pet the gigantic dog the way Ronnie did, they would have got their heads bitten off. There just seemed to be something about Ronnie that made animals reluctant to harm her at all — maybe it just was some innate gift, such as Harry immediately knowing how to fly a broom, or Hermione knowing, well, everything.

"Harry," said Dumbledore. "Did you bring your flute, as I requested?"

Harry reached down into his robe pocket and pulled out the flute, handing it to Dumbledore who accepted it with a nod and then tapped it to with his wand. Moments later, the flute began playing a tune, soft and simple and ever-so-slightly off-key.

All six of Fluffy's ears perked, and as the tune kept playing, his eyes started drooping. One head yawned wide, and slowly - Ronnie still petting him, with a somewhat puzzled expression on her face - the huge dog lay down and closed his eyes.

"Music can soothe the savage beast," said Dumbledore simply, placing the flute down on the floor, where it kept playing all by itself. "A gentleman named Orpheus made the same discovery many years ago - thank you, Ronnie, you can come over to us now."

As Ronnie, still looking amazed, walked back up to them, Dumbledore flicked his wand again, and the trapdoor that Fluffy had stood on slowly opened. There didn't seem to be any sort of staircase or ladder, just an inky black darkness and emptiness.

Dumbledore made another flick of his wand, and all of a sudden, out of thin air, thick ropes appeared, weaving themselves together to form a long rope-ladder, which lowered itself down the trapdoor.

"There now," said Dumbledore. "Neville, will you do the honours of going first, and tell me what you see down there?"

"M-me?!" said Neville, blinking.

"Certainly. I have every confidence in you."

Looking halfway proud and halfway terrified, Neville walked up to the rope-ladder and testingly tugged on it, as if afraid it would collapse or snap under his weight. When this didn't happened, he carefully began climbing down it, vanishing down into the darkness. After a few seconds, his voice sounded: "It's dark down here - there's a huge plant at the bottom!"

"I hear you have very excellent Herbology marks," said Dumbledore. "Can you identify the plant?"

"I don't know, it looks like an unusually large Flitterbloom -" Neville paused, and then his voice sounded again. "No! It's Devil's Snare! Professor, if I go anywhere near it, it'll try to ensnare and choke me!"

"Professor Sprout wasn't exaggerating about your knowledge of plants," said Dumbledore, smiling. "Not many first-years would be able to identify Devil's Snare at a glance. Do you know how to deal with it as well?"

"Er, well, Devil's Snare prefers cold, dark surroundings and hates light and heat - I suppose bluebell flames or possibly that Lumos Solem spell -"

"Excellent, Neville." Dumbledore lifted his wand and pointed it down into the darkness, whereupon a beam of brilliant, warm light shot out of the tip of his wand, illuminating Neville from above and a mass of green far below him. At the light, the green writhed and pulled away, revealing what looked like a stone floor.

"Now it should be safe for you to climb the rest of the way down," said Dumbledore. "The rest of you, please follow him."

One by one, Hermione, Ronnie and Harry braved the rope-ladder, and went on the surprisingly long climb down, by the light of Dumbledore's wand. At last, they were all standing on what quite correctly turned out to be a stone floor, at the end of a long stone cave or tunnel, the plant having pulled away and clinging to the stone walls.

They gathered around to wait for Dumbledore to climb down as well - but he didn't. Instead, the rope-ladder dissolved, just as Dumbledore, far above, rook a step out into thin air and came falling down towards them.

Hermione shrieked in terror, but before Dumbledore was halfway down his fall slowed down, and he fell the last few feet as slowly and lightly as a feather.

His feet touched the ground lightly, and then he was standing in front of them, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "Everyone is all right? Good. There are a number of defences in our way, each provided by a member of the Hogwarts faculty. Fluffy was of course Hagrid's, and the Devil's Snare was placed here by Professor Sprout."

"But what are we doing down here?" said Harry, looking about at the tunnel around them. It seemed rather gloomy; completely silent except for the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls, and with a downwards-sloping passageway leading into the dark.

"Oh, I didn't tell you? I do beg your pardon," said Dumbledore. "We are here to retrieve the object Voldemort was after. It is no use to him any more, and, well, it does not truly belong to the school. It is merely here because a friend of mine asked me to keep it safe."

"So you're going to show us —?" said Hermione, looking excited.

"That was the plan," Dumbledore agreed. "You fought valiantly enough to protect it; I thought you at least deserved to know what it is."

Hermione and even Neville looked awed, but Ronnie was looking about the place with fascination.

"This is sort of like Gringotts, isn't it?" she said. "Same cheerful atmosphere, same tasteful decor."

"Interesting that you should mention Gringotts," said Dumbledore, "because that was to be the next point in Quirrell's story. The next security measure is up ahead, so we might as well continue the tale as we walk towards it."

He motioned for them all to follow again, and set off down the dark corridor, his wand still lighting the way.

"Now, I believe it was on July the thirty-first that you and Hagrid visited Gringotts, Harry? Hagrid told me you met Quirrell at the Leaky Cauldron."

Harry nodded.

"So, it was Professor Quirrell who broke into Gringotts, then, sir?" said Hermione.

"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "Aided by Voldemort, of course. You speak as though you already knew — did you figure it out?"

"Harry did, actually," Neville offered. "He said, er, that he'd met Quirrell that day. Right, Harry?"

"Right." Another thought struck Harry. "But — wait. He wasn't wearing his turban then. Does that mean Voldemort hadn't possessed him yet?"

"Very astutely deduced, Harry," Dumbledore praised. "As you already know, the break-in did not go according to plan, because what Voldemort had been after was, at the time, safe in Hagrid's coat pocket and on its way to Hogwarts. Discouraged by the failure, Voldemort decided to keep a closer eye on his lackey."

"And stuck himself on the back of his head," said Ronnie.

"Indeed — and managed to stay hidden like that for months. When Quirrell returned to Hogwarts in many ways a changed man, I suspected that something was wrong with him, but I did not dream he had become, shall we say, host to Voldemort." Dumbledore shook his head. "One of my bigger mistakes this year, I will admit, but Voldemort was always exceptionally good at keeping himself hidden when he did not want to be found."

Harry opened his mouth to ask if Dumbledore truly hadn't known, but a strange sound from up ahead caught his attention — a sound like hundreds of flapping wings.

The tunnel ended and they came out in a huge, brightly-lit chamber. Under its large, arching ceiling, hundreds of tiny, jewel-colored birds were flying around, fluttering and tumbling like tiny acrobats with no pause or rest.

Next to Harry, Ronnie gasped. "Those aren't birds, they're keys!"

And so they were; Harry suddenly realised, hundreds of winged keys flying around under the ceiling. At the very end of the chamber was a large, heavy wooden door with a big silver keyhole. It didn't take a genius to figure out that one of the flying keys must fit that keyhole.

"I suppose Alohomora won't work this time?" said Hermione, who was looking anxiously at the door.

