Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 6: A Night Not Remembered

If there was one thing that Harry could say about his friendship with Ginny, it was that it had prevented what he’d tried to prevent. She never did have to go through the loneliness and depression that plagued the first two months of his life at Hogwarts.

Interestingly enough, as Harry had hoped Fred and George had finally become accustomed to the fact that their little sister took up residence in the dungeons. Percy was still rather cold to his little sister, and seemed to be spending a great deal of time with a blond-haired Ravenclaw Prefect. Ron was an arse as usual. Apparently he was spewing some garbage about Harry turning into Voldemort when he had accosted him. Harry had been desperately searching for some dirt on Weasley.

One thing that the Twins’ renewal of friendly relations with Ginny was that Harry got a chance to talk with them without threatening them or being threatened in the process. Harry found his earlier guesses being confirmed, the two were geniuses. Their marks were rather ordinary, but they would have been at the top of their class had they not spent late nights plotting their next prank or experimenting with new prank ideas. Harry had been the victim of a few of their pranks the previous year, but they appeared to be inclined to find other victims. Whether this was the result of Ginny’s friendship or Harry’s reputation was unclear.

Harry had continued to spend time with Ginny, helping her out in the Common Room after curfew on homework, or just talking to her when she had problems. She had taken his advice, and it had turned out to be golden. While her parents were shocked at the Sorting Hat’s choice, they pointed out a number of people they liked who had been Slytherins. They had assured her that they loved her dearly, and Ron had gotten a Howler for his efforts to pry Harry and Ginny apart. Apparently, Ginny had mentioned that she was friendly with the boy.

Still, it was a shock to Harry when an old, bedraggled looking owl crash-landed on the Slytherin table at breakfast one day. It was one of the rare days they dared to have Hermione sit at the Slytherin table, and she extricated the poor thing from assorted student’s breakfasts. Ginny had identified the owl as Errol, and said he’d been in their family for generations. Malfoy had sneered and made a comment about the Weasley’s lack of money, but a glare from Harry had silenced him. It had also made everyone around him a bit nervous. He’d asked Hermione about it before, but she’d denied there was anything odd. Tom had no suggestions either.

Ginny untied a pair of letters from the owl, which had to flap its wings several times to gain altitude, then tiredly flew out the open owl window. She gasped.

“Harry, one’s for you,” she said. Harry stared.

“What?”

“Mum…or dad maybe, wrote a letter to you. There’s one to me to. I sort of…I sort of mentioned that we were friends…”

“That’s fine Ginny,” Harry assured her. He frowned. He didn’t think that the Weasleys would write to him. It wasn’t a Howler, at least.

Shrugging, Harry took the note and opened it.

Dear Harry Potter,

I’m sure you are quite surprised to read this, but I felt that I should write to express my deepest gratitude for helping Ginny adjust to life at Hogwarts. I must admit that I was shocked to hear that she’d been placed in your House, and a bit worried as well. However, her first letter to me (which I thank you for encouraging her to write) calmed my fears a fair bit.

I must admit that I was surprised to hear she had befriended you, as she is a rather shy girl, and as you know, had a bit of a thing for you. I was quite disturbed to hear my children’s reactions to her Sorting, and appalled to hear about Ronald’s behavior towards you. I found out about it this summer, and dealt with it, but the full extent of it did not reach me. I am sincerely sorry about how you were treated, and I must say I like your guardian quite a bit from our time during the first war.

Thank you very much for helping my daughter,

Molly Weasley

“What does it say, Harry?” Ginny and Hermione asked simultaneously.

Harry shrugged, “It’s not exactly what I expected.” He handed the letter to them. Hermione beamed as she read it, and Ginny turned bright red.

“It’s okay, Ginny. It’s nothing I didn’t already know.”

“But she doesn’t know that! And she makes me sound like some kind of lost, helpless little girl!” Ginny ranted.

“Ginny, forgive for saying so, but that is exactly what you were,” Hermione commented. “I think it’s very nice that her parents wrote this. They do seem to like you a bit.”

