There and Back Again

Disclaimer

Harry Potter and associated content are the property of their respective owners – I am definitely not one of them.

Lily Evans was not having a good day. Scratch that — she was having a horrible day. The day hadn't started that way, of course. In fact, her morning had passed in a blur of excitement — excitement at the thought of going back to Hogwarts, excitement at the thought of seeing her friends after almost three months. Bur her sister, Petunia, just had to ruin her day. Her tantrum at the last moment had ensured that her mother had, once again, been unable to see her off to Hogwarts.

Being the younger child, Lily had always been doted on by the family — including Petunia. But that had changed when Lily had received an invitation to join Hogwarts, while Petunia had not. Petunia had become increasingly jealous of her over the years — to the point where she would do anything she could to hurt her. Lily always felt guilty every time she saw her sister like that — she felt it was her fault somehow. She tried her best to reconcile with her sister every time she went home for the holidays, but everything she did had the opposite effect.

Once on the Hogwarts Express, her mood had improved somewhat. But then she had attended the prefects meeting. Some of the other prefects had not been happy to see three new Muggle-borns amongst their numbers. While they couldn't say anything directly, the target of their veiled insults had been clear to anyone with half a brain. Lily didn't know what was worse — that even some of the half-bloods had joined in — or that the Head Boy had barely made a half-hearted attempt to stop it. The Head Girl hadn't said a single word in their defence. If the expression on her face was anything to go by, she had been itching to throw in a few comments of her own.

To add insult to the injury, the student heads had come up with a patrolling schedule for the day that consisted almost exclusively of the Muggle-borns, which meant she would have to spend the rest of her day patrolling the corridors of the Express — not getting more than a few moments with her friends. She had tried to protest the blatant display of prejudice, but the Head Girl had refused to alter the schedule.

"If you don't think you are up to the task, Miss Evans, perhaps you should hand your badge in," she had said, in a sickly sweet voice. "I'm sure we can find someone more suitable for the job."

Remus Lupin had offered to patrol the corridors on her behalf for some time, but Lily had refused. Getting the prefect badge had been like a dream come true for her. She didn't want anyone to question her capability to do the job. More importantly, she didn't want to show weakness.

The day was getting progressively worse. She had already had to break up at least four fights when she found a boy casting spells at someone in one of the compartments. Granted, she was impressed by the speed of spell casting, but she couldn't allow him to get away with hexing other students. Her temper, which had already been tested multiple times, boiled over when she saw four students stunned and bound and a fifth one cowering before the boy. She pulled out her wand.

"What is going on here?" she almost shouted.

The boy turned around, and she realised it was none other than James Potter — arsehole extraordinaire. That didn't do anything to help her temper.

"Potter! Should've known it was you. . ." she ground out, trying and failing miserably to control her anger.

"Look, there has been a misunderstanding —"

"Misunderstanding? You call this a misunderstanding? I am reporting this to Professor McGonagall as soon as we get to school. . ." Had she not been so angry, she would have realised that Potter was not being his usual annoying self.

"It wasn't him," said the little girl who had been cowering earlier. Lily finally realised the identity of the girl — it was Narcissa Black — a third year Slytherin. Normally, no one messed with her because of her sister's reputation. But James Potter was clearly too arrogant to bother with such details. As amusing as it would be to let the older Black sister deal with him, she was a prefect herself and it was her job to handle such cases.

"Why don't you tell me what happened here, Miss Black?" asked Lily. She found it unlikely that Potter had nothing to with the mess. She had seen him casting spells with her own eyes.

"I – I was looking for my sister. I had saved a compartment for us. She said she'd come find me after the prefects' meeting," started Narcissa. Lily remembered Umbridge asking some prefects to stay behind – perhaps Black was one of them. She listened as Narcissa described how she had been put under the Full Body Bind Curse and dragged into the compartment by the students who were now stunned and bound. She was describing how Potter had taken down the four of them without breaking a sweat when a voice startled them.

"Bloody fucking hell!" swore Potter.