"Quite right. This door has been enchanted to resist any unlocking charm," said Dumbledore. "Professor Flitwick is a master of such magic. The only thing that will open this door is the right key." He motioned to another end of the chamber, where a row of broomsticks were propped up against the wall. "This is the second-to-last defence. There would have been more, but sadly and due to circumstances quite beyond their control, neither professors Quirrell nor Snape managed to finish their own defences."

"Quirrell was helping set up the defences?" said Neville, shocked.

"Yes," Dumbledore sighed. "No doubt his contribution would have been something he himself could bypass with no difficulty. But, well, he managed to set up his own downfall through his somewhat ham-fisted attempt at killing the four of you, back in September. I wonder which one of us can get to the right key first?"

The sudden change in the conversation topic was vaguely confusing, but Harry managed to look at the door, and then at the keys, and then at the broomsticks, and realised that this was probably to be yet another test. But if this test involved broomsticks, he was certain he could pass it.

"I think we can manage," he said, striding up towards the broomsticks. Neville and Ronnie both followed him, but Hermione (who never really seemed to get comfortable with flying) stayed behind.

"The keyhole's very big," she called after them. "Look for a very big key! Probably silver, like the handle!"

Harry, Ronnie and Neville grabbed a broomstick each and kicked off, soaring up towards the ceiling and up among the flying, fluttering keys. It was almost like their first flying lesson all over again, except this time there was no Forbidden Forest or Voldemort, and to Ronnie's obvious pride Neville was flying quite competently and confidently.

It was almost impossible to find any given key in the confusing whirl of rainbow feathers and gleaming metal. The keys swooped and zoomed around them, almost impossible to touch or catch. There were gold ones, rusty iron ones, bronze ones, and, yes, silver ones, but all the silver keys Harry could see were small, not big enough for the lock — and then, after almost a minute of confusing flying, he saw it.

"That one!" he said, pointing. "The big silver one with the blue wings!"

Neville flew towards where Harry pointed, but the key neatly evaded his grasp and vanished in between the flurry of other keys.

"Find it again!" Harry cried. "We have to surround it! Er — Ronnie, try to go at it from above, and Neville from below, and I'll try to get around and catch it — now!"

"Oh, be careful!" Hermione yelled from below, as the three took their positions and flew into the key cloud.

The silver key, one of the bigger keys in the myriad, zoomed back and forth and up and down to evade Ronnie and Neville as they came at it from above and below, and Harry streaked after the blurry silver shape. It sped towards the wall, but Harry was faster, and just as it made a sharp turn he managed to shoot out his hand and lock his fingers around it.

The key struggled in his grasp, but he had it.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore beamed as he landed, triumphantly holding the struggling key. "I do believe it would be a great shame if you three did not try out for the Quidditch team next year! I daresay Oliver Wood would be ecstatic." He smiled as Ronnie turned pink, and turned back to Harry. "Would you do the honours of opening the door?"

Placing the broomstick down, Harry inserted the key in the lock, and with a satisfying click the door swung open.

Behind it was another chamber, dark and ominous, but as Harry carefully set foot inside it, light suddenly flooded the room and revealed what was probably the strangest sight yet: The entire room was filled by a gigantic chessboard, with huge chess pieces made from some sort of smooth stone, towering over them. The black pieces were standing motionlessly in front of them, and there on the other side of the board the white pieces were facing them... Or perhaps 'facing' was the wrong expression, because these chess pieces had no faces; their heads were smooth and round and more than a little eerie-looking. Harry could just about make out the contours of another door behind the white king and queen.

"McGonagall's defence," said Dumbledore, who stood beside him. "A showcase of Transfiguration and a test of intelligence at the same times. To reach the other door, we must play and win the game."

"But I can't play chess," said Ronnie, a little nervously.

"I can, a little," Hermione murmured. "But I'm not very good at it, and wizard chess is too brutal for my tastes. I hate how the chess pieces scream when they're knocked out."

"Don't look at me," said Neville. "We don't even have a chessboard. My Gran doesn't like the game either."

Everyone looked at Harry, but he just shook his head. Most of his knowledge of chess came from when Percy had tried to teach him a few days earlier; before that his only real exposure to the game had been when he was eight and Dudley had got a chess set for his birthday. Having forced Harry to play a game with him, Dudley had lost interest halfway through the game and instead began throwing the chess pieces at Harry, and a knight had rolled away into the hallway where uncle Vernon had accidentally stepped on it and fallen flat on his back. That had been the end of anything chess-related in Privet Drive.

"I suppose I shall have to make the effort, then," said Dumbledore. "Now, let me see... Yes, we each need to take the place of a piece." He pointed with his wand as the black king, queen and both knights, all of whom suddenly sprang to life and moved off the board. "Pick your places," he said.

After a moment or two of indecision, Potter's Gang took the places of the pieces; Hermione and Neville both took the place of a knight, while Ronnie ended up as the queen and Harry as the king.

"What about you, sir?" said Hermione, looking at Dumbledore.

"Me?" The Headmaster smiled again. "I shall take the place of my favourite chess piece — I'll be a pawn."

"A pawn?" said Hermione. "But —"

"There is more to the humble pawn than you may think," said Dumbledore. "It is, yes, the weakest and least important of chess pieces, as well as the one most often called upon to be sacrificed so that the other, more important pieces may have a chance. But, as so many people forget, the pawns are the life and soul of the game. They alone form the attack and the defense; on their good or bad situation depends the gain or loss of the party. Not to mention, of course, that a pawn, if making its way all through the board, may become a queen; the most versatile and powerful piece of them all. So a pawn I shall be, and may I prove worthy of it." He turned towards the white chess pieces. "Let the game begin!"

One of the white pawns came to life and moved two steps forward.

"Some people see chess as a metaphor for life," said Dumbledore, pointing at one of the black pawns, which also came to life and moved to steps forward. "In a way, it is — the king, the most important piece, cannot manage without the others... And it is often easy to put oneself out of the game through one thoughtless move. Which was what Quirrell did."

Harry nodded. It seemed like the story would go on throughout the game.

"When he saw the four of you down in the dungeon, so surrounded by potentially dangerous potions, the temptation grew too big. He could feel Voldemort's burning hatred for Harry... After all, Harry was the person responsible for Voldemort's downfall. While Quirrell was usually a cautious man, Voldemort's rage quite overtook him. Not enough to attack outright, but enough to make a fatal attempt on Harry's life."

A black and white pawn met. The black pawn reached out and smashed the white one to the floor, and then dragged him off the board to leave him lying motionless to the side.

"I suppose it made sense to him at the time," Dumbledore went on, undisturbed. "In the dungeon there would be no witnesses, and it was easy enough to provide a distraction for Professor Snape, and then knock over the shelf... it was meant to look like an accident. But as we know, the resulting potion mix did not kill you. Instead, it quite by accident set Professor Snape onto the track of creating a potion that caused immunity towards all other potions, poisons and elixirs."

A black tower moved up and took out a white pawn with the same merciless efficiency.