“What does Bill think of me?” Harry asked curiously.

“He says he wants to meet you…he um, he said that I should try to think of you as just a friend.”

“Sounds like I should meet him too. We think alike.”

“He’s really brilliant,” Ginny said. “He was Head Boy and had top marks. He works as a Curse Breaker for Gringotts.”

“Really? That’s amazing! Gringotts doesn’t have many wizard employees. And that’s a tough profession, in some ways, it’s more difficult than a Auror, because you need skill in both Transfiguration and Ancient Runes.”

“He had Outstandings in both,” she said proudly.

“I’ve met your other brother, didn’t see much of him, though,” Harry said absently. Ginny was flabbergasted.

“What? When did you meet Charlie? And why didn’t he tell us?”

Harry winced. It wouldn’t do well to discuss the particulars at the Slytherin Table. “I’ll explain later.”

As a result, Harry had resumed his time spent in the library trying to improve his arsenal of spells. The problem was that the vast majority of powerful curses, hexes, and shields were far beyond their level, and that no matter how knowledgeable Harry was, his magic simply wasn’t developed enough to execute the more advanced spells.

Currently, Harry’s two research projects involved the Blinding Hex and the Cutting Curse. The latter had two more powerful varieties, the Slicing Curse, like the one that hit Hermione in First Year, and the Severing Curse, which while it didn’t always cut clean through the person it hit, still did tremendous damage. The curse was strictly controlled by the ministry, and in the Restricted Section of the Library.

Another variant was the Ripping Curse, which passed through flesh and when executed correctly, could do tremendous internal damage, often resulting in death. Its use could get a person thrown into Azkaban. Harry knew little about it but the name. There was also the Slashing Curse, a rare and powerful version of the Slicing Curse that had been altered by an unknown wizard. It required powerful hate behind it, and also carried a sentence in Azkaban.

While Harry had gotten damn good with his Striking Curse, he was anxious to learn the more powerful version, the Bludgeoning Hex. What was so interesting about it was that the power could be varied rather easily, and one using it could send a person crashing through a wall as easily as knock the wind out of them. The Flinging Hex was another intriguing possibility, but again, it required a wizard’s magic to have matured.

Hermione and Ginny had both expressed their concern about Harry’s study of offensive magic. Ginny was of the opinion that he really didn’t need it, and that there was little point in studying it if you couldn’t use it. Hermione was simply concerned that Harry was hiding something.

To placate both of them, Harry had been reading up on Defensive Magic instead. He’d finally mastered the standard Shielding Charm, something that Daphne had told him wasn’t surprising for a wizard his age. She’d mentioned that it took far more focus and intent to create and maintain a seamless barrier than it did to discharge a burst of magic as one would a basic hex.

She once again told him that while she’d aid him in his studies, she would not teach him advanced magic. She said this for two reasons: first, it was probably more productive for Harry to learn on his own, then refine his spell work with her. Second, most of what she knew Harry would have no prayer of executing. On the topic of wandless magic, Daphne said that while she had become quite good at the rare skill of erecting wandless shields, and could summon small objects, but it was an ability discovered, not obtained through training.

She did promise she’d do her best to train him up once his magic had matured.

Restriction Against Underage Wizardry or not.

Tom was an excellent resource. While he agreed with Daphne’s assessment of his inability to perform advanced magic, he encouraged his studies, telling Harry that he would need them someday. While Hermione didn’t approve of studying illegal curses, she was not averse to practicing what they already knew and trying to master the basis Cutting Curse. She was most concerned that they’d hurt each other in the process. Having no wish to injure the other, they tried to find empty classrooms and use the walls as target practice.

They’d been having a duel with Stunners and Disarming Charms when they had first been discovered. Harry was trying to change Hermione’s approach, to teach her to react instead of over thinking. She’d begun to use his approach of settling on a curse she was good at, and using it until she saw an opening to exploit. It was basic, and Harry still caught her napping sometimes.

The problem was that when one of them was stunned, there was little to do but wait until they woke up. Neither Harry or Hermione had mastered the Revival Charm, a piece of basic Healing Magic. It was also something that could go rather badly if performed wrong, and while it was within their range of magical power, it was on the upper levels.

