Year 6-07: Stolen Moments Alone

A/N: Posting early to avoid conflict with the Super Bowl, aka Rah Rah Freedom Trucks and Beer Commercials Day for you non-Americans out there. Please don't pay attention to us as we mindlessly consume subpar products from our corporate overlords to briefly take our minds off the national embarrassment that is our broken political system. It's tradition, mmkay?

P.S. - I prefer to keep my chapters shorter than this, but I didn't feel like cutting any of these scenes or breaking them up into two halves so enjoy a double-length chapter today. As the great Mark Twain once said, "I didn't have time to write you a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead."

P.P.S. - Mild content warning for some innuendo and suggestive moments possibly bordering on a 'Mature' rating.

"Shen."

"Protection."

"Siah."

"Perception."

"Styx."

"Death."

"Sutekh."

"Thunder."

"That's the end of the S's," Harry sighed, closing the Ancient Runes textbook he'd been reading from. "Can we take a break now?"

"C'mon, just a few more!" Hermione insisted. "I want to make sure I know everything for the pop quiz on Thursday!"

"I'm sure you'll get a hundred percent like always," Harry sighed, kicking his feet up on the desk and closing his tired eyes. It was past midnight on a Tuesday, and he and Hermione were lounging in an empty classroom on the second floor. They were meant to be on prefect night patrol, but thanks to the Marauder's Map, they could simply stay in one place and keep an eye on the whole castle at once. Hermione insisted on using the time to study runic translations, but Harry preferred to rest.

"Fine," Hermione huffed, shoving her notes back into her bag and settling back into her seat. "Say, I noticed Ginny Weasley was the new Gryffindor prefect this year...why was Dahlia not chosen?"

"She's got her Healing internship with Pomfrey," Harry shrugged. "I guess she's busy enough outside her lessons to take on extra responsibilities."

"And you aren't?" Hermione smirked.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing," Harry chuckled. He was feeling spread rather thin lately, between prefect duties, Quidditch captaincy, the dueling club, Dumbledore's private lessons, and of course his excursions outside the castle. He had yet to see the Headmaster since returning to Hogwarts late Sunday night, and wondered if he was due for a lecture for shirking his Dueling Club duties. Nobody had reprimanded him yet, but he had a bad feeling all the same.

Suddenly, Hermione grabbed Harry's wrist and pulled it closer to her face. "Harry, what is that?" she demanded.

"Oh, it's nothing," Harry muttered, gently pulling his hand away to conceal his wound from the Necrotic Curse. "Quidditch injury."

"It looks infected," Hermione said uncertainly. "You should go to Madam Pomfrey to have it checked out."

"I'm sure it'll heal on its own," Harry said dismissively. Though privately, he thought she was probably right. The wound still hadn't properly healed, and the back of his hand still held shades of nasty green and purple around the blistered skin. He'd been using a glamour to keep it hidden during the day, but it must have faded due to his exhaustion and the late hour. Perhaps he should get it properly looked at.

Hermione continued to give him an odd look. "Say, Harry?" she said tentatively. "Is it alright if I ask you something personal?"

"I suppose so," Harry frowned. "What is it?"

Hermione hesitated before speaking up again. "Is it true that you did a b-blood ritual two summers ago?" she blurted out.

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "How did—who told you that?" he asked, bewildered.

"Well...promise you won't be cross with me," Hermione said nervously.

"I can't promise that if I don't know," Harry frowned.

"Dumbledore told Neville during their last private lesson," Hermione confessed, speaking quickly now out of nervousness. "He wasn't supposed to tell anyone, but he told me and Ron because he tells us everything, and I swear we won't tell another soul, but...is it true?"

Harry groaned at this revelation. "Yeah, sure, I did a minor ritual under adult supervision two years ago," he admitted. "But why the hell is Dumbledore telling Neville about my private business?"

"I-I think…" Hermione stammered worriedly. "I think Dumbledore's worried about you turning dark."

Harry laughed aloud. "Classic Dumbledore," he scoffed. "Listen, Hermione, Dumbledore and I disagree on how blood rituals are classified as dark magic. It was a simple augmentation ritual that is quite common on the continent."

"B-but you did also kill Bellatrix Lestrange with an Unforgivable Curse," Hermione pointed out. "And that wound on your hand looks like it came from a dark curse. And Dumbledore said you used the Imperius Curse against him in a recent duel—"

"Unbelievable," Harry muttered angrily. "He expects me to trust him, while betraying my privacy behind my back and spreading malicious rumors? What, does he want Neville to think I'm some kind of bloody Dark Lord on the rise?"

"I d-didn't mean to anger you, Harry," Hermione said awkwardly, casting a fearful look at the floor. "I'm sorry if I've upset you."

Harry realized that he had no reason to lash out at Hermione for this. She was only the bearer of bad news, not the cause of it...in fact, he ought to be thanking her for bringing it to his attention.

"It's okay, Hermione," he sighed, forcing himself to calm down. "Thank you for telling me. To answer your question, no, I'm not a dark wizard and have no intention of becoming one. I just have differing views from Dumbledore on what constitutes dark magic and how it ought to be used in times of war."

"I see," Hermione exhaled, sounding relieved. (Had she actually started to believe it herself?) "Well, as I said, I won't be spreading any rumors about you. I just wanted to ask you directly."

"Much appreciated," Harry chuckled hollowly. "So Neville tells you everything, huh? Has he told you what Dumbledore is teaching him in his own private lessons?"

Hermione froze at this question. "Er...yes, he has told us some things," she said cryptically. "But I don't think I should tell you. Dumbledore said we should keep it secret."

"So he's allowed to betray my secrets, but Neville's are sacred?" Harry frowned. "Bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

"You're not wrong," Hermione sighed. "It's just...this could be very important for the war one day. If too many people learn about it, it could give You-Know-Who a big advantage."

"What kind of advantage?" Harry pressed, intrigued. He was burning with curiosity about what Dumbledore had to teach Neville, and if it was this significant to the war, it seemed highly relevant to his own activities behind the scenes.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I don't think I should tell you," Hermione sighed. "Ask Neville or Dumbledore directly if you really want to know. I can't be the one to tell you that."

Once again, Harry was dying to know more and dig deeper, but now was not the time – and Hermione was certainly not the person. She was too much of a rules-abider to give up what she knew after being explicitly told not to. "Alright, Hermione," he sighed, once again forcing himself not to lash out at her. He glanced at the opened Map out of the corner of his eye and spotted something odd, turning his full attention to it at once.

"We've got something going on here," Harry muttered, pointing to the Map lying open on the desk between them. Two students were out of bed, and based on the way their names were overlapping within the broom closet they inhabited, they were up to something salacious. He couldn't even make out either of their names in the confined space.

"Oh, dear," Hermione sighed. "We'd better go break it up."

They silently made their way through the halls towards the sixth floor, where the out-of-bounds activity was taking place. "Do you want the honors, or should I do it?" Harry asked dryly as they approached the broom closet, already hearing the light thumps and shufflings within.