"As you now know," said Dumbledore, "it was Quirrell who let the troll in on Halloween. He was hoping to create a distraction so that he could come down here. Of course, the four of you, and Professor Snape, forced him to change his plans. He had not counted on encountering either of you — but Voldemort, seeing Ronnie as a tool to get him past Fluffy and remembering Professor Snape as a loyal servant from the past, decided to grab the opportunity. Curiously enough, this happened on the very day of the ten-year-anniversary of his original defeat. Curious how these things sometimes happen, isn't it?"

Harry almost wished he knew more about chess, because the game was followed would probably have been followed with interest by chess fanatics anywhere — the pieces would move of their own accord, like living, faceless statues, and Dumbledore directed the black ones here and there, occasionally moving a place forward himself, and the chess pieces fell like... Well, like chess pieces. Now Harry understood what Hermione had meant by wizard chess being "brutal" — but Dumbledore kept both himself and Potters Gang from being harmed.

"What you don't know," said Dumbledore, "but probably have guessed, is that Severus Snape had at the time managed to perfect the immunity potion, and he pretended to go with Quirrell so that he could try to administer the potion to him in secret. It took him several attempts, but he finally managed. Which really was the proverbial nail in Quirrell's coffin... You see, at that point, he was dying."

"Dying?" Hermione and Neville chorused.

"Being possessed by Voldemort is hardly beneficial to one's health," said Dumbledore solemnly. "He confessed this to me, at the end. Voldemort had survived as a spirit for ten years. Occasionally he would possess an animal — most often a snake, from what I understand, as he always had a certain affinity for them — but this reduced their lifespan considerably. And Quirrell, as a human, lasted for longer, but a few months of being possessed was really all his body could take."

Harry remembered how pale and sickly Quirrell had looked towards the end.

"And people who know their time is up often get desperate... So Quirrell decided to try and attempt to strengthen both himself and Voldemort using the one known substance that will keep anyone from death, be they ever so close to it... unicorn blood."

"So that's what the entire unicorn blood thing was about!" said Neville. "Unicorn blood heals you?"

"Yes, and no. It will stay death away, but it carries a curse with it as well. A drinker of unicorn blood is doomed to lead a half-life filled with pain." Dumbledore looked grim. "One does not slay a unicorn without repercussions. But in Quirrell's case, he might as well have drunk water, or Firewhisky, for all the effect it had on him. Thanks to Severus Snape, both Quirrell and Voldemort were now immune to any potion or potion-like substance. And that included unicorn blood."

As Dumbledore spoke, the game silently went on. White pieces fell, as did some of the black ones - but nowhere near as many as the white ones, and never any of the humans.

While Harry, as king, remained in one square for the duration of the game, Hermione, Ronnie and Neville were moved about a few times. Each one even got to take out a white piece: Hermione got one of the white rooks, while Neville took out the white queen, and Ronnie got one of the knights. (They did not, however, violently knock or throw their opponents to the floor, which seemed to disappoint the chess pieces.)

"Quirrell was desperate, and his time was running out. He... Hm. Let us just say Voldemort took his anger out on Severus. I doubt you would want to hear about what he did in detail. Suffice to say, Severus paid for his treachery — when we found him in the Forest on Christmas Eve, he looked so bad I feared he would not live."

Harry winced. He had hated Snape, had been more than willing to accept him as evil, because, well, the man was so easy to hate and so easy to believe the worst of. A mean, sarcastic and unfair teacher who bullied students and played favorites had to be working for Voldemort and planning to kill everyone, right? And now, he heard that Snape had risked his life and almost died in order to stop Voldemort... Harry felt guilty.

"He will, as I said, make a complete recovery," Dumbledore assured. "At the moment, he is resting up in Hagrid's hut. He claimed he would rather be there than in the hospital wing... I do not think Hagrid minds the company."

There were far fewer white than black pieces left on the board now, and Dumbledore looked over the board. "Checkmate in five moves," he said, and then continued his story as he kept commanding the black pieces (and Ronnie, Neville and Hermione) around:

"Little did I know at the time that both the dead unicorn and the dying Severus Snape were a hastily-thought out scheme to get me away from the castle. I'm certain that if Voldemort had had more time, he would have taken steps to get me further away... But as I said, he had no time left. His only hope now was to get to Ronnie so that she could get him past Fluffy, so he used the Invisibility Cloak to sneak to the castle from the Forbidden Forest. From there he made his way down to the kitchen, and cast the Imperius curse on one of the kitchen staff, to make him in secret add a sleeping potion to the Christmas dinner."

"That's horrible!" said Hermione. "Is the kitchen staff member all right?"

"I had to order him not to punish himself for the deed," said Dumbledore. "After all, he was not to blame for the happening — and, of course, it was only a sleeping potion. Voldemort needed Ronnie alive, and he was unaware that she shared his immunity to potions. If he had known it wouldn't harm her, he might have called for poison, just to make certain that the teachers would not bother him further."

Harry shuddered, and he could see that Ronnie, Neville and Hermione looked uncomfortable as well.

"He knows we're immune now," he said. "He must do. We talked about it, he was there with the Invisibility Cloak."

"I suppose it was bound to come out sooner or later," said Dumbledore softly. "For the moment, I doubt he will have much use for the information... well, the rest of the story, I believe you know. He waited until the sleeping potion took effect, and then revealed himself to attack you. And was defeated."

There was a second's pause as Harry realised that the white king's movements were hindered by the fact that all possible escape routes would put him straight into the path of either Neville, Hermione or Dumbledore.

"Checkmate," said Dumbledore.

The white king looked around with his blank face, and then removed his crown, throwing it at Dumbledore's feet. The remainder of the chess pieces bowed and then parted, leaving the road to the door open.

There was a long silence as Potter's Gang stared.

"Is that it?" said Hermione finally. "So... What's behind the door?"

"A passageway," said Dumbledore, "leading to two empty chambers, the ones where Quirrell's and Snape's defences were to be. Beyond those two, the final chamber holds the prize; the object that Voldemort thought could get him back to life, the same object he broke into Gringotts for." He chuckled. "Forgive my vagueness here, but it's not often I get to do dramatic revelations like this. What Voldemort wanted was —"

"— the Resurrection Stone?" said Harry hopefully. Voldemort had claimed that wasn't it, but...

Dumbledore looked at him, his eyebrows raising in surprise. "The Resurrection Stone?" he repeated.

"Well, it would... call him back to life... Wouldn't it...?" Harry trailed off.

Dumbledore shook his head. "You draw good, but slightly hasty conclusions, Harry," he said. "You've heard the tale of the Three Brothers, I take it?"

Harry nodded. "Ronnie told it to me."

"The three gifts of Death," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "The Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the ultimate Invisibility Cloak. The so-called Deathly Hallows. There are those in our world who believe that these three artifacts do, or at least did, exist in the real world... that they are somewhere out there, waiting for the person to collect all three of them." For a moment his voice sounded a little dreamy, but then he sagged and just looked old and tired. "I'm sorry, Harry. The Resurrection Stone is not here at Hogwarts. If it even exists."