"Mind your language —" she tried to berate him, but a look at his face stopped her short. He had turned pale and his eyes were unfocused.

"What's the matter, Potter? You look like you've seen a ghost. . ." She knew the expression meant nothing in the Wizarding World where seeing ghosts was a common occurrence, but she didn't know the wizarding equivalent yet.

"Potter! Can you hear me, Potter?" She poked him in the arm when the boy didn't show any signs of having heard her. That seemed to break him out of his funk.

"Huh! Wha. . ."

"You zoned out for a bit. What happened?"

"Never you mind! I assume you can handle them?" he asked pointing towards the stunned students. At Lily's nod, he continued, "We should probably take her to one of the Slytherin prefects. . . Who are the new Slytherin prefects, again?" he asked, almost casually.

"Her sister is one of them, but she is still in the prefects' carriage, I think," replied Lily.

"Her sister?"

Lily's eyes narrowed. There was something fishy going on. How could Potter not know the Black sisters? And he was behaving completely un-Potterlike. Knowing him, it was either one of his pranks, or another scheme to get into her pants.

"What are you playing at, Potter?" she growled.

The boy looked confused for a second. "I am sorry, but I think you are mistaking me for my brother, James," he said, waving his wand at his face, which caused his nose to become slightly smaller, and his eyes to change colour to emerald green — the exact same colour as her own. "I am Harry Potter, James' twin. . ."

SMACK!

Lily finally lost control and slapped him — pouring all her anger — all her frustration into it. She couldn't believe the nerve of the boy! Did he consider her so naïve that she'd fall for such a lame trick?

The result: A near perfect print of her hand on his right cheek.

"You are such an arsehole, Potter! You make me sick!" she spat with as much venom as she could muster before storming off.

Harry was stunned. He was staring at the retreating form of his mother — his right hand on his cheek, his ears ringing. In the hindsight, it was probably not the best idea to undo the Glamour, especially since his eyes looked identical to hers. But in his defence, he had been taken off balance by the revelation that Bellatrix was not only at Hogwarts, but she was in the same year as him. A part of him was still hoping that it was all a misunderstanding and there was another Black he didn't know about. That's what he had tried to confirm by asking about Narcissa's sister.

He realised the Narcissa was still staring at him with her big blue eyes.

"Err. . . Miss Black. . . Didn't you say you had a compartment?"

"Yes," she replied shyly.

"Why don't we wait for your sister there?" asked Harry. While he was not too keen on meeting Bellatrix anytime soon, he wasn't dreading it either — at least not like Pettigrew. Strangely enough, once the shock of the revelation that she was at Hogwarts had worn off, he had realised that the idea of meeting her was not as repulsive as he would've expected it to be. Perhaps being stuck with her at Grimmauld Place for weeks had dulled the hatred he had once felt for her, or perhaps it was because she had willingly sacrificed her life to give him the chance to make things right. And he had made a promise not to judge people by their actions in the future. In any case, he didn't want to go to the Marauders' compartment with a hand-print on his cheek.

Harry had always believed that Bellatrix and Andromeda were both at least a few years older than Sirius. For some reason, he had even believed that Bellatrix was the eldest of the Black sisters. But looking back, he couldn't remember the reason behind the belief. His assumption was probably based on their appearance. Bellatrix had always looked a lot older than Sirius and Narcissa. But that could easily be explained as a consequence of prolonged exposure to the Dark Arts and the Dementors.

"Are you really Potter's twin?" Narcissa asked as she guided him towards her compartment at the end of the train.

Harry nodded, "I am."

"I am Narcissa Black," she introduced herself as they reached the compartment. "Thanks for helping me out there."

"No problem at all! I just did what I felt was the right thing, Narcissa," replied Harry.

Narcissa wrinkled her nose, "Only my grandfather calls me Narcissa. Call me Cissy, everyone does!"

Harry chuckled as a memory of Tonks getting mad at being called by her first name came to his mind.

"Well Cissy, why didn't you sit with your friends?"