"All yours," Hermione sighed. Harry braced himself for an awkward interaction as he rapped twice on the door before pulling it open.

At once the two students extricated themselves from one another's grasp, and Harry had to stifle a laugh of surprise when he realized who it was. "Luna?" he said.

"Oh, hello Harry!" said the blonde, her flushed red face betraying her usually placid demeanor. "I was just snogging Demelza here."

"Yes, I can see that," Harry sighed; the newest Gryffindor Chaser, fourth-year Demelza Robins, was shamefully avoiding his gaze while re-buttoning her top. "Why don't you two make yourselves decent and come out of there?"

Harry and Hermione awkwardly turned away until the two girls emerged from the closet side by side. "Are we in big trouble?" Demelza asked worriedly.

"Not necessarily," Harry said diplomatically. "Is this the first time you two have snuck out after curfew?"

"Y-yes," Demelza stammered, clearly a lie.

"Actually, it's our second," Luna corrected her, for once looking abashed at the admission. "We also met on Halloween, after the feast."

"We appreciate the honesty, Luna," sighed Hermione. "That'll be fifteen points from each of you, I think."

"Hermione, why don't you take Miss Robins back to Gryffindor Tower?" Harry suggested. "I'll escort Luna back to bed."

"You aren't going to tell anybody, are you?" asked a fearful Demelza. "My friends don't know that I'm a...well, you know."

"There's no need for that," Harry said gently. "But do be more discreet next time." Demelza nodded gratefully as Hermione guided her down the corridor and out of sight.

"You know, Harry, we really couldn't have been more discreet if we tried," Luna pointed out as she skipped alongside him back to Ravenclaw Tower.

"I know, Luna," Harry sighed. In hindsight, if it wasn't for the Marauder's Map, it was quite likely that neither girl would have been caught. And given their unique circumstances, it wasn't like they had much other choice than to sneak around after hours. "I didn't know you liked girls that way."

"I think I just like everyone," Luna shrugged. "And Demelza is very sweet. I'm the first person she came out to, you know. And it's not as if she has many dating options in the castle."

"Well, that's...thoughtful of you," Harry said slowly. "As long as you're not taking advantage of her?"

"Of course not," said Luna. "I have already told her I'm not looking for a serious relationship. Besides, she is a very generous lover."

"I don't need the details, thank you," Harry blanched as they rounded the corner to Ravenclaw Tower. "Have a good night, Luna."

"You too, Harry," said Luna. She paused before approaching the door. "Say, you aren't putting yourself in any danger, are you?"

Harry frowned at the odd question. "I'm not sure how you mean, Luna," he said slowly.

"Neither do I," Luna sighed. "Forget it. Just some weird dreams I've been having about you lately."

That certainly caught Harry's attention. "Luna, you should know that your dreams mean more than the average person's," he said. "If you ever have a bad feeling or a recurring dream you just can't shake, you should speak up. It could be important."

"Yes, Professor Firenze has told me the same," Luna nodded forlornly. "He can tell when I'm not being honest in my dream journals. He seems quite interested in my visions too."

"What dreams have you been having about me, Luna?" Harry pressed gently. "I promise I won't share it with anyone else."

Luna looked hesitant to say more, but she eventually relented. "I keeping seeing you in a prison cell," she admitted. "But nobody put you in there against your will. It's like you put yourself there by accident, and you can't figure out how to get out again."

"How did I put myself in the cell?" Harry frowned, perplexed by the odd vision.

"I wish I knew," Luna said glumly. "I've tried asking you in my dreams, but you won't tell me. You won't tell anyone. And I fear that's the reason you wound up there in the first place."

How strange, Harry thought, pondering what this could mean. He put himself in a prison cell? Was this literal, or metaphorical? Was he doomed to Azkaban for his use of dark magic, perhaps? Or was it more of a prison of the mind, restricting himself consciously or otherwise? Why would he do such a thing? Harry valued his freedom very much and could not fathom a situation where he would limit his own ability to move about of his own will, mentally or physically.

"Thank you for telling me this, Luna," said Harry, offering the girl a parting hug. "Please let me know if you have any more dreams or visions about me, or anyone else in my family."

"I will," Luna nodded, her hug lingering longer than usual. "And do be careful, Harry. I don't know why, but I feel like someone needed to say that to you." And the blonde girl entered the common room and disappeared out of sight.

Harry remained troubled by Luna's odd vision that night and the following day. He certainly was on a dangerous path, and he'd taken a great risk with the dueling tournament the weekend before. Was this a sign to avoid such risks in the future? Or did he simply need to speak up more and ask for help? He definitely appreciated Fleur's help in The Spiked Chalice...perhaps he should take Luna's concerns to heart and stop shouldering all his burdens alone.

He decided to put that mindset into action that afternoon after his classes. He walked into the Hospital Wing, and Madam Pomfrey tottered out of her back office to attend to him.

"Mr. Potter!" she greeted him, looking surprised. "I haven't seen you in here in quite some time. Do you need assistance?"

"Actually, I'm looking for Dahlia," said Harry. "Is she working today?"

"Yes, I believe she's studying in the back," said Pomfrey, gesturing to the end of the ward. Harry walked through the empty room, finding his sister lounged on the far bed with books and papers spread out around her. She appeared to be muttering quietly to herself as she studied.

"Hey, moron," Harry called out to announce himself.

Dahlia looked up at him, startled. "Oh, hey, idiot," she grinned. "Mum send you to tell me something?"

"Er...no," Harry frowned. "What makes you think that?"

"Dunno; she just likes to find excuses to visit me up here," Dahlia sighed, sitting up to give Harry her full attention. "What's up?"

"Can you look at this for me?" said Harry, sitting on the bed beside her and closing the curtain behind him. He held out the back of his hand for her to examine, and she winced at the sight of it.

"What the hell did you do to yourself?" she demanded.

"Quidditch injury," Harry lied. "Can you fix it for me?"

Dahlia waved her wand over the wound, frowning at whatever feedback the runes that popped up gave her. "You're a bad liar," she muttered. "This was done by a curse. I need to know what it was if I'm going to heal it."

Harry groaned internally. "It's something called a Necrotic Curse," he admitted.

"That's a really dangerous spell to be throwing around," Dahlia muttered. "How did you get it?"

"Never mind that," Harry said quickly. "It won't happen again. Can you please just keep this between us?"

Dahlia looked at him worriedly, then sighed. "Mum would flip her lid if she knew," she said. "But alright. What have you tried to treat it so far?"

"Murtlap essence and dittany," said Harry. "Both helped a little, but didn't fully cure it."

"No, those wouldn't be strong enough," Dahlia muttered thoughtfully. "You'll need something stronger, like doxy powder...let me see if we have any."

Dahlia stood to check the back storage room for the ingredient. Harry sat quietly on the bed, thinking. Listening…

"Eavesdropping, are we, Neville?" he asked to nobody.

There came no response. Harry sat still for a moment longer, then lurched forward and grabbed at open air. He yanked down on the invisible fabric he made contact with, exposing Neville's head and shoulders, sitting in the chair beside the bed.