Harry swallowed. Well, he tried to reason with himself, what had he expected, really? Getting his parents back? Being allowed to move away from the Dursleys? Living happily ever after?

...well, yes. He had expected, or at least hoped. "It was stupid, really," he murmured. Wishful thinking."

"Wishful thinking can get the better of the best of us," said Dumbledore silently. "I myself spent years looking for the Resurrection Stone in my youth, but I never found any clue that it might exist. The Wand and the Cloak, yes, there were scattered records of artifacts that could have been them, but never the Stone. No matter how much I might have wished otherwise."

And even through his own surprisingly bitter disappointment, Harry thought he saw pain and loss in those brilliant blue eyes. For the first time, he found himself wondering about Dumbledore's past. Why had he looked for the Resurrection Stone? Who had he lost? It somehow seemed much too personal a question to ask.

Then, Dumbledore pulled himself back up to his full height and cleared his voice. "But it wouldn't have helped Voldemort even if we did have the Resurrection Stone. After all, he is not truly dead, so the Stone would have been no use to him. What we have behind this door is — well, let's enter, and you can see for yourself."

They stepped off the chessboard. Ronnie, who was closest, opened the door, revealing — just as Dumbledore had said — another passageway. This one was short and dark and ended in another, thoroughly unimpressive door.

None of them spoke as they walked through the passageway, opened the unlocked door and found the first empty chamber.

This was the smallest chamber so far, and definitely the least impressive-looking... Then again, the others had had all kinds of magics in them. If Snape or Quirrell had had time to prepare this room, who knew what it might have looked like?

Dumbledore strode over to the opposite door and opened it — and this door led to the smallest room so far; it wasn't even the size of the Privet Drive living room and looked more like an antechamber for the next room than a chamber in its own right. Through an arched doorway, with no door, they could see the seventh and final chamber; much bigger and more impressive looking, but completely empty except for, right in the middle of the room —

"The Mirror of Erised?!" said Hermione, sounding surprised.

And the Mirror of Erised it was; big and elaborate and altogether cleaner and more impressive-looking than it had been when they'd last seen it in Snape's office.

"That's what You-Know-Who was after?!" said Ronnie. "What, he just wanted to find out what he wanted?"

"It's not the Mirror itself, but what it hides," said Dumbledore, leading Potter's Gang into the chamber and up towards the towering Mirror. "I told you once that it could do more than show us our desires - for one thing, with the proper preparations and spells, it can be used as a hiding place. And a secure one at that. You see, in order to retrieve any object from the Mirror, you have to want that object more than anything — furthermore, you have to want the object itself, not to use it. If your greatest desire is to use the object, you will just see an image of yourself using the object. Quirrell, had he looked in the Mirror, would just have seen himself presenting the Stone to Voldemort, and been no closer to getting it."

They gathered around the Mirror. Harry looked into the reflective surface, and could see — with a pang of regret — his parents looking back out at him.

"But wouldn't that make it hard to get the object if you yourself really needed it?" said Hermione, who was pointedly not looking at the Mirror (though Harry did notice that Ronnie and Neville both were).

"True." Dumbledore was smiling again. "That is why I did make certain to add a special method that would only work for me." He stood in front of the mirror, and said, to whatever or whoever he saw there: "Ariana, I want you to know that I'm a barmy old codger."

Ronnie let out a small giggle at this, but pulled herself together when Hermione nudged her.

Dumbledore closed his hand, looked at the Mirror, and said "Thank you." When he opened his hand again, it held a small, blood-red stone.

"Not particularly impressive-looking, is it?" he said, holding it up. "But this is one of the most highly sought-after objects in the world. It's the only Philosopher's Stone in existence."

Hermione gasped. Ronnie and Neville looked blank.

"Er," said Harry. "What's a Philosopher's Stone?"

"Do you three ever open a book?!" Hermione fumed. "The Philosopher's Stone is the all-time greatest achievement in alchemy! It's — it's the reason for why alchemy was invented in the first place! Even Muggles have legends about it!"

"That's nice," said Ronnie. "But what is it?"

"It transforms any metal into pure gold!" said Hermione exasperatedly.

"Not only that," said Dumbledore, "but it also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. It will cure any disease and heal any injury, it will stop aging, and it would have been capable of bringing Voldemort back... if he had not been immune to elixirs and potions."

Neville was the first to regain his speech. "So it was all for nothing?!" he said. "Even if You-Know-Who had managed to get to this, it wouldn't have helped him at all?!"

"It seems so," said Dumbledore. "And all because he could not let go of his hatred. If he had not tried to kill you, the immunity potion would never have been discovered. Truly, he brought on his own defeat. Make no mistake," he added, looking seriously at Potter's Gang. "While Voldemort's quest was all for nothing, your fight against him was not. He could have caused a lot more damage than he did, had you not stood against him. That alone is worth, oh, fifty points to Gryffindor, for each of you."

Hermione gasped again, louder this time. "That's - that's two hundred points!" she said in an awestruck voice.

"Three hundred," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "I'm awarding each of you an additional twenty-five points for your notable displays of skill against the defences. Why, if this had been at the end of your first year, I'm quite certain you would have reached the Mirror with no help from me at all!"

Potter's Gang looked at one another. None of them had any idea what to say.

"Now then," said Dumbledore. "Shall we make our way back? I really need to return the Stone to its rightful owner."

"Sir," Ronnie suddenly said. "Who's Ariana?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Someone from my past," he said. "Someone I never had the opportunity to tell how sorry I was. Come on, now — we can't stay here all day."

The next day, the last day of the Christmas holiday, Harry went to see Hagrid.

He'd woken up early, from yet another dream of his parents; this time it had turned out that Dumbledore did have the Resurrection Stone after all, and Harry had been allowed to call his parents back - and then he woke up, heart beating rapidly.

When he got out of bed, noticing that Neville was still asleep, and looked out the window, he saw the contours of Hagrid's hut over by the Forbidden Forest, and noticed the smoke was rising from the chimney.

Dumbledore had declared that since Voldemort had fled and both Snape and Quirrell were now accounted for, the restrictions against going outside were lifted, so Harry didn't feel guilty to step outside in the icy cold to go visit Hagrid. He didn't even see the need to bring his Invisibility Cloak, which was now securely packed down in his trunk and, at least for the moment, safe from thieving hands.

Hagrid opened the door almost at once, wearing a huge, very pink apron with flower patterns on. He lit up in a big smile when he saw Harry. "Hello there, Harry!" he said. "Come fer a spot o' breakfast, have yeh? C'mon in!"

He'd evidently been up for some time, since the hut was nice and warm from the roaring fire and the smell of fried eggs and sausage was heavy in the air. Fang was over by Harry almost at once to say hello, treating him almost as affectionately as he usually did Ronnie.

"Potter," said a sour voice from a corner of the room.