"I've always travelled with Bella," replied Narcissa.

Narcissa turned out to be quite the chatterbox. She was very different from the cold and calculating Narcissa Malfoy he knew from the future. Harry idly wondered what could possibly have caused such a drastic change in personality.

They had been chatting about random things for about an hour when the compartment door finally slid open.

Harry looked up to see an olive-skinned girl with lustrous waist-length black hair. She was tall and had an athletic build. Her most striking feature, however, was her eyes which were an interesting shade of violet. Overall, she was rather attractive, and had he been a normal fifteen year old — or even a normal eighteen year old, he would have likely have found himself drooling after her.

There was no mistaking her — it was Bellatrix. But unlike the last time he had seen her, those violet eyes were full of life. It was the look on her face that gave him pause, though. She was looking extremely irritated, angry even.

"What are you doing here, Potter?"

It was Narcissa who replied, "Bella," she cried, "I was looking for you. . ." Bellatrix's features softened as Narcissa recounted the attack and Harry's timely intervention.

"You should've seen it Bella! The shield absorbed all the spells — and Harry took them down before they could cast another curse!" Narcissa gushed on.

"Harry?" asked Bellatrix, raising an eyebrow. "I thought your name was James?"

"That's my twin brother. I am Harry Potter," Harry introduced himself.

"Is that another one of your pranks, Potter?" asked Bellatrix, getting irritated again.

"Why does everyone think that?" asked Harry with a scowl. Narcissa giggled.

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows further.

"Evans thought so too," replied Narcissa. "He got slapped for it."

There was an awkward silence as Bellatrix still looked sceptical.

"I guess I'll just go," said Harry as he stepped out of the door without looking back.

"Why did you have to chase him away?" he heard the irritated voice of Narcissa as he walked away from the compartment.

As Harry stepped out of the Thestral driven stagecoach and looked at the ancient castle with its many turrets and towers, he was almost overwhelmed by the memory of the last time he had seen it. He almost broke down as he remembered the broken bodies of his friends. Neville had made his last stand at the bottom of the steps leading to the Entrance Hall. Hermione had been killed just outside the giant doors. They were the first ones to run out of the Castle when Voldemort had announced his capture. Both of them had died right before his eyes — trying to fight their way through Voldemort's Army — presumably to try and release him from his bindings. The Death Eaters had piled up the bodies of those they had butchered not too far from where he was standing.

It took all his willpower — and a subtle poke from James, who was walking right beside him — to not break down right there.

"What's wrong with you?" whispered James, not wanting to draw attention.

Harry shook his head and mouthed, "Later!" He had told James about the battle only in the vaguest of terms — not having a reason to burden the teenager with the full extent of the atrocities he had witnessed.

He was halted by very familiar voice calling his name.

"Harry Potter!" It was a younger, but no less intimidating, McGonagall. "Follow me, please. Move along, the rest of you," she added, looking at the Marauders.

Harry followed her into a small chamber off the Entrance Hall. The room was bare except for a couple of chairs and a table between them. McGonagall motioned for him to take a seat on one of the chairs while taking the other one for herself.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seat in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into one of the houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room."

"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour."

Harry couldn't help but smile as he remembered the first time he had heard the speech.

"When your name is called, step through that door," she pointed towards the door opposite to the one they had entered through, "and walk straight up to the High Table. Is that clear?"

"Professor, can't I be sorted here?" asked Harry. He was not looking forward to being stared and pointed at.

McGonagall gave him a stern look, "The sorting also serves as a way to introduce you to the rest of the school, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid it must take place in the Great Hall." With those words, she got up and stepped towards the door leading to the Great Hall. "I almost forgot, Professor Dumbledore wants to see you after the banquet."

Harry didn't have to wait long before he heard McGonagall announce his name. From what he could tell, they had decided to sort him before the first-years came in.

"Mr. Potter if you'll join us please," she called him out.

Walking between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, Harry could clearly hear the whisperings and mutterings.