Harry fired off a Stunner before rolling to the left. Hermione managed to throw up a shield just long and strong enough to block the low-powered Stunner.

She fired back a Disarming Spell, which Harry deflected into the ceiling. He fired back one of his own, and Hermione’s wand sailed into his hand. He advanced on her, wand drawn, face determined.

“What are you doing!” a shrill voice cried. Harry and Hermione froze to see a terrified looking Ginny standing in the doorway. Hermione’s eyes flashed in understanding.

“It’s okay, Ginny,” Hermione assured her. “We’re just mock dueling. It’s the best way to practice, and that wall’s been abused enough,” she said, gesturing at the stone wall that was crisscrossed with gashes in the masonry.

“What are you practicing?” she asked nervously.

“Nothing Dark, Ginny,” Harry said, going after what he figured she was thinking. “Just some basic Stunning and Disarming Charms. And we’re working on our shielding charms.”

“How long have you been doing this?” she asked nervously.

“For about a month. Harry’s been doing this by himself longer.”

“I needed to vent, and wanted to do something productive,” he answered her questioning glance.

“Oh…okay. Can I join?”

Harry winced. “Well, I don’t know.” Ginny looked down. “It’s not that we don’t want you or doubt your ability, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea to be practicing without your parents’ permission.”

“Do Hermione’s parents know? Does Daphne know?”

“Daphne yes, the Grangers no,” Harry replied. “But Hermione hasn’t revealed a lot to them.”

“Can you teach me something?” she asked in a pleading voice. Harry could tell she didn’t want to be left out.

“Alright,” he relented.

Harry ignored the boy who he suspected was half-troll, and lazily drawled back at him. “First, Flint, there’s no Snitch up there. Second, there is no competition. What, am I supposed to compete against myself?”

“Don’t be stupid, Potter. Malfoy’s getting his broom.”

Harry stared at him. “Malfoy? Don’t I embarrass him enough on the ground?”

“Ha ha, very funny Potter,” Malfoy said, sneering as he emerged from the entrance to the pitch, carrying a Nimbus 2001. “We’ll see what happens when that big head of yours drags down your obsolescent broom.”

Harry stared at him. “Thanks for the prediction, oh might King of Arrogance. Hopefully I’ll get a chance to scatter pieces of you all over the pitch, and not even get expelled.”

It was that time of year again. As Zabini had reported and Harry had dreaded, the slave-driving Slytherin Quidditch captain had been held back, and was currently attending his eighth year at Hogwarts. Notices that Quidditch tryouts were to be held had gone up three days ago, and Harry had practiced his neglected talent, flying, for the past three days.

Not that he needed it. His natural ability, combined with years spent flying around the pitch in Claw’s Clan, meant that Harry was one of the most polished young flyers Hogwarts had ever seen.

The Slytherin team would actually be formidable this year. Flint and Pucey were returned, and Montague had lost some weight and seemed much more nimble than he ever had been before. Bole and Derrick were back for their final years, and seemed particularly malevolent this year, as if losing the Quidditch Cup to the Lions had been a personal affront.

One position that had needed filling was Keeper. Miles Blechley had graduated, leaving her boyfriend, Flint, behind. The top candidates were Chester Warrington, who admitted his preference was for Chaser. If Montague was slow, Warrington was a sloth. He looked the part too, with long, slender limbs and a large frame. He’s was quite a strange looking boy actually. His physical attributes were combined with an eternally blank expression, sort of like Luna Lovegood, but more clueless-looking.

Then again, intelligence wasn’t necessary to win Quidditch games. The Slytherins proved that. Without Quirrell’s interference, they would have gone undefeated.

Harry mounted his personalized broom, tucking his parent’s medal beneath his robes. He glanced up at the Slytherin stands, where Hermione and Ginny, both wearing green Slytherin scarves (Ron had given her hell when he’d seen she actually owned one), were excitedly cheering him on. Ginny was watching with a look of longing. Harry guessed she was looking forward to earning her own spot on the team in her second year.