Snape was lying on Hagrid's bed, fully clothed and looking thinner, paler and more unhealthy than Harry remembered him, and with a nasty scar over his cheek. He didn't look anywhere near as bad as Quirrell had, but in the company of the gigantic and robust Hagrid, Snape seemed surprisingly small and frail - so much so, in fact, that Harry briefly wondered how he could ever have been intimidated by this man. His black eyes were as sharp as ever, though, and his look of disapproving contempt could not be mistaken.

"Oh," said Harry. "Hello, Professor. Dumbledore told me you were here too."

"Quite," said Snape. For a moment, he almost softened a little. "Not such a bad place to be... though I question the menu. Vole sausages, Hagrid?!"

"Now, c'mon, yeh have ter eat." Hagrid gave Snape a stern look as he moved back to the fireplace, where a large frying pan, resting on a stand, contained a large number of sizzling eggs, and an even larger number of sausages were speared on a poker and frying over the open flame. "Got ter get yer strength back, after all! 'Sides, vole meat's good fer yeh!"

"I survived a murder attempt by the Dark Lord," said Snape. "It would be somewhat of an anticlimax if I died now thanks to food poisoning. Just the eggs, please."

"Righ' yeh are," said Hagrid, though he didn't look completely convinced. "Eggs, Harry?"

Harry wasn't really hungry, but he thought it'd be polite to accept, and besides, he couldn't quite think of a way to ask all the questions he had. So, hoping he would think of a way while they ate, he accepted a place by Hagrid's table and a generous portion of fried egg and sausage (hopefully not made out of vole), while Hagrid set aside an equally-generous portion for himself and one for Snape — who was apparently not in any shape to join them at the table.

They ate in silence for a while, while Harry thought about what he wanted to say. To Hagrid, yes, but to Snape as well.

So," Hagrid finally said, apparently deciding that it was up to him to start the conversation. "Had quite a Christmas, didn' yeh? How're yeh holdin' up?"

"All right, I suppose," said Harry. "Everyone apart from Quirrell is fine. A few of the teachers are upset because they slept while we fought for our lives... And a few of the students are upset because they slept through everything and missed the fun."

Hagrid must have noticed the sarcasm Harry put into the word 'fun,' because he nodded and said: "Well, easy enough fer people who never had somethin' like that happen to them, ter think it's all fun an' games. Mind yeh, I wish I was there too, bu' in my case it's mos'ly 'cause I wanted ter give that Quirrell a ruddy good wallopin'. Doubt whatever potion was in that food woulda got ter me that fast. Takes a lot ter knock someone my size out, yeh know?"

Harry looked at him, and slowly nodded. A small part of his mind suggested that perhaps Voldemort had accounted for this and somehow arranged it so that Hagrid, along with Dumbledore, would not be present at the feast.

There was a snort from over by the bed.

Harry turned to look at Snape, who was sitting up in bed, with an almost-untouched plate of eggs in his lap, looking at Harry with disapproving black eyes.

"Well, Potter?" he said acidly. "Trying to hide your disappointment that I survived?"

"No, I just — I just —" Harry took a deep breath. "Thank you. And — I'm sorry."

For the first time ever, or at least for the first time since Harry had known him, Snape stared at him in utter astonishment. "Thank you?" he repeated in a tone of total disbelief. "I'm sorry?"

"You know, because I thought you were, well, evil," said Harry. "I knew you were with Vol— with You-Know-Who, but Dumbledore said you'd reformed, and I didn't believe him."

"A Potter jumping to conclusions," said Snape. "What a surprise."

"But, well, then Quirrell called you a traitor, and Dumbledore told me what you'd done, and you risked your life and all, so... well... I misjudged you. I'm sorry."

There was a long, drawn-out pause. Then, Snape did something Harry had never heard him do: He laughed. And it wasn't a nice laugh either; it was a hoarse and rusty sound, made by one who barely remembers what it's like to laugh. "You're sorry!" he repeated. "You! Harry Potter! The Boy Who Lived! The most arrogant — impertinent —"

"I — I mean it!" said Harry a little offended.

"You mean it!" Snape wheezed, having to take several breaths before he was able to continue. "Potter, if I had still been your teacher, I would have taken every single point away from Gryffindor for your blatant lies."

"I'm not lying, I'm —" And then Snape's words sank in. "If you had still been my teacher?"

"I've handed in my resignation," said Snape. "After what happened, I can no longer be of use to Dumbledore."

"But —"

"Besides, according to some, I am not a worthy teacher."

"Not gonna let that one go, are yeh?" said Hagrid, who didn't seem surprised about the news. Then again, if Snape hadn't left Hagrid's hut, Hagrid had probably witnessed his resignation first-hand.

"If some miracle happens and you ever become a teacher, Hagrid," said Snape coldly, "and you get a horribly insulting letter written by a child who thinks she knows it all simply because she happens to get good marks on her school tests, and said letter blatantly states you are an awful person purely because you don't mollycoddle your students... we'll see how much you like that."

His resolve to not hate Snape any more lessening by the second (even as he was reeling from the shock of the man actually laughing), Harry tried to defend Hermione. "It was just the one letter," he said. "And you can't say she didn't have a point. And besides, nothing happened because of that letter, did it? You —"

Snape's eyebrows raised. "Nothing happened?"

"Well, okay, things happened, but -"

"Nothing. Happened." Snape nearly spat out the words. "So I wasn't called to the Headmaster's office to have an hour's humiliating lecture about the contents of the letter, and how disappointed he was in me. McGonagall did not show up in my office to yell at me for having the audacity not to treat her favourite students with undeserved reverence. After your first detention, Madam Pomfrey did not make vague threats about maybe forgetting her oath as a Healer if I ever got injured. How silly of me, I thought those things did happen. But obviously, Potter, you know better. Thank you for opening my eyes."

Harry felt a little taken aback. Okay, Snape had toned things down in Potions class notably after the detention incident, but... "Well, nobody told me any of that —"

"Oh, nobody told you! Of course! That's where we all went wrong! You're automatically entitled to be told everything that goes on between the teachers! That's why we always invite you to our teachers' conferences, because nothing ever goes on that the great Harry Potter shouldn't immediately be told about!"

"Now, look here," Hagrid began. "Don't yeh think —"

"I do apologise for that oversight, Potter!" Snape sneered. "You are of course entitled to know everything about me! My entire life story and everything that happens to me is your God-given right to know about, isn't it?! What would you like to hear first? Is every single problem that letter caused me enough, or should I perhaps tell you about my own school years, and how your magnificent father and his gang almost killed me?! That should give you a good laugh!"

"All right, that's enough!" Hagrid thundered. "This is my house! I let yeh stay here ter rest, I made yeh supper an' breakfast, an' I don't even mind that I never heard a word o' thanks, but yeh don't talk ter Harry like that while yer under my roof! An' I've bin makin' excuses fer yeh all year, too -!"

"I don't recall asking you to do that," said Snape.