"H-Harry!" Neville stammered, looking embarrassed. "I d-didn't mean to listen in...how did you know I was here?"

"Call it a sixth sense," Harry shrugged. "It's my family's cloak, after all. What are you doing here?"

Neville glanced nervously towards the front of the ward. "Madam Pomfrey doesn't like me hanging around here all day," he admitted. "I sneak in sometimes to visit Dahlia when she isn't busy."

"Uh huh," said Harry. "Y'know, I've been thinking, and maybe it's time you returned that cloak. I can turn invisible without it, but I would feel safer if Dahlia had it in her possession."

"We've been sharing it!" Neville insisted. "I give it to her whenever she has late-night shifts and has to walk back to Gryffindor Tower alone. But Dumbledore also wants me to keep it on me at all times."

"He does?" said Harry, surprised. "Why?"

"It's...complicated," Neville said evasively.

What does Dumbledore know that I don't? Harry wondered, not for the first time that term. Did this have something to do with Draco Malfoy? Did Dumbledore think that, if Draco was forbidden from attacking the Potters, he might go after Neville instead? Did he hope that the Invisibility Cloak would shield Neville from harm? Or was there more to the story?

"Neville," Harry said slowly. "What have you and Dumbledore been doing in your private lessons? Is he training you to fight?"

"Not exactly," said Neville. "He's...teaching me other things. Things he wants me to keep secret. I don't think I should tell you."

"You told Ron and Hermione," Harry pointed out.

"That's different," said Neville. "I tell them everything. I haven't even told Dahlia what we're doing."

"It's true," Dahlia sighed as she returned to the bed with a small tin. "I've tried asking for weeks, and his lips remain sealed. Now hold still." She popped open the tin, revealing a fine gray powder within; she began to sprinkle it lightly over Harry's wound, causing it to sting painfully.

"Then why is Dumbledore telling you things about my lessons if I'm not allowed to hear about yours?" Harry demanded, as his eyes watered from the doxy powder.

"He doesn't tell me everything," Neville shrugged. "He just says that...I should be careful around you."

Harry guffawed at this. "Careful?" he repeated. "Why, because I'm some kind of dark lord on the rise?"

"Not exactly," Neville said hesitantly. "But you do odd things sometimes, don't you? Like wind up with Necrotic Curses on your hand. Or cast Unforgivables during fights. Or disappear from the school on weekends – Terry Boot says he didn't see you come home from Hogsmeade last Saturday, and you ditched the last Dueling Club meeting."

"I have permission to leave on weekends, and you know that," Harry huffed. "And these are all just misunderstandings, alright? I'm not a bloody dark wizard."

"Which I have repeatedly told Neville all term," Dahlia said firmly, giving her boyfriend a stern look. "Harry doesn't have a dark bone in his body. Enough bickering, you two – we're supposed to be on the same side here."

Neville sighed heavily. "Right, sorry," he said to Harry, though he still looked uneasy. Harry remained annoyed that he was being kept out of the loop, seemingly due to Dumbledore's paranoia rubbing off on Neville and others around him. He planned to confront the Headmaster about it soon.

The opportunity came the following day, when he received a message from Dumbledore at breakfast inviting him to meet that evening. Curiously, the message said to come directly to the Headmaster's Office, rather than meet at the Room of Requirement as they had been doing for the past few weeks. Did Dumbledore have something else in mind for the day's lessons?

Harry realized this was also a prime opportunity to speak with the Sorting Hat to get some answers about the Sword of Gryffindor. So rather than join his classmates for dinner, he headed straight up to the Headmaster's Office half an hour early, hoping Dumbledore would be busy in the Great Hall, giving him time alone to conduct his own research.

"Pepper Imps," Harry announced to the gargoyle, which sprang aside and granted him access to the office. As he'd hoped, it was empty; Fawkes was sleeping peacefully in his cage, as were many of the portraits of past headmasters on the walls. Harry stood on tip-toes to grab the Sorting Hat from its perch high overhead and sat in one of the armchairs, placing the Hat upon his head.

He heard nothing but silence for a moment as the Hat read his thoughts. Finally, it spoke directly into his mind.

My, my, the Hat mused. You have been busy, haven't you, Mr. Potter?

You could say that, Harry grumbled. I have a few questions for you.

I can attempt to answer them, said the Hat. But do keep in mind that I am not truly sentient and all-knowing. I am only an imitation of such, created by Godric Gryffindor himself for one purpose and one purpose alone.

That's not entirely true, Harry pointed out. You have another purpose besides Sorting. You can also produce the Sword of Gryffindor to students in need.

Ah, said the Hat sagely. Yes, I can see that I did provide such a service for you in a past life. However, you are no longer a Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, and therefore are not worthy to wield the Sword.

That's fine, Harry thought. But you can still do it for another Gryffindor, can't you?

Only if they have true need for it, said the Hat.

Well, we need it, badly, said Harry. It has been turned into a horcrux by Voldemort.

That is distressing to hear, the Hat lamented.

But you can still summon it, can't you? Harry asked. Do you know where it is?

There was a moment of silence as the Hat contemplated this. I can, it eventually answered. And I do.

Harry's heart leapt at this news. So, can you retrieve it for me, or for Bill Weasley perhaps? he asked. Or at least tell me where it is?

I can only summon it for a true Gryffindor, said the Hat. And only if they have true need for it.

Yes, you've said that already, Harry said impatiently. Wouldn't you agree that we have true need?

As I have said, I am not truly sentient and cannot answer that question, said the Hat. Only Godric himself knows what 'true need' constitutes, and he did not explain the conditions to me when he created me. I can only judge in the moment if the need is great enough.

So you're saying I have to bring you to Bill Weasley for him to ask for the Sword directly? asked Harry, crestfallen.

That is correct, said the Hat. And I cannot guarantee that it will work.

Wonderful, thought Harry, more to himself than to the Hat. Of course things couldn't be that simple – they never were. He should've known better than to assume he could shortcut his way to the horcrux...magic was all about intent, as Dumbledore always said, and he doubted Bill asking politely would be good enough. Besides, he had no plans to steal the Sorting Hat and smuggle it out of the castle...surely that would get him caught in an instant, with some uncomfortable questions to answer.

Best of luck to you, Mr. Potter, said the Hat. And remember to continue asking 'Why' as much as possible...such curiosity has never led a Ravenclaw astray.

Thanks, I guess, thought Harry, before removing the Hat from his head and returning it to its perch. As usual, the Sorting Hat left him with more questions than answers. But at least he had one concrete bit of information: the Hat could still retrieve the Sword, even if it was now a horcrux. It was just a matter of the right Gryffindor figuring out how to generate the proper 'need' to convince it to do so.

There was a soft caw as Harry re-took his seat. Fawkes had awakened on his perch, stretching his neck and ruffling his feathers contentedly. "Hello, Fawkes," Harry greeted the bird.