Harry kicked off from the ground, and was air-born. “What do you want me to do, Flint?” Harry asked, making a show of lounging on his broom to annoy Malfoy.

“I’m releasing the Snitch, you dolt. Try to catch it instead of bragging.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Harry drawled back.

Flint let loose the Snitch he’d been mashing in his fist. Harry was off in a flash, intent on losing Malfoy. He banked hard to the right before going into a dive. Again, he weaved and bobbed to simulate chasing a moving Snitch. Malfoy bought it.

He followed him into the dive, and nearly plowed into the ground. Cursing at being taken, Malfoy broke off completely. Harry banked off, and spun his Nimbus around, shooting at his Housemate like a javelin.

The blond-haired boy flew away in alarm, and Harry shot past him, grinning madly.

“You're trying to kill me Potter!” Malfoy cried indignantly.

“That’s the idea,” Harry replied lazily. “After all, if you’re dead or unable to fly, I win the job, right?”

Malfoy gnashed his teeth and growled angrily. Harry laughed and flew off in pursuit of the Snitch.

He spotted the golden ball after about ten minutes of flying, but decided that he needed to get rid of his tail. Diving at the ground hard, he abruptly twisted to the right inches above the ground and flew sideways just above the grass. Even on his newer broom, Malfoy didn’t have nearly the reaction time, and with a dull thump, he hit the ground hard. Harry looked back to see him rolling across the ground, his broom embedded in the pitch. His silvery-blond hair was filthy and disheveled.

Harry resisted the urge to laugh out loud and began searching for the Snitch unimpeded. He notice that Flint was hovering near the stands, taking notes on a piece of parchment.

As he searched, Malfoy was desperately trying to extricate his broom from the ground. The Nimbus 2001 was buried up to about half way up the handle, and stuck fast. Malfoy, his face red from a combination of anger, embarrassment, and physical exertion, collapsed against his broomstick.

Harry finally found the Snitch near one of the opposite goalposts, and looked back at Malfoy. Taking pity on the boy, and seeking to embarassment him further, he lazily let his wand fall out of his holster and levitated the Nimbus 2001 out of the ground. Then he dumped it in front of the fuming Malfoy heir. Finally, he flew back, picked up the Snitch easily, and made a show of lazily snatching it from the sky. He flew back towards the captain.

“How’d I do, Flint?” he called over lazily. Harry had to admit that acting like a total arse was a hell of a lot of fun.

“How do you think?” he asked sarcastically. “You’re on the team, Potter. Malfoy, you’re dirtying the pitch. You’ve already made a hole in it. Get out of my sight.”

“When my father finds out about this-“ Malfoy began.

“He’ll do nothing,” a cold voice said. Severus Snape was emerging from the tunnel, a broom in his hand. “Potter was clearly the superior flyer, though I recommend he deflate his head size a bit before it drags him down like his father. Still, I’d rather have the best Seeker in this school on Slytherin and deal with your over inflated ego.”

Harry stared at him. That had to be the nicest thing the potion master had ever said to him. He’d actually complimented him!

“Speechless, Potter? Amazed that I’d actually say something positive about you? Well, I’m full of surprises, aren’t I?” he said to the dumbstruck son of James Potter. “Get along, Potter. Your little friends are waiting for you.”

“Practices every Tuesday and Thursday at six, Potter. Be there,” Flint called after him.

Harry waved in understanding and ran towards the stands. Ginny came tearing down them, clambering over benches, and tackled him in a fierce hug that knocked the wind out of him. He returned it weakly.

She broke away, face bright red. “Don’t do that again, Harry James Potter! Don’t scare me like that!” she cried, jumping up and down. It was a rather comical sight, actually.

“Ginny, calm down,” Hermione said, grabbing the bouncing redhead by the shoulders. She looked up at him. “She does have a point, though. Was that diving really necessary.”

“I didn’t crash,” he protested. Ginny glared at him.

“How does that matter?” Ginny demanded. “Hermione, how are you so calm about this? He could have been killed out there!”