"Cuttin' yeh some slack here, cause yer still sick, an' yeh've bin with You-Know-Who, an workin' against 'im, mighty brave o' yeh an' all that, yer a true hero," said Hagrid, "but GROW UP! Yeh had a rotten life? Well, guess what, other people had rotten lives too, an' they don't go around sneerin' at everyone! NOW SHUT UP AN' EAT YER RUDDY EGGS!"

Snape actually moved back slightly at that.

"C'mon, Harry," said Hagrid brusquely. "I'll walk yeh back ter the castle."

Harry was only too happy to leave Snape behind, even if this meant leaving the cosy warmth of Hagrid's hut and go back out in the cold December morning. And soon enough, they were making their way over the snow-covered grounds — with Fang, who didn't seem to mind the cold at all, happily trotting at Hagrid's side.

"I really thought I'd misjudged him," said Harry. "He was such an awful teacher, but after everything that happened, I thought maybe he wasn't such a bad person after all. That we were on the same side, somehow. But he didn't even want my apology. He really does hate me."

"Yep," said Hagrid. "Y'ask me, he's bein' ruddy childish abou' the entire thing. Can no longer be o' use ter Dumbledore, indeed!"

Harry looked up at Hagrid. "You know why he hates me, don't you? You've been pretending not to know, but you do." He did feel a little guilty for prying, especially after Snape's tirade, but he had to know. "Is it because my father tried to kill him?"

"Yer Dad didn' try ter kill Snape!" said Hagrid. "No matter what he said, that's not true! There was a — He jus' —" Hagrid gave a frustrated groan and shook his head. "Look, I didn' tell yeh this before 'cause it wasn't my story ter tell, an Snape is — was — yer teacher an' all. But if he's gonna go aroun' tellin' yeh that yer Dad tried ter kill him, someone should at least set yeh straight there."

Harry felt a strange knot in his stomach. "What happened?"

"Well firs' of all, James Potter was a good man. I see a lotta him in you, an' that's one o' the finest compliments I could give ter anyone!"

The knot in Harry's stomach tightened a little, and he wasn't even sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand, he felt proud, on the other hand... no, it was too hard to explain.

"Righ', what I didn' tell yeh before was that James was kinda the leader of this group. It was him an' three other boys. They called themselves..." Hagrid paused for a moment. "Y'know, I can't remember. They had a name for their group."

"It wasn't 'Potter's Gang,' was it?"

"Nah, that wasn' it — strange word, started with an M. Nope, completely gone. But they were kinda like the four o' you. Heh, even if your group's two boys an' two girls, yer really a lot like they were. Not completely the same, but similar. All of 'em were Gryffindors, an' they were always together, sometimes in big trouble. An' like you with that Malfoy boy, they even had their own enemy in Slytherin."

"Snape," said Harry, beginning to understand.

"Snape," Hagrid agreed. "He was in the same year as yer Dad's group, an' they got along like Crups an' Kneazles —" he must have caught Harry's confused expression, because he hastened to amend: "— I mean, they didn' get along at all. Always at each others' throats, they were. An' one day — well, let's jus' say a prank got outta hand, an' Snape coulda died, if James hadn' stepped in an' saved his life at the las' moment."

"He saved his life?! But then why did Snape say —?"

"Didn' wanna admit his enemy'd done a good thing, did he? If anything, they hated each other more after that."

"So that's why Snape hates me," said Harry. "That's why he's hated me, and my friends, from the start! We remind him of his old enemies!"

"Yep," said Hagrid unhappily.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"Wasn't my story ter tell, like I said." To his credit, Hagrid did look guilty. "'Sides, I was hopin' — well, everyone was hopin' — he'd learn ter put that hate away, see that you weren' James, an' that Potter's Gang weren' the same as the —" he paused, thought and sighed. "Now I'm gonna go aroun' fer days wonderin' what that name they used for themselves was. Yer Dad's group. Them."

Harry had no idea what to say to that.

"Looks like we were wrong. Snape's not —" Hagrid fidgeted. "He's not actually a bad person, he jus' doesn't know how ter be a good person. Too many bad things happened to him in the past, an' now he can't let go of 'em. Well... Don' matter too much now, I s'ppose. Looks like Dumbedore's gonna have ter hire a new Potions teacher anyway. All right — here we are."

They'd reached the castle and were directly outside the main entrance.

Harry was about to go in, but then stopped. "Hagrid? What happened to the other boys in my Dad's group? His three friends? Where are they now?"

"Ah." A shadow seemed to fall over Hagrid's face. "Don' ask me ter tell that story righ' now, Harry. It's not a happy story. Migh' tell yeh someday, but... not today. Sorry."

With that, he turned, and, accompanied by Fang, began the walk back to his hut.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's Notes: Right, that was the "Dumbledore explains it all" chapter. You might note that Dumbledore is slightly more forthcoming with information in this universe than he is in canon. Of course, he's still keeping secrets, but... Well, we'll see.

As for Snape... Yeah. He's brave, and in many ways self-sacrificing, and actually not the monster many people think he is, but he's also a great bullying git who can't let go of his hatred. He is one of the most tragic and pitiful characters in the series; the victim who became a bully, and who's never happy because he doesn't know how to be.

My characterization of him here is partly a response to several AUs where he's portrayed as a kind and fair man, and partly based on a teacher I myself had once. (Trust me, teachers like Snape do exist, and if you haven't had one, then count yourself lucky.) In fact, Hermione's letter of complaint, including the phrase "not a worthy teacher" is taken directly from my own school days, when a group of students wrote a similar letter about our chemistry teacher. Who proceeded to read it out loud in class, just like Snape did in this story.

A lot of people have pointed out that the situation with Hermione's letter was unrealistic and reflected poorly on Hogwarts as a school (and Dumbledore as a Headmaster) since immediate actions were not taken... But as I hope was made a little clearer here, there were consequences, and Snape did get into trouble over the letter, it just wasn't obvious to the students.

So, Snape is out of Hogwarts. Does this mean he's out of the story? Probably not. His journey is far from over, and there's always room for a greasy, sarcastic git in the world of Harry Potter, be he the Potions master or not.

14. Epilogue

Yay, the home stretch! This is the final chapter of the first Weasley Girl story! Weird to think that I started this story on a pure whim, and it grew to be the longest story I ever wrote. It's been remarkably fun to do, not to mention you guys seemed to like it... So many views, favourites and reviews!

Check out the author's notes at the end of this chapter for information about the future of this AU.

WEASLEY GIRL
Based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling

EPILOGUE

"—and after that I came back here," Harry finished, as Ronnie, Hermione and Neville all looked at him wide-eyed.

They were in the Gryffindor common room, with its cosy roaring fires and comfortable chairs — and for once, they were not "chaperoned" by Fred, George or Percy. To Harry's secret relief, this meant they weren't around to hear the story about his father...not that he particularly wanted to keep secrets from them, but there were things he felt more comfortable sharing only with the rest of Potter's Gang.