Fawkes jumped from his perch and alighted on his shoulder, rubbing his head affectionately against Harry's cheek. Harry scratched underneath his beak, marveling as always at the heat the bird radiated. It felt like it should be hot enough to scald him, but it never did, always staying just on the right side of comfortable to the touch.

Fawkes suddenly pecked at the hand Harry was scratching him with, his beak prodding the still-healing wound on the back of it. "Oh, this?" Harry chuckled, showing his hand to the bird. "It's nothing. It'll be healed soon enough." The wound was still discolored and swollen, but at least the doxy powder had lessened much of the pain.

Fawkes lowered his head to examine the wound closer. Then, to Harry's surprise, he blinked, and a single silvery tear ran down his beak, dropping onto the wound. Harry watched in amazement as the phoenix tear dissolved into his skin, immediately reducing the swelling and returning his skin to its usual pale white. When Fawkes' head retreated, the wound had totally healed, as though it had never happened.

"Wow...thanks, Fawkes," Harry said gratefully.

"That looked like a nasty wound," a voice said from behind Harry; making him jump; he turned to see that Dumbledore had entered the office. "Fawkes only gives his tears to people he likes."

"Er...yeah," Harry said lamely. Dumbledore merely smiled and walked around the desk to take his seat behind it. Fawkes jumped from Harry's shoulder to Dumbledore, nibbling the Headmaster's ear.

"Yes, very well, Fawkes," Dumbledore chuckled as he reached into a desk drawer. He withdrew a small tin and opened it, fishing around inside for a thin wafer and giving it to a grateful Fawkes. "Biscuit, Harry?"

"No thank you, sir," said Harry politely. He waited patiently as Dumbledore nibbled on a wafer of his own, before closing the tin and putting it away as Fawkes returned to his perch.

"I must apologize, but I do not have time for a full lesson this evening," said Dumbledore. "I would have simply rescheduled, but I do wish to talk to you about last weekend."

Harry said nothing, merely waiting for Dumbledore to continue. The Headmaster surveyed him carefully before doing so.

"I made it very clear what I expected of you when I re-enrolled you this term," said Dumbledore calmly. "Your return to Hogwarts has done wonders for the morale of the student body in such difficult times. But you isolating yourself and skipping club meetings sends the wrong message."

"It was just one meeting," Harry sighed. "Something came up. I won't make a habit of it, sir."

"Glad to hear it," Dumbledore nodded. "Out of curiosity, what was so important that you could not attend to your scholastic duties?"

"It's not important," Harry muttered, absent-mindedly scratching the back of his now-healed hand. "And to be frank, sir, I find it suspicious that you scheduled the Dueling Club meetings for Sundays, when you knew full well I planned to spend the occasional weekend away from the school grounds."

"I can assure you that wasn't an intentional design," said Dumbledore. "I merely thought Sundays would attract the most interest from the full student body. Would you prefer to move meetings to Monday?"

"No, that's all right," Harry sighed. "Like I said, I don't plan on making a habit of it. Honestly, it's not a big deal."

"As I said, it sends the wrong message if you frequently shirk your duties and isolate yourself from your peers," said Dumbledore sternly. "But if you insist that this is a one-time incident that will not become habit, I will let it slide this time."

"Very well," Harry nodded, stopping himself from saying more. He could not promise that it wouldn't happen again...he might miss the occasional meeting here and there if his weekends stretched long again like they had this time. But Dumbledore appeared satisfied with his answer for now, so he held his tongue.

"I hear that you have befriended the house-elf named Dobby," Dumbledore continued. "Quite resourceful of you to utilize the school house-elves for your own transportation."

"Er...yes, thank you, sir," Harry nodded, wondering if that was meant sardonically. "Dobby has been most helpful in taking me to and from Hogsmeade." He had utilized Dobby the previous Sunday evening to bring him back to Ravenclaw Tower, scaring the pants off of his roommates when they materialized in the middle of the dorm as they prepared for bed.

"I do find it curious that you chose him, specifically, for this task," Dumbledore frowned. "I assume you are familiar with Dobby's family history?"

"With the Malfoys?" asked Harry. "Yes, he explained it to me. I do not hold his past employment against him."

"That is good to hear," Dumbledore nodded. "I am led to believe that Lucius Malfoy was cruel and abusive towards his house-elves, and Dobby should not be judged for serving such a monster. I only wonder why you chose to ask for his help, knowing the connection to the Malfoy family?"

"Well…" Harry said, racking his brain. He couldn't exactly explain his past connection to the elf, which only existed in another timeline. "Neville used to talk about him, back in our second year. He said Dobby was reliable and good-natured."

"That he is," Dumbledore smiled. "And you're certain this has nothing to do with Draco himself?"

"How do you mean, sir?"

"I know you harbor suspicion against the boy," said Dumbledore. "I hope you do not plan on using his former house-elf against him, to spy on him or else dig up information about his past activities."

Harry hesitated. The thought had crossed his mind, truth be told. Draco had been far from his thoughts as of late, but he still suspected the boy of something, and Dobby would be a useful fount of information if he decided to dig deeper into it. But he could feel Dumbledore's stern gaze upon him, so he said, "No, sir."

"Good," said Dumbledore. "That is all I wished to speak with you about. I'm afraid I have other matters to attend to this evening...I promise to give you my full attention during next week's meeting."

"Very well, sir," said Harry, standing to leave. But curiosity got the better of him, and he sat back down. "Professor, what are you and Neville doing in your private lessons together?"

Dumbledore looked mildly surprised by the question. "Neville and I have much to discuss about the war to come," he said simply. "Things he needs to know before Lord Voldemort makes his next move to conquer Britain."

"What kind of things?" Harry asked.

"I'm afraid that is between Neville and me," said Dumbledore.

"But you have no problem telling him what you and I are doing," Harry retorted. "Seems a bit unfair, does it not?"

"With respect, Harry, the outcome of the war does not hinge upon what you and I are doing," Dumbledore smiled politely. "You and Neville have very different roles to play in the coming war, and I am arming you both with what each of you needs to succeed, which are not one and the same."

"Why, because of the prophecy?" Harry demanded. "You said yourself that it is folly to act differently based on what prophecies say, yet isn't that what you are doing with Neville?"

"The prophecy is not the only reason, Harry," said Dumbledore patiently. "Neville is not a born fighter, and possesses a very different skill set to yourself. There is no combat magic I can teach him that would help him overpower Lord Voldemort. His exact role in the war remains to be seen, but he will not be on the front lines as you will be. His survival will depend on other factors, factors I hope to help him control."

"That's fine and all, but why can't I help him also?" Harry demanded. "You know I've spent the last five years trying to help Neville, and I'll continue to do so in the future. Why are you leaving me in the dark?"

"It is not my intention to alienate you, Harry," Dumbledore sighed heavily. "But, forgive me for saying this, you have an unfortunate tendency to act without thinking and create more problems than you seek to solve."

"That tendency has also saved the lives of those I love multiple times over," Harry pointed out. "Lives that you have a tendency to disregard and unnecessarily put in danger."