"— she say Potter —"

"— one wasn't enough —"

"— just what we needed —"

"— where were they hiding him —"

Paying no attention to them, he walked directly up to McGonagall who placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

"Another Potter, eh? Interesting. . . a time-traveller, huh? Never met one of those before. . ."

Had Harry not known that the Hat wouldn't remember anything after it was taken off his head, he'd have panicked at the thought of it breaching his defences so easily. He made a mental note to figure out how it worked.

"Don't tell me I'll do well in Slytherin," replied Harry. While he was no longer as prejudiced as he had once been against the Slytherins, he didn't want to spend every moment watching his back.

"Oh no, Mr. Potter. You seem to have lost almost all your Slytherin traits since the last time you put me on — or perhaps you have allowed your other traits to dominate them completely," replied the Hat.

"What do you mean?"

"Last time you had an ambition — a burning desire to prove yourself. And while you were never truly cunning, you tended to use that brain of yours far more effectively than you do now. In your desire to fit in, you ended up discarding some of your greatest assets on the way," the Hat whispered into his mind.

"I don't understand —" protested Harry.

"I'm sure you will — you just need to introspect. Now, coming back to the Sorting, I don't really see you doing well in Slytherin or Ravenclaw. That leaves Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. . ."

"Gryffindor, please," replied Harry.

"Are you sure? I suppose courage is your predominant trait now, and the ones you were truly loyal to are now gone. . . Better be GRYFFINDOR!" it shouted the last word for the rest of the hall to hear.

The Gryffindor table burst into applause. He could easily spot the Marauders cheering the loudest. A few spots down the table, he spotted Lily. She was looking horrified. Not wanting to deal with her immediately, Harry walked over to where the Marauders were sitting. Sirius scooted over to make some space. Harry was immediately bombarded with congratulations.

"Congrats Harry, welcome to Gryffindor!" Sirius thumped him on the back. James was beaming with what looked suspiciously like pride on his face.

The other Gryffindors within hearing range followed suit. Harry suspected they were all bursting to ask him about his past, but before someone could broach the topic, Professor Flitwick walked in with the first years following him.

Harry's eyes widened as he noticed the long line of first-years. While he had always known that there were a lot more students at Hogwarts in 60s and 70s than there were in 90s, he had never really thought about it. Looking around, he could see that the Great Hall was more crowded than it had ever been in his time — and there were at least a hundred children following Flitwick. He had never seen more than fifty students being sorted in his time.

Predictably, the Sorting took forever. Harry had tuned it out in favour of observing the occupants of the Great Hall. It was not like he was looking forward to seeing someone getting sorted. At the High Table, he could recognise Sprout and Slughorn in addition to McGonagall and Dumbledore. He couldn't recognise any of the other teachers. Harry had been hoping to see Hagrid, but the gentle half-giant was not there.

He was brought out of his musings when he heard a familiar name being called.

"Lockhart, Gilderoy!"

Lockhart strutted over to McGonagall who was holding the Sorting Hat — Harry was forcibly reminded of a eleven year old Draco Malfoy. The Sorting Hat took forever with the future fraud before finally sorting him in Ravenclaw. Harry was surprised — the Lockhart he had once known wasn't exactly known for his academic excellence.

By the time the Sorting was over, Harry was ready to eat a Hippogriff. He hadn't eaten anything other than a couple of Chocolate Frogs since breakfast. The feast was as magnificent as ever — the House Elves in the kitchens had clearly outdone themselves.

Towards the end of the feast when everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remnants of the main course vanished, only to be replaced by mountains of desserts. Harry was pulling a plate of Treacle Tart towards himself when Nearly Headless Nick, the resident ghost of the Gryffindor house, drifted over to introduce himself. As Harry had expected, the Ghost tried to probe him for his background with every bit of subtlety he could muster. Harry knew he was going to be interrogated by his house-mates multiple times over the coming days. Here was his opportunity to get out of most of it. He knew that anything he told Nick was likely to be known by the rest of the house within hours, so he told him as much as he was willing to give away of his fictitious background to the general student populace. The entire Gryffindor House would know by the morning that he had lived abroad with his grandparents, and that he had returned because of his grandfather's demise, but nothing more.