Ronnie punched the air and cried: "Yes! No more bloody Snape!" She grabbed both Hermione's hands and began dancing with her around the Gryffindor common room; an energetic and not at all graceful dance that Hermione surprisingly enough went along with with no protest. "No more Slytherin favouritism, no more greasy hair, no more sarcasm! No more being treated like —"

Hermione was giggling, but seemed to want to be fair-minded, so she said: "We shouldn't be cheering. I know I was the one who kept saying he had to be evil, but Snape did work against Voldemort, if it hadn't been for him —!"

"Yes, yes, I'll hail him as a hero all you want, after I finished celebrating that I'm rid of him!"

Neville, however, looked more thoughtful. As the girls were dancing around, neither of them with any great skill, he sat in one of the deep chairs with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Suppose we don't really know our teachers at all, when it comes down to it," he finally said, when Harry asked him if he was all right."We just think of them as our teachers. We don't consider that they have lives of their own that might not even involve us, do we? But they've got pasts. They've been kids themselves, haven't they?"

"We already knew Snape had a past," said Harry. "He was a Death Eater who reformed, remember?"

"Yeah, but there must have been a time before that, mustn't there? Snape went to Hogwarts as the same time as your parents... He must have been a kid once. He must've been our age at some point." Neville leaned back in the chair. "Really makes you think, doesn't it? We don't think about the teachers as anything but teachers, but they have to have been kids once. Even Dumbledore, I suppose. Wasn't he supposed to be in Gryffindor?"

Harry tried to imagine Dumbledore as a little boy. For some reason, it was completely impossible to imagine the Headmaster without that long, white beard, but he must have been young once. There must have been people in his past, like the mysterious Ariana.

Harry shook his head. "Well, when you put it like that," he said, "even Voldemort must have been a kid once. We know he was in Slytherin, after all. Did you notice that Dumbledore called him 'Tom'? That must be his first name."

"Can't say I noticed, no," said Neville. "Must have been after the Cruciatus curse. Took some time before I noticed anything after that."

Harry winced. "Sorry."

"Not your fault. I know better than ever why it's Unforgivable, though. I did want to feel closer to my parents, but —" Neville visibly shuddered and changed the subject. "So You-Know-Who was a boy once too. Named Tom. Cheerful thought. Any of our year-mates could be the next bullying teacher, or the next Dark Lord."

"Well, yeah... Or the next Dumbledore."

"I suppose." Neville was quiet, and for a moment or two all the noise in the common room came from the two dancing girls. Then, all of a sudden, he asked: "Did Hagrid tell you what those other three boys were named? Your Dad's friends, I mean?"

Harry shook his head. "All he said was that it wasn't a happy story. I suppose they all died too."

"I could ask Gran if you like," said Neville. "She knows a lot of people. If she doesn't know who your Dad's friends were, I'm pretty sure she knows someone who knows."

"Thank you, Neville." Harry felt oddly touched, though a little wary at the same time. After the revelation about his father, he wasn't sure if he was ready for stories about his father's friends — especially not if those stories ended up with all of them dead. "I'll think about it."

"All right. Just let me know."

And then, Christmas holidays were over and the students returned, and life started to return to normal — or at least as normal as it can get at a school of magic, after one teacher has died and another one resigned.

Apparently, Dumbledore had tried to talk Snape into staying on, but had been unsuccessful, and the former Potions master left the school quite unceremoniously. There weren't many students, apart from Slytherins, who were disappointed with this; Snape had not been a popular teacher. (They were, however, quite disappointed when it turned out that the replacement Potions teacher wouldn't start until next year, and that Professor Binns, who hadn't even noticed anything out of the ordinary going on during the holidays, would remain as the substitute Potions teacher out the year.)

With Voldemort gone, Mad-Eye Moody was no longer stalking around the corridors of Hogwarts, though he continued his extraordinary Defence against the Dark Arts lessons. Potter's Gang had found him in one of the corridors after one of the lessons and offered him his Warning Fangs back, but he'd refused.

"Keep them," he said. "Just because the immediate danger is over, doesn't mean you're all perfectly safe." He lowered his voice to a low growl, his magical eye spinning around in its socket. "Constant vigilance. Dark wizards are sneaky. Even the best of us can fall for their ploys - look at Dumbledore and me, both of us traipsing off to the Forbidden Forest and leaving you vulnerable to attack."

"We did have the Heads of House there," said Hermione, who seemed to want to be fair about the entire thing.

"And fat lot of good they did with that sleeping potion in them!" Moody snarled. "Another reason why it's dangerous to trust anyone but you handling your food or drink." (Now that Harry thought about it, he had never seen Moody eat anything at meal-times - or, for that matter, drink out of anything but the hip-flask he always carried.) "Then again, the four of you are special cases there, aren't you?"

Potter's Gang exchanged glances. "You know about our immunity?" said Harry. They hadn't talked to anyone about it, even after they had accidentally revealed it to Voldemort - but Moody was just the sort of person who would know things like that.

"Interesting advantage you have there," said Moody gruffly. "But dangerous. Especially since Voldemort shares the same immunity. It means he can't use certain elixirs to return to power, and that means he'll have to seek other, far more complicated means."

"Are you certain he will —" Neville began.

"Mark my words," said Moody. "This was just the first attempt at regaining his power. Only thing that's surprising is that he took so long. He won't wait for ten more years! And if I'm not mistaken, he'll probably be very interested in you four. He won't forget your confrontation. And he won't forget that you share his condition. If your immunity should wear off, or a cure be found, Voldemort will want to know about it."

Neville gulped, but didn't say anything this time.

"Of course, Potter, you remain the biggest target," said Moody, letting his magical eye rest on Harry. "Voldemort may think your friends useful, but you're the one who took his power away from him, ten years ago. He's had a decade to stew in his hatred."

"Why does Harry have to live with Muggles, then?" said Ronnie. "If he's such a big target, shouldn't he be kept somewhere safe?"

"Safe?" Moody snapped. "There are no safe places! Hasn't this Christmas taught you that much? Evil can strike anywhere, at any time! CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" This time, he yelled the phrase so loud that Ronnie jumped backwards — then, he lowered his voice again. "That said — Potter's Muggle home is hardly unprotected. There are spells protections around that place deeper and more powerful than those around Hogwarts. Voldemort himself will have a hard time even getting near the place."

"Spells... and protections? Really?" said Harry, overwhelmed.

"Dumbledore hasn't told you?" Moody, his eyebrows raising. When Harry didn't answer, he continued in an almost accusing voice: "I hope you didn't think that Albus Dumbledore, knowing that Voldemort's supporters were still out there, would leave you in the Muggle world for ten years with absolutely no protection?"

"Well, er, no, of course not," said Harry. And felt a little ashamed, because he really hadn't thought about it at all.

Moody gave him a long look, made even longer by the fact that his magical eye lingered on Harry for a long while after his normal eye had looked away. But if he suspected Harry wasn't being completely honest, he didn't say it out loud. Instead, he leaned closer and said, in a hoarse whisper: "But don't go thinking you're untouchable! Even the best protections can fail - your parents had so-called infallible protections as well, and look at what happened to them!"