"I know you disagree with my methods, Harry," said Dumbledore sadly. "But I must insist that I am doing everything in my power to keep you, Neville, and everyone else you care about alive and well through this war. If I was aware of any direct threats to the livelihood of any Potter, or Dursley or Evans for that matter, I promise you I would let you know."

That was somewhat reassuring, but not entirely. It didn't solve the primary issue of Dumbledore telling Neville what Harry was up to and not vice-versa. The Headmaster still clearly did not trust Harry, which made it hard for Harry to show trust in the other direction.

Harry excused himself soon after, head still buzzing with all he'd learned tonight. He remained frustrated with Dumbledore's selective use of information, putting everybody into separate boxes. He hated to think that Neville was suspicious of him thanks to Dumbledore, or that he himself was deemed untrustworthy with valuable information. But raging and complaining about it wouldn't solve matters. He had to remain patient and work to restore some of that trust, and hope that Dumbledore saw fit to bring him in the loop when the time came.

November blurred into December, and Harry resolved to keep his head down as much as possible. He did all his homework, attended all his classes, remained in the castle on weekends, and resumed taking charge of the Dueling Club lessons. He knew with every excursion he made from the grounds, he would have to be extra careful afterwards to avoid suspicion.

He badly wished to attend to his safe house in Ashewick again, which he'd dubbed 'Raven House' in his mind, now that he had the money to build it up properly. He'd begun sending out mail orders to Diagon Alley for supplies, requesting to pick them up at a future date rather than have them delivered. It felt good to finally have money to spend, even if he had to be careful not to get caught with it. He would wait until winter break to begin setting everything up and finish erecting the protections around the property.

One unexpected item was added to his calendar one morning in early December, when Harry received a letter at breakfast in a fancy embroidered envelope. A few of his classmates had received an identical envelope, and they shared confused looks as they opened the letter to read the cursive note within:

Dear Harry Potter,

You are cordially invited to this year's Slug Club Christmas Party! The 'Slug Club' is named in honor of the late Horace Slughorn, who held similar functions for promising students to mingle with other talented individuals in the school. If you are receiving this invite, it is because you have shown exceptional talent in a particular area of study and deserve to be recognized alongside your other peers!

Please arrive no later than 7 PM on Saturday, 14 December. You are encouraged to bring a date who does not yet have an invitation...the more the merrier!

Cordially,

Professor Lily Evans-Potter

Harry folded his letter thoughtfully. He'd heard about the Slug Club before from Hagrid, who seemed disdainful of the exclusive club. Harry had only spoken with Horace Slughorn once, just before his death, and the man struck him as rather self-serving, using the club as an excuse to sidle up with Britain's future leaders and curry favor with their parents. He doubted his mother had the same attitude.

She confirmed as much when he asked her about it after Potions that afternoon. "It always meant so much to me that Professor Slughorn chose to honor me that way," Lily smiled. "I thought, why not continue his legacy and honor some of the most talented students of your generation?"

"That's great and all," said Harry. "But don't you think everyone you didn't invite will be insulted?"

Lily looked horrified by this concept. "I hadn't thought—" she stammered. "Oh, dear, that hasn't happened, has it?"

"Dunno," Harry shrugged, though he remembered the sour look on Ron Weasley's face that morning, when Neville and Hermione had received their invites and he had not. "Maybe I'm overthinking it."

"Well, I'm sure plenty will be eager to speak with you there," Lily said hopefully. "Have you thought about who you will bring as a date?"

"Probably no one," Harry shrugged. "Wouldn't want to give anyone false impressions."

"Oh, I'm sure lots of girls would be happy to go with you!" Lily beamed. "Think about it, will you?"

"Alright," Harry sighed. He certainly wasn't going to pick out a girl he didn't know well, especially among the girls who had delivered marriage contracts earlier that year. That was a fiasco waiting to happen. If he was going to ask anyone, it would be a friend, and not for romantic or courting purposes.

He decided to ask Luna first, at breakfast the following day. "Thanks, but I'm going with Demelza," she smiled politely.

"Really?" asked Harry. "She's, er, okay with making things public with you?"

"Officially we're only going as friends," said Luna. "But I think she's feeling more bold after the other night. She doesn't want to hide who she is forever."

"Oh...okay, good for her," said Harry. Who else could he ask? Perhaps he could mend things with Katie and bring her as a friend, but he overheard that she was attending with Cormac McLaggen, so that was out. He certainly wasn't going to ask one of Dahlia's friends in the year below his. Only one real option made sense to him, but he had to be very careful about his intentions.

"Hey, Daphne," he greeted his Slytherin classmate after Herbology later that afternoon. "Want to attend the Slug Club party with me?"

Daphne Greengrass arched an eyebrow at him. "So you've finally decided to court me?" she asked.

"Er...no," said Harry quickly. "Just as friends, not as a romantic thing, if that's alright with you?"

Daphne narrowed her eyes at him. "Why, am I that unacceptable to you as a potential mate?" she demanded.

"I didn't say that," Harry groaned. "I'm not looking for a 'potential mate' right now. Just someone to have a good time at the party with."

"Well, I am already accompanying Blaise Zabini to the party," said Daphne. "He is one of the families my father has sent a potential contract to."

"Er...alright, fine," Harry shrugged. "Why didn't you just say that to begin with?"

"I would have certainly broken off that arrangement if you intended to court me," Daphne shrugged. "You are a much more valuable mate, and the Zabini's would understand that."

"What if we just went as friends and happened to enjoy each other's company along the way?" Harry laughed. "Does it have to be so cut-and-dry?"

"I don't have time for such wishy-washy games, Potter," Daphne sighed. "I need firm commitment with so little time until I come of-age, and if you can't give that to me, I must seek my prospects elsewhere."

"Alright," Harry shrugged. If anything, it sounded like he was dodging a bullet...spending the evening courting a pure-blood heiress didn't sound that fun to him, even if he did like Daphne as a person.

"I don't have a date yet, Harry," Tracey Davis winked, catching up to the pair from behind. "I'd be happy to go with you."

"Er…" said Harry uncertainly. "If you're interested, then sure. But you know it would just be as friends, right? I'm not looking for a relationship right now."

"Good, me neither," Tracey shrugged. "So it's a date?"

"Sure," Harry nodded. Tracey beamed, grabbing Daphne's arm and skipping off down the hall. Harry hoped Tracey didn't get the wrong idea...she was a fun personality to be around, but Harry didn't want a girlfriend. That was more trouble than he was willing to put up with.

On the night of the party, Harry met Hermione in the common room and they walked down to the dungeons together. She, it turned out, had asked Ron to come with her as a friend, but he'd declined, choosing to spend the evening with Sally-Anne Perks. "I think he's just jealous because he didn't get an invite," Hermione sighed. "Can't blame him for that, I guess."

"Who are you going with, then?" Harry asked.

"Dean Thomas," said Hermione. "He's always been nice to me, and I figured the more Muggle-borns the better, right?"

"Absolutely," Harry chuckled. Hermione didn't have to justify herself with him – Dean was a good guy and a handsome bloke, and she could do much worse than him in their year.