“Well, I’ve seen it before. Honestly, Ginny, he’s knows what he’s doing. You have to accept that or you’ll drive yourself mad,” she explained.

He was walking through the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts, his wand drawn, alert for any sign of pursuit. He walked cautiously, though his shoes had Silencing Charms cast upon them, and thus made no noise.

Silently opening the front doors of the castle just enough to sneak through, he began to silently glide across the grounds, eyes scanning the darkness lit only by the full moon looming overhead. A few lights were on in the upper towers, likely belonging to teachers grading work deep into the night. The most important lights, those belonging to the Headmaster’s Office, were extinguished. Just to be safe, he crept along the hedges, out of sight until he reached the bridge.

He muttered an incantation and a yellow beam of light shot out of the end of his wand. The bridge was covered in golden web, but no red light, which would indicate the presence of alarm spells, were present on the old structure. He cancelled the spell, and proceeded onwards towards his target.

The lights of the half-giant Gamekeeper were extinguished, and the man appeared to have turned in for the night, most likely after a long night of drinking. In a fenced in area about 20 meters from the back door were his target: the roosters.

Casting a Silencing Charm on the entire area, he picked out a Rooster at random and began to fire away. Cutting Curse after Cutting Curse shot forth from his wand, turning the dozen or so roosters into a mutilated pile of dead birds. Blood spattered his robes…

Harry awoke with a start, as he flung himself up, looking around into the darkness. Concerned about what he had seen, he looked himself over. He was in his pajamas, not blood-spattered robes. His wand was not in his hand, warm from the use of multiple curses. He checked his wand holster, and withdrew the cool wooden wand from it.

“Priori Incantatem,” he whispered. A gray ripple indicating a Silencing Charm shot forth before fading.

He’d reinforced the Silencing Charms on his bed before he’d gone to sleep, so that wasn’t amiss. He unlocked the curtains, and looked around for his robes. He pulled them inside his four-poster bed and shut the curtains, using a Lighting Charm. They were cool from the cold air of the dungeons, but not a drop of blood or of any strange substance could be found.

It had been a dream. A strange dream, but a dream nonetheless.

Harry relaxed, and went back to sleep.

And thanks to his precautions…

He didn’t suspect a thing.

Between Marcus Flint trying to kill his team in practice, Snape doing his best to ensure that Harry’s potions exploded in his face with lethal effect, Lockhart’s bumbling ineptitude, and Ron Weasleys constant harassment, Harry’s first two months at Hogwarts were full of the insane, the predictable, and the plain random.

The ‘Golden Idiot,” as Harry had dubbed him, had finally given up trying to teach anything useful after a particularly disastrous attempt at teaching the basic Body-Bind Spell.

Well, disastrous if you were Gilderoy Lockhart.

Harry on the other hand, viewed it as a tremendous success.

Since the disastrous first class, which had convinced Hermione of her crush’s idiocy (she still refused to believe she had a crush in the first place), Harry and Hermione had attempted to force the truth out of their DADA Professor.

Lockhart had mostly been reading excerpts from his books, which more and more students appeared to be disgusted with. To make matters worse, he began calling students up to re-enact some of the more ‘dramatic’ scenes. As part of their efforts, the two had mercilessly pursued every contradiction, overlap, and factual inaccuracy. This goal was attacked in class, out of class, and on the floor of the classroom.

Concerning that latest bit, Lockhart had foolishly called Harry to the front of the class in his re-enactment of his ‘defeat’ of the Wagga-Wagga Werewolf. While one of his more legendary ‘accomplishments,’ the writing of it was particularly bad.

From his first words, the lesson had gone badly (and thus been worthwhile in the minds of Harry and Hermione).

“Alright, Harry,” he said excitedly, rubbing his hands together. He’d taken to calling him by his first name, something that was not only unprofessional but considered offensive in Slytherin House when the speaker was not on friendly terms with the addressed.