"Yes, sir," said Harry. He had no idea what else to say, and Moody was beginning to make him feel just a little uncomfortable.

"Make any plans you like," said Moody. "Take any security precautions you want. I always do, and they've saved my life more times than I could count. But never — never! — think that you're on top of it all, that they can't get to you! Because the moment you start thinking like that, Potter, you're dead! Understand?!"

Without waiting for an answer, he turned around and walked away, with the characteristic thunk-thunk-thunk of his wooden leg growing fainter and fainter as he vanished down the corridor.

"Can you believe that some people say that bloke's too paranoid?" said Ronnie in an obvious attempt to try and lighten the mood.

Harry shook his head. "I wonder what kind of protections are supposed to be around the Dursleys' house," he pondered out loud. "I've lived there for ten years, and I never noticed anything like that."

"Of course you wouldn't," said Hermione, just a little haughtily. "Magical protections aren't noticeable when you're inside them, and usually not even for anyone other than the people they are meant to protect against. We're not noticing the protections around Hogwarts right now, are we?"

"Er — protections around Hogwarts?" said Ronnie, making Harry feel relieved that he wasn't the only one who hadn't known.

"There are several," said Hermione. "There's the Anti-Apparition Charms, and —"

"Didn't stop You-Know-Who, did they?"

Hermione made a face. "Well, it's like Professor Moody said, isn't it? No protections are a hundred percent infallible... especially if you know how to bypass them. The Hogwarts protections are rather famous, and who knows if Quirrell didn't know about some way to get around them. But if the protections around Harry's Muggle home have held up for ten years, without any Dumbledore there to further scare off potential attackers, they have to be good, don't they? Maybe your relatives know more about it, Harry?"

"The Dursleys?" Harry almost laughed. He could only too well imagine what uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia might say if they knew their home was protected by the magic they so despised. "I doubt that."

"You could at least ask them," said Hermione.

"No, I couldn't."

"But —"

"No, I couldn't!"

"You could ask Dumbledore," said Neville suddenly. "He'd know, right?"

"I... suppose. I don't know, though." Harry thought about it, trying to put words around his reluctance. Partly it may be that the Dursleys had pretty much raised him to not ask questions, but... "Dumbledore's already told us so much lately," he finally said. "I don't want to start bothering him about every little thing. He does have other things to do."

"This isn't a little thing," Hermione insisted. "Besides, Dumbledore is a teacher! What could be more important to a teacher than educating his students?"

"I don't know, Hermione," said Ronnie. "Why don't you ask Snape about that?!"

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again. "Let me rephrase that," she said after a few moments. "What could be more important to a halfway decent teacher than —"

"Hermione, please drop it!" said Harry, a little more harshly than he'd intended.

They were silent for a while.

"Just... let's be careful, okay?" said Hermione.

"Yeah," said Ronnie, sighing and looking away. And then, slowly, she started to smile.

Harry looked in the same direction, trying to spot what she'd seen, and saw a large window, looking out over the snow-covered school grounds.

The outside was a cold, silent vision of grey and white; it was still January and Spring would be several months in the coming. Harry didn't, at first, see anything that would cause anyone to smile - but then it was there, the flash of red and gold soaring in the sky like a tiny spot of fire.

It was Fawkes, fully regrown and on his wings again.

Harry felt himself start to smile as well. He thought he could hear the faint sound of the phoenix's trilling song; a song about hope, and rebirth, and life after death has come and gone.

Maybe - just maybe - as long as there were creatures like Fawkes in the world, or wizards like Dumbledore and Hagrid, and friends like Ronnie, Hermione and Neville, things couldn't get too bad.

THE END! (For now...)

Author's Notes: And that's that! I realise that this chapter is awfully short for having taken such a long time in the coming, and that nothing much happened - but, well, the story really ended in chapter thirteen. The plot was wrapped up, the mystery solved, and apart from a few loose threads (that'll hopefully be solved in the sequel) there's really no more to tell for now.

So, until the time of the sequel, let's give Potter's gang a nice, uneventful spring term at Hogwarts. They've earned it.

I'm already in the middle of planning out the sequel, which will be called Weasley Girl: Secrets of the Past. It'll feature the first appearances of this universe's Luna Lovegood, Lucius Malfoy and Crookshanks... and perhaps a few others.

You might be wondering if I'm planning on writing all seven of Harry's Hogwarts years, but the answer is no. That task would be too big and I'd never finish all seven books. (Seriously, are there any fanfic writers who manage to write full AU stories for all seven years, and keep interest throughout? If you know of any, let me know!) I think instead I'll aim for a much-more-manageable trilogy. Three stories, and I'm not necessarily sticking to "one Hogwarts year per story." We'll see.

Until then, thank you for having stuck with me through thirteen chapters and an epilogue; and an extra special thank you to all those who favourited, put the fic on notice or reviewed (Over two hundred reviews! I'm still in awe!). If you've had half as much fun reading this story as I had writing it, then you'll... have had exactly half as much fun as me.

And that's it for now. Hope to see you again for Secrets of the Past.

15. Next story: Secrets of the Past

Sequel's posted! It's called Weasley Girl: Secrets of the Past and starts off during Summer, when Ronnie gets worried that Harry hasn't answered any of her letters, and a certain daring rescue with a certain flying Ford Anglia is afoot!

But will the rescue go as smoothly as it did for canon Ron? And how will Ronnie tackle her first meeting with Harry's relatives?

"Oh, bugger," said Ronnie. This had to be Harry's cousin - what was his name again? Had Harry even mentioned it?

"Who are you?" Harry's cousin demanded, taking a step back.

"Er," said Ronnie. The truth wouldn't do any good, she knew, but the only lie she could think of was: "I'm a house-elf, I'm here to do the washing-up, er, sorry, I thought this was the kitchen."

Harry's cousin narrowed his eyes. "You're one of those freaks, aren't you?" he said.

"Freaks?" Ronnie blinked in surprise. Of all the things she'd expected him to say, this was pretty low on the list.

"A girly freak!" Harry's cousin seemed to have got over his initial fright; maybe he didn't find girls threatening, or maybe he had just realized that he was bigger than her. "What are you doing here? We don't like freaks in this house!"

"Self-loathers, are you?!" The words just fell out of Ronnie's mouth without bothering to stop by her brain.

They were standing only inches apart now, glaring at one another. Harry's cousin was clenching his fists and raising them, apparently trying to look menacing. "Don't think I'll be nice to you just 'cause you're a girl," he said.

"Bring it on," said Ronnie, clenching her fists as well.

And Harry's cousin did - but not in the way she'd expected. With an evil smile he straightened himself and yelled at the top of his voice: "DAD! MUM! HARRY'S GOT A GIRL IN THE HOUSE!"

There'll be action, drama, comedy, and at least one instance of Ronnie kicking someone in the groin, in Weasley Girl: Secrets of the Past!