Three mismatched pairs arrived outside the Potions classroom: Harry and Hermione from Ravenclaw, Dean and Dahlia from Gryffindor, and Neville and Tracey from Slytherin. They each paired off with their respective partners before entering the room, where Lily greeted each new arrival, wearing an elegant gown and a wide smile.

"Oh, good, you all made it!" she beamed at them. "Looking sharp, Neville. And—oh, Miss Davis! So nice to see you here!"

"Nice to see you too, Professor," Tracey said politely with a little curtsy. Once they were deeper in the room and out of earshot she whispered, "She could've bloody invited me if she wanted to see me here…"

"I don't think she meant it as a slight," Harry laughed. "You have plenty good grades; you just don't stand out in any one subject in particular."

"Don't worry, I can tell when I'm being called a dumb bint," Tracey snorted, reaching for a glass of something fizzy and sweet from a passing tray. "Say, maybe I can get my revenge by snogging her son in broad daylight!"

"I'm afraid that would backfire on you," Harry chuckled. "She would just fall in love with you and try to make you a part of the Potter family."

"What a terrible fate that would be," Tracey sighed dramatically. "C'mon, let's go people-watch."

Harry laughed to himself as he followed the energetic Tracey to a corner of the room. She could be crass and abrasive at times, but she was undeniably good company, especially in a setting like this. She knew how to play the part of the goodie two-shoes whenever the professors were around, but when it was just them, she had an irreverent and cavalier attitude towards the pomp and circumstance that Harry found endearing.

"Look at these poor bastards," Tracey sighed, pointing out a clique of Slytherin pure-bloods in the opposite corner. "They'll all be married to each other in about two years, and they already know they'll be miserable together."

Harry couldn't disagree with her assessment. None of the poor students seemed to have much chemistry with their dates, as they stood around awkwardly discussing bland topics like Ministry politics and where their parents planned to take them for the upcoming holiday.

"Couldn't be me," Harry scoffed. "I don't see myself getting married for a long, long time."

"A typically male and privileged position," came a haughty voice, as Daphne floated elegantly across the room towards them. She wore a traditional dress that didn't expose a single inch of flesh below the neckline. "Us women are on the clock from the moment we turn seventeen, and that clock stops ticking much quicker for us than it does for you men."

"That doesn't mean it has to be a sprint, girl," Tracey laughed. "It won't kill you to take a little extra time to find the right person. You're wasting all your fun years trying to settle down with someone you might not even like!"

"Who says I don't like the people I'm being courted by?" Daphne demanded. However, at that moment her face turned sour at the sight of a new arrival. "Aw hell, Blaise is here. I'll talk to you two later." And she glided back across the room to greet her date, as Tracey and Harry giggled quietly at her expense.

Harry and Tracey made the rounds through the room, conversing politely with the different groups of students. Harry found most of them incredibly dull, but they were all eager to speak with him, to get his opinion on political issues he had no clue about, to ask if he had aspirations at Minister of Magic like his father. It was only bearable because of Tracey, who managed to find the right quip after leaving each group that had him stifling laughter at the expense of the poor student she'd just mercilessly roasted.

It wasn't all dour and tedious, however. Some of the students were actually quite fun to talk with, thanks to Lily's efforts to diversify the invite list with more than just the young political aspirants of Slytherin. Dean was eager to join him and Tracey in their trash-talk of the whole stuffy affair, much to Hermione's consternation. Neville was being subjected to the same rotation of boring attention-seekers that Harry was, with Dahlia managing to extricate him each time with clever excuses to pull him away. Luna was taking the heat off of a nervous Demelza by baffling each student she spoke to with odd ramblings about nonsensical topics. Then there was Ginny Weasley and her date, Michael Corner; Ginny had apparently taken up the mantle of her twin brothers, causing mild chaos when several Slytherins consumed spiked beverages causing them to sprout feathers, forcing them to retire early as the redhead tried her best to look innocent.

Eventually Harry found himself in a circle of mostly Quidditch players, including his teammates Terry and Cho, Ginny and Michael, and Katie Bell and Cormac McLaggen. It was easy to fall right into strategy talk and light speculation about who might win the Quidditch Cup that year, with only Tracey and Michael looking lost by the turn in the discussion.

"Say, Harry," said Katie during a lull in the conversation, looking around to ensure they weren't being overheard. "There's an after-party going on in the Bell Tower later. Only Quidditch players and their dates allowed...Ron Weasley's organizing it. Wanna come?"

"Er...yeah, alright," said Harry, turning to Tracey for confirmation. "If you're interested?"

"Can my friend Daphne come?" Tracey asked. "I don't think she's having a very good time with her date." They turned to spy the poor girl in another social circle across the room, looking bored out of her mind as Blaise told some long-winded story by her side.

"Eh, I don't see why not," Katie shrugged. "I doubt the boys will complain about having an extra girl around." Cormac certainly didn't seem to mind, giving Daphne an appreciative sort of look that earned him a slap on the arm from Katie.

The group schemed to leave in stages, so it wasn't obvious they were all heading to the same place afterward. First Katie and Cormac made their excuses, then Terry and Cho, then Harry and Tracey. "Oh, leaving already?" said Lily, sounding disappointed. "I hoped to get to know you a bit better tonight, Miss Davis!"

"Plenty of time for that, Professor," Tracey grinned mischievously, holding onto Harry tighter than strictly necessary. "I would love to get to know the mother of such an amazing person as Harry." Lily was so touched by this sentiment that she gave Tracey a lingering hug before allowing them to leave the classroom.

"You are incorrigible, you know that?" Harry said, shaking his head in amazement as they headed for the Bell Tower.

"I don't know what that means, but thank you," Tracey giggled, skipping ahead of Harry as they walked.

The Bell Tower was almost always deserted this late at night, as there was not much there besides an open courtyard beneath the large bells. But hidden behind an alcove was a sizable storage area, where Harry knew students occasionally liked to hang out past curfew. When he and Tracey entered the space, it was already packed with students, as music played loudly from overhead and drinks were passed around that Harry was certain were not permitted on school grounds.

"Oh, good, you two are here," a voice sighed from nearby; Daphne was planted firmly in the corner, looking quite put-out by the much more debaucherous activity happening here. Students were dancing quite close to their partners and even snogging out in the open, which no doubt offended her poor pure-blood sensibilities.

"Lighten up, will you, Daph?" said Tracey, giving her friend a sensual hug that Daphne squirmed away from. "It's a party! Maybe you'll even manage to get snogged properly before you marry someone who never wants to touch you again after the honeymoon!"

"Ugh, that's disgusting, Tracey," Daphne groaned. But she was quietly tapping her foot along with the music, and looked like she badly wanted to have some fun but wouldn't allow herself to. Tracey must have noticed too, because she met Harry's eyeline and gave him a knowing smirk.

"Harry, why don't you take Daphne to get a drink?" said Tracey. "I'm going to ask Cormac how much he can bench-press." And she sauntered away, looking far more in her element here in this chaotic, carefree environment.