Needless to say, Harry was not on good terms with Gilderoy. “So, I want you to stand over there. You’ll be playing the monstrous werewolf-“

“Question, Professor?” Hermione asked, her hand waving excitedly.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” he asked in a poisonously sweet voice.

“It says on page 174, detailing the previous night and the horrible attack on that little boy, that it was a full moon. Yet you ‘killed’ the werewolf while it was transformed, the next night. How is that possible?”

“Well,” he began nervously. A number of students were frowning, wondering if Hermione had a point. “In that part of the world, atmospheric conditions and such can actually create a full moon on consecutive nights.”

Dean Thomas raised his hand. “Yes, Mr. Thomas?”

“Sir, werewolves transform once every month. I’m never heard of a werewolf transforming twice.”

“Well…anyway, lets get onto the story.” Hermione gave Harry, who was standing across the room, a triumphant grin. He smirked.

“Alright, Ms. Brown, I want you to play the young lady that I rescued. Stand over there, please.” The brown-haired gossipy girl practically bounced out of her seat, obviously pleased with the idea of being rescued by the powerful blond wizard. Harry suppressed a snort only with maximum effort.

“So, anyway, Cecilia Travers, the young woman, a beautiful brunette (Lavender sighed, Harry had to force himself not to gag) was cowering in fear…go ahead Ms. Brown.” Lavender began trembling and muttering over dramatically. Someone in the back of the class laughed.

“And the werewolf…that’s you Harry… was towering over her…go ahead.” Harry walked over to Lavender and smirked at her. That caused real trembling.

Harry could look menacing even without meaning to. Weasley’s stories of Harry attacking him, and the strange look in his eyes, had spread like wildfire. Thankfully, unlike the previous year, only the biggest idiots in the school (thus people that Harry, Hermione, and Ginny didn’t care about) actually believed him. For as fearsome as Harry could look, simply being a member of Slytherin had taught him a number of skills, manipulation and acting innocent among them.

“Look menacing, Harry…you know, like you have sharp claws and razor teeth dripping with werewolf venom…Yes Ms. Granger?” he asked irritably.

“Werewolves don’t have venom sir. Their saliva, once it gets into the bloodstream, is what causes Lycanthropy.”

“I know that, Granger,” he said tiredly. “I was using poetic license. Please don’t interrupt again.”

“I’m sorry sir,” she replied with an incredibly false sweetness. She’d been getting good, just hanging around a pair of Slytherins. “I’m just so excited about your books, and need to make sure I understand them completely.”

Harry mentally snorted, keeping a straight face only with difficulty. For Hermione to completely understand something, she had to dissect it and put it back together again. In other words, there was not the smallest detail that escaped her. It was why she constantly sounded like she swallowed a textbook, she studied them obsessively. Harry tended to learn things by practicing them, after first doing background research.

“Very well, Ms. Granger…now, then, Harry, why aren’t you terrorizing her?”

Because Hermione and I are too busy terrorizing you. “Sorry, Professor.” Harry stretched his arms high above his head, hooking his fingers into claws. He narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth, tensing his upper body as he leaned over the Gryffindor. Her eyes grew wide with actual fear. Harry heard Zabini snicker from the back of the room.

“Excellent, Harry…my, my, are you sure you aren’t a werewolf?” he asked in jest. If I was, you’d be my first victim…except that I’d rip out your pretty throat rather than curse the werewolf population with your presence.

What? Yes, he wanted Lockhart to be eaten by something, but that was a bit extreme… His imagination must have been running away from him. Then again, being a werewolf wouldn’t do much for Lockhart’s looks. He’d be as scary as ever.

“Alright, so pounced, like this,” he said, jumping in exaggerated slow motion, stepping in front of Lavender, who gave way to him; another disgusting sigh escaped her. “And then I said, “You will not threaten this village anymore, you foul creature!””

Harry didn’t blink at the declaration, and took a mock swipe as him, growling. If he could, he’d be rolling around on the floor laughing. Pretending to be a vicious creature, especially one as exaggerated as one depicted in Lockhart’s books, was fun.