Nick's attempts to probe further were halted by the desserts vanishing and Dumbledore rising for the start-of-term speech.

"Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you."

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is called the Forbidden Forest for a reason. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Marauders.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the third week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact their Head of House."

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of the staff this year. Professor Meadowes" — a middle aged witch sitting at the far end of the table stood up — "is a former Unspeakable who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor."

Harry remembered her from the photo Moody had shown him at Grimmauld Place. Dorcas Meadowes — Voldemort had killed her personally.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors, and that certain items that can be used to cause mayhem are banned at Hogwarts. A list of such items can be found on the notice boards in your common rooms, as well as the one near Mr. Filch's office."

"And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

Harry had almost followed the Marauders out of the Great Hall when he remembered that he needed to meet Dumbledore. Informing James about the situation, he tore away from the group and moved towards the High Table. Dumbledore had already left, but McGonagall was still there.

"Come with me, Mr. Potter, I'll take you to the Headmaster's office," said McGonagall, guiding him towards the Entrance Hall.

They walked in silence for about twenty minutes through various passageways and ever-changing staircases before they reached the familiar gargoyle. Harry was confident he could get there in under ten minutes using the shortcuts he knew. He had no idea why McGonagall was taking the long route. As far as he knew, she had been familiar with most of Hogwarts' passageways in his time.

"Quick-Quotes Quill," she gave the password. Seemed like Dumbledore hadn't quite developed his sweet tooth yet.

As expected, the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two, revealing a spiral staircase that was moving smoothly upward, like an escalator. The two of them stepped onto it. They rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last, Harry saw a very familiar gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.

"Enter!" came the voice of Dumbledore once McGonagall had knocked.

"Please take a seat, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore. "I wanted to talk to you about your electives, but first, I hear you caused quite the ruckus on the train. Care to share your side of the story?"

Harry raised his eyebrow, wondering how the Headmaster had figured out it was him when everyone involved had assumed he was James. "There is not much to say, Professor. A bunch of older students were harassing a little girl. I tried to talk them out of it, but they decided to attack me. So I stunned and bound them before leaving them to one of the prefects."

"I see," replied Dumbledore. "But the students in question were under the impression that you used some kind of Dark Magic to absorb their spells."

Harry snorted, "Dark Magic? It was a simple absorbing shield, Professor."

"I deduced as much from the description of the shield. In that case, twenty points to Gryffindor for standing up to bullying and not using any more violence than was absolutely necessary," said the Headmaster.

"Thank you, Professor," replied the bespectacled young wizard.

"Moving on to the subject of your elective courses, am I correct in my assumption about your real concern being that you'll end up spending a lot of time catching up which will adversely affect your performance in other classes?"

"Yes, Professor," replied Harry. He didn't particularly care about his grades — or, for that matter, his career. But if he could use them as an excuse to get out of useless elective classes, he wasn't complaining.

"In that case, I'd like to make a proposition. . ."

"What kind of proposition, Professor?"

"In the recent years, we have received numerous letters from the prospective employers looking to hire fresh Hogwarts graduates. They complain that while our students know a wide variety of magic, they are not adept at using it to solve practical problems. As a result," the Headmaster rubbed his eyes, "they feel that all but the most exceptional of Hogwarts graduates are unemployable for anything but the menial jobs — that the quality of education at Hogwarts is somehow declining. . ."

Harry noticed that both Dumbledore and McGonagall looked deeply offended by the idea.

"Naturally, we conducted out own investigations," continued the Headmaster. "We found that the root of problem lies in the fact that our students lack exposure to real world. . ."

"How are we supposed to get exposure to real world unless we go out there?" asked Harry indignantly.

"Back in the day, our students used to — as you put it — go out there before they left school or immediately afterwards. Some would go for part-time jobs during the summers — not unlike what the Muggles call an internship, while others would work on research projects. . . I