"C'mon, Greengrass, one shot won't kill you," Harry chuckled, taking Daphne by the arm and forcing her towards the drinks table. Ron Weasley was stood behind it, handing out cups of random liquids to anyone passing by; his eyes lit up excitedly when he saw Harry approach.

"Oi, it's Harry bloody Potter!" he laughed, slurring his words; clearly he'd been drinking excessively already. "How are ya, mate?"

"Good to see you, Ron," Harry grinned. "Congrats on the big win."

Ron glowed with pride at this; he'd led Hufflepuff to a heroic comeback victory over Gryffindor two weeks prior, saving several clutch goals to allow their new Seeker to catch the final Snitch. "And if it isn't Daphne Greengrass!" he smiled sloppily at the blonde. "Looking drop-dead gorgeous as ever, m'lady."

"Weasley," Daphne greeted him frostily, though she looked somewhat bemused by his demeanor.

"Are you two – hic – dating now?" Ron demanded, eyeing her and Harry. "I bet you two'd make – hic – beautiful babies together."

"No, just friends," Harry grinned as Daphne blushed furiously beside him. "But, er, thanks for the compliment, I think."

"It surely was one," Ron winked in Daphne's direction. "Your loss, Potter. Anyway, shots! Who's in?"

A few nearby party-goers gathered around as Ron poured generous portions of Firewhiskey into small glasses on the table. Daphne tried to refuse hers, but Ron insisted, pushing one towards her until she huffed and accepted it along with half a dozen others around them.

"Let's see, what to toast to?" Ron wondered aloud. "Oh, I know: to Harry feckin' Potter, the next great Dark Lord of Great Britain!"

"What're you on about, Ron?" Harry groaned.

"Didn't you hear, everyone?" Ron giggled openly. "Our esteemed Headmaster thinks Potter's gonna go dark! Can you imagine it? The son of the bloody Minister of Magic, terrorizing us all one day?"

"That's not funny, Ron," Harry muttered anxiously.

"You're right, it's not," Ron nodded. "It's bloody HILARIOUS is what it is! We all know you're too much of a saint to go rogue, Potter. Your mum would probably kill you before you even tried!"

The surrounding students laughed openly at this. At least they don't seem to buy it, Harry thought to himself, somewhat relieved. Still worrisome that Dumbledore thinks it.

"To Dark Lord Potter!" said Ron, thrusting his glass into the air. The students laughed and repeated the refrain before downing their own shots. Harry felt the Firewhiskey burn mightily going down; he turned to see Daphne still staring down into her glass, looking anxious.

"It won't bite you, Daph," Harry grinned. "Well, maybe a little, but that's half the fun!"

"Oh, to hell with it," Daphne muttered, before throwing the liquid back into her throat. She looked briefly like she wanted to vomit, before unleashing a belch of flames that had her clapping a hand to her mouth in embarrassment.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Ron laughed with glee. "Now let's get this party really started!"

A Weird Sisters song started blaring overhead, and students gathered in the open space to dance along. Harry practically had to drag Daphne onto the dance floor, encouraging her to jump around and get loose like the others. Daphne looked mortified, staring around at the throngs of drunken revelers, but Harry noticed her foot was tapping along to the catchy beat, which he considered a win.

The song faded into a quieter ballad, and a few pairs of students began to slow-dance around them. Ron grabbed his date, Sally-Anne Perks, and pulled her close, kissing her ferociously as the room erupted in cheers and catcalls. Daphne looked shocked by the display, losing all remaining color in her face.

"I don't think I like this party very much," she muttered. "I'd like to go to bed now."

"You're sure?" Harry asked. "You just got here!"

"Quite sure," said Daphne. "Tell Tracey I'll see her back at the dorms."

"Alright," Harry shrugged, walking her back to the entrance. "Good night, Daphne."

Daphne paused at the door, turning back to look at Harry with a strained expression.

"Thank you for being my friend," she said honestly. "I don't have many besides Tracey. Most people think I'm just a bitch who hates everything, but I appreciate you treating me like a human being."

"Er...of course, Daph, any time," said Harry, nonplussed.

"Oh, hell, I'm drunk," Daphne groaned, massaging her temple. "I shouldn't have said that. Well, I meant it, but...oh, never mind. Good night, Pott— I mean, Harry." And Daphne hurried from the room, disappearing down the steps of the Bell Tower.

Before Harry could contemplate this further, another voice beckoned him from across the room. "Get over here, Potter!" slurred Katie Bell, waggling another bottle of Firewhiskey at him. "I was just telling everyone here what a lousy kisser you were!"

Harry groaned as the room laughed at his expense once more. But he joined the circle and accepted another shot glass as the party descended into even further revelry.

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur for Harry. He remembered lots of loud music, several people thrusting drinks at him, and dancing so much his feet hurt. It was the first time in a long time he could truly take his mind off of the war and live in the moment, enjoying the company of good friends. Why can't life be like this all the time? he thought blissfully to himself. He dreamed of a day when all of this hardship would be over, and nights like this could be more than just a fleeting memory amidst a sea of tribulations.

Eventually Harry managed to extricate himself from his partying peers and sink back into a nearby sofa to clear his head. But not a moment later, someone climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and planting themselves on his lap.

"Having a good time, Potter?" giggled Tracey, smelling of Firewhiskey herself.

"Yeah, sure," Harry shrugged. "You know there's another seat right next to me?"

"Thanks, but I've already found one," Tracey smirked, playing idly with Harry's tie. "Wanna have a little fun?"

"Erm...like I said, I'm not really looking for a relationship right now," Harry mumbled.

"Good, me neither," Tracey repeated with a wink. Then she smashed her face into his, engulfing Harry in a sloppy drunken kiss. Harry resisted at first… She's drunk, he thought to himself. Then: Screw it, so am I. And isn't this what parties are for? He kissed her back, their tongues dancing around one another, the taste of Firewhiskey burning both of their lips. All thoughts of impropriety flew from Harry's brain as he lost himself in the passion of the moment.

Several minutes of clumsy fumbling around later, and Tracey abruptly pulled away from Harry, leaping off of his lap with sudden urgency. Harry opened his eyes curiously and saw Tracey standing nervously before him, an irate Lily Potter glaring between her and Harry. The music had died, and many students looked fearfully at the professor, knowing they'd been busted.

"Bed, all of you!" Lily snapped. "Anyone I see out of their dorm in five minutes gets detention for a month!"

The group didn't need telling twice. Students bolted for the door, streaming out of the room to head to their respective common rooms. Harry jumped up to join them, hoping to disappear into the crowd, but his mother grabbed his arm before he could do so. "Not you, Harry. Let's have a little talk."

Harry groaned and sat back on the sofa as the last few students departed from the room, including an apologetic-looking Tracey. He could feel Lily's burning green gaze fixed upon his face and deliberately avoided looking at her.

"Well?" Lily demanded.

"Well what?" Harry grumbled. "I'm not in the mood for a lecture. Are you gonna punish me, or not?"