“And then I drew my knife, and using a magical spell I’ve since forgotten, I boosted my physical strength, and shoved the creature to the ground…good, Harry. Harry himself had pretended to fall victim to the ‘forgotten’ spell, and fell softly onto the ground. Lockhart jumped on top of him. His teeth were blinding from this distance. I wonder if I should tell him I don’t swing that way.

Constantly humoring himself was the only way to stay sane during these ‘demonstrations.’ Lockhart was speaking again.

“…and then I raised my silver knife, but as I saw the fear in his eyes…look fearful, Harry…good, I took mercy on him, and drawing my wand, I performed the immensely complex Homomorphous Charm-“

“Professor?” Harry asked from his position on the floor.

“Yes, Harry?”

“That charm doesn’t cure Lycanthropy. It’s a standard Transfiguration Reversal Spell that is taught to the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad and to Healer trainees. Seeing as it’s impossible to transfigure a person into a werewolf, you’re either lying or mistaken.” He said this all with a straight face and with as much dignity as one could lying on his back with the Golden Idiot leaning over him.

“Are you sure about that, Harry? After all, I believe that in my far more extensive travels of the world-“

“I researched it a week ago, sir. And sent a letter to my guardian. Both sources gave me the same information. Daphne added that had you done that, the werewolf would have certainly thrown you off him and either ripped your throat out or Turned you. Either way, you wouldn’t be standing here…she said some other things too, though they aren’t as relevant…could I have the use of my body back, sir? After all, the stone floor is well…stone, and rather hard. And if you don’t mind me saying, sir…it’s rather uncomfortable as a twelve-year old having a larger man leaning over them like that.”

The look on Lockhart’s face when he’d completed that speech was priceless. It was a combination of rage, horror, and complete surprise. It was as if all three emotions were fighting for supremacy, and none of them could win. It made for a rather comical sight. To add support to his request, his left hand began slowly sliding up his right robe sleeve, inching closer to his wand holster.

“Very well, Mr. Potter,” he forced out, jumping off of him. He extended a hand, and roughly yanked the twelve-year old to his feet. Harry glared at him, rubbing at his shoulder.

The bell rang.

He looked around, trying to figure out where he was. Checking his watch, he was shocked to find out that it was 4 o’clock in the morning. Where was he?

Unsteadily getting to his feet, he staggered around a bit, using the wall for support until his knees would stop shaking. He glanced around, eyes peering into the dark. “Lumos,” he whispered. His wand tip lit, and he cautiously peered around the corner, praying he wouldn’t see Filch or the feline from hell, Mrs. Norris. He saw a few paintings he recognized: a pair of men sitting in armchairs around a fire, and a rather plump elderly witch holding aloft a wand, lighting sparking around her.

He was on the 2nd floor, in the Defense Against the Dark Arts corridor, specifically. Harry thought absently he’d probably be running from here in a nightmare.

He began moving, praying that the staircases weren’t moving, and that Filch was elsewhere. He had no idea how he’d ended up here, or why his robes were covered in filth and damp, but either way, he’d have hell to pay if he was caught.

He cast Silencing Charms on his feet (again thanking Daphne for teaching them to him, he couldn’t understand why they weren’t taught until 5th year), and set off at a brisk pace. Fortune was on his side, for once, and he managed to make it into the Entrance Hall without a problem. He dashed down the stairs, and ducked around a pillar.

A good thing, because Severus Snape was patrolling the dungeons. Had Harry waited a second later, he would have been in full view of the vindictive Potions Master. The man, luckily, wasn’t staying long, and strode up the staircase, past the pillar that Harry was hiding behind.

Harry waited until he was long gone before running over to the entrance to the Slytherin dorms, whispering the password, and sneaking in. The Common Room was empty.

Befuddled and confused, Harry snuck into the 2nd year boys’ dorm, and pulled off his robes. He noticed something in the pocket, and found Riddle’s diary. Frowning, he placed the diary inside his trunk, and closed the curtains. He collapsed on the bed andfell into a deep sleep. When he awoke the next day, he remembered nothing of his mysterious appearance outside Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

What Harry couldn’t explain was why he was sleeping in his shirt, complete with his tie, and his pants. Or why his new robes (the replacements Daphne had purchased at Madam Malkins) were wet and soggy. Confused, he opened Riddle’s diary, and took out a quill.