"Dammit, Harry, I thought you were better than this kind of behavior!" Lily groaned. "You're a prefect, top of your class, and I know you're more mature than this—"

"Too mature to enjoy life every once in a while?" Harry protested. "Is it not enough that there's a war going on? Do you have to take the last fleeting moments of happiness away from me, too?"

"That is not the issue here!" Lily huffed. "You're out after curfew and drinking underage! I ought to throw every punishment this school has to offer at you!"

"I've already been expelled once," Harry quipped. "And I can test out of N.E.W.T.'s whenever I want. No offense, but there's not much more you can do to me at this point."

Lily regarded her son for a moment. She sat on the sofa beside him, and to Harry's surprise, she began to softly cry.

"Aw hell, Mum, I was only joking…" Harry groaned.

"I know," Lily sniffed miserably. "You're just growing up too fast! I don't recognize the little boy I raised anymore. You're almost a man now, and it makes me feel like I'm losing you."

Harry felt a stab of immense guilt at her words. He wasn't the little boy she raised, not at all. She would never know that boy again. And he knew that for all his haste to get out of the adolescent body he'd been inhabiting for so long, he'd essentially robbed James and Lily of the parenting experience they expected with a normal child.

"You're not losing me," said Harry, reaching out to pull his mother in close for a hug. "I just don't want to be smothered is all. I'm practically the only student at this blasted school whose mother is lurking around every corner, waiting to bust me for having some harmless fun."

"That's true," Lily chuckled. "The other day, Dahlia asked me to stop visiting her in the Hospital Wing so often. I'm not trying to smother you both – I just want to be a part of your lives."

"And you are," said Harry. "But we need our space too."

"I know," Lily sighed miserably. "Doesn't make it any easier, though."

"How did you find us up here, anyway?" Harry asked.

"Don't you know who I married?" Lily scoffed. "I've got a bit of experience tracking down troublemakers in this castle. I know all the hidden nooks and crannies."

"Fair enough," Harry chuckled. His mother had been a prefect in the years when the Marauders began roaming freely throughout the castle, and she'd probably spent more than a few nights chasing them down side corridors and hidden passageways and the like. At the time she might have justified it as part of her prefect duties, but deep down she had her eyes on a certain black-haired Seeker and had other reasons to want to catch him.

"Up you get," Lily tutted, standing and offering a hand for Harry to stand. He did so, swaying slightly on the spot and resisting the urge to vomit, before following his mother from the room.

Lily led the way to Harry's common room in relative silence. Harry was grateful for it – his head was still spinning slightly, and he felt badly for putting her emotions through the ringer. As much as he didn't want his mother on his case about his castle excursions, he also did not want to worry her. She had enough to worry about with everything going on at the Ministry and beyond – knowing what her son had gotten himself into might tip her over the edge.

"Are you and Miss Davis an item now?" Lily eventually asked.

"No," said Harry flatly. "And I suppose you're going to shame us for it?"

"I didn't say that," said Lily. "Tracey's a nice young lady, and I just thought—"

"Mum, come on—"

"Alright, alright, I won't pry," Lily sighed. "As long as you aren't taking advantage of that girl—"

"She came on to me, for your information," said Harry.

"I figured as much," Lily grinned. "She had you pinned down like a predator claiming its prey."

"Merlin, Mum," Harry groaned, as Lily giggled at her own joke. They fell silent once more, but thankfully it was a lighter silence, not so laden with tension. It felt good to know his mother wasn't truly angry with him...she was just looking out for his well-being.

"Promise me one thing, Harry," Lily murmured as they approached Ravenclaw Tower.

"What's that?"

"Finish your education," said Lily. "Come back to Hogwarts for your seventh year."

Harry was surprised by this request. "Why would you say that?" he asked.

"I know you've thought about leaving school early. You're right – you could probably ace your N.E.W.T.'s right now and never set foot in this castle again. But I promise you it would be a mistake. You'll regret not making the most of your youth and rushing into adulthood. You will look back fondly on your time here and wish you could go back to it. Especially with such dark days ahead."

Harry realized that Lily was speaking not only about him, but about herself. She had, after all, joined the war immediately after graduating and had children a mere two years later. "Do you feel that way sometimes?" he asked her.

"All the time," Lily sighed. "I almost went to a potions institute after Hogwarts, you know, to continue my studies. What if I'd done that instead? What if instead of marrying James right away, I'd spread my wings, seen what else was out there for me?"

"You regret marrying Dad?" asked Harry, eyebrows raising.

"I didn't say that," Lily said quickly. "I love your father very much. I just meant...I wonder sometimes...oh, never mind. You're too young to understand."

Privately, Harry disagreed. He knew perfectly well the kind of regret Lily was talking about. He'd faced it himself plenty of times in the past: what if he'd stayed in his old timeline and rejoined his loved ones in death? What if he hadn't broken things off with Katie? What if he told his parents the truth from the beginning? Such thoughts threatened to consume him at times, and he found it best not to dwell on them for too long.

Harry and Lily walked in thoughtful silence for a long while after this. Finally, they reached the brass eagle standing guard outside the Ravenclaw common room.

"I'm afraid I have to give you detention for this," said Lily. "Can't be seen showing favoritism to my own child."

"So instead you're punishing me and nobody else who was there?" Harry scoffed.

"Just tell them it's because you refused to give up any names," Lily said with a small smile. "That should earn you some appreciation. Maybe Miss Davis will reward you for your silence another time."

"Merlin, Mum…"

"Only teasing," Lily smirked, drawing her wand. "Now hold still. Denebrius!"

Harry felt like a blast of cold wind was shot down every orifice, his sinuses and lungs feeling as though they'd been deep-cleaned from the inside out. The dull burn of Firewhiskey in his brain was extinguished in an instant. "Bloody hell!" he gasped, ears ringing. "What was that?"

"Sobering Charm," said Lily. "A rather ingenious invention of your Uncle Sirius, back when he and your father would go out partying late at night. What they didn't know is I could still smell the alcohol on your father's breath when he snuck back into the house."

Harry laughed at this mental image. "Afraid I'm turning into him then, are you?" he quipped.

"Not at all," said Lily, cupping his cheek affectionately. "You are turning into your father, in all the best ways. You're going to be a handful for some lucky witch someday."

"Or wizard," Harry pointed out with a sly grin.

"I'll believe that the day I pull Mark Davis off your lap instead of his cousin," Lily smirked. "Now off to bed, you troublemaker."

Harry retired to his dorm, head still buzzing with the night's events. Despite the awkward end to the party, he'd had a fairly good time all in all. The kiss he'd shared with Tracey was a particular highlight – just so long as she understood it couldn't happen again. That was a can of worms he didn't want to open right now.

But what would be the harm in that? Harry reasoned. It's just a bit of harmless fun. No one's getting hurt by it, and, bloody hell, Tracey's a good kisser. He drifted off to sleep with blissful thoughts of her lips on his, deciding he wouldn't let himself feel guilty about it until the morning.