Good morning Tom.

Good morning, Harry. How did you sleep?

Funny you ask that. I’ve got a strange feeling that I was sleepwalking. My robes all damp and dirty, and I went to bed in my clothes, which are a bit filthy as well. I don’t know where I could have gone, though.

Interesting. Well, Harry, I’m afraid I cannot help you there. I wonder how you managed to get dirty and wet without leaving the Common Room.

Who says I didn’t?

Harry, I doubt you know Hogwarts well enough to navigate the castle while asleep. If you did sleep walk, you didn’t go far. Nor did you go into the lower dungeons. Else, you’d still be there.

You’re probably right. I just wish I knew what happened.

Don’t let it bother you, Harry. It was probably a one-time occurrence.

I suppose.

Now then, you haven’t written in me for while. How are classes going?

Pretty well. I had to play the werewolf in the Golden Idiot’s re-enactment of his killing of the Wagga-Wagga werewolf…

Tom revealed no further information. Or rather, he could provide none. Harry had checked out a few books on dreams and sleepwalking for wizards, and intended to skim through them, to try to find out what happened. He would have gotten hell if he had been caught.

In addition, he saw no reason to worry Ginny and Hermione with the details of a dream that were slowly fading, and a strange, inexplicable occurence that had soaked his robes.

That day, the trio decided to pay a long overdue visit to Hagrid. Ginny hadn’t really gotten to know him, and all three had a free period (Ginny’s was scheduled; Professor Flitwick had taken ill).

They walked over the bridge leading down the lower ground, and headed down the steps to his hut. Harry intently peered around to see if he saw any roosters. There were none. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

It was just a dream…

Hermione knocked on the door. “Hagrid? It’s Harry, Ginny, and me.”

The half-giant opened the door, and his face lit into a smile through his scraggly beard. Fang made a beeline for Harry, almost knocking him over in his excitement.

“Whoa, there Fang! Get off ‘im!” he said, pulling the boarhound back by his collar. Their path cleared, the three students entered the house.

“So how are things going for yeh? How’s First Year Ginny?” he asked jovially.

“Okay…” Ginny said. “Well, I love having Hermione and…Harry, as friends…but I wish Ron would talk to me,” she said sadly. “He and I used to be so close.”

“’E’s still actin’ up?” he asked Harry. He nodded. “Yeh mention it to yer mum?” he asked Ginny. “I’d reckon that’d straighten ‘im out.”

“Yeah, Mum really let him have it over the summer…how do you know her? Or do you just know her reputation?” she asked curiously.

“Oh, I know yer mum from the First War. Dark times those were, dark times. Until ‘Arry, o’course.”

Harry looked down at the floor, and Ginny blushed. “Oh blimey, I’m sorry, ‘Arry. I know yeh don’t like ter hear about that.”

“It’s okay…so how have things been going?” he asked, trying to change the direction of the conversation.

“Strange yeh ask that. I’ve been dealing with a real mystery ‘ere. Yeh know I’ve got roosters, right?”

Harry nodded weakly, feeling his blood run cold.

“Well, sommat’s been killing ‘em. Real gruesome too. Like someone using ‘em for target practice. All cut up and bloody. Can’t think of any animal…Harry? Yeh okay?”

“No,” he said hurriedly, jumping out of his chair and racing out of the hut. He ran over to the pig troughs, and vomited several times, his mind racing. Hermione came tearing out of the hut, her face pale with worry. Ginny and Hagrid poked their heads out.

“Harry? Are you okay?” she asked.

No, Hermione. Because I had a dream about killing all of the roosters, and now I find out it actually happened! No, I’m just fine, realizing that I’ve been out of my bed twice without knowing it, once casting a bunch of spells I don’t even know how to do. Just spiffing, Herm.

But he said none of those things. “I need to see Madam Pomfrey. I think I’m coming down with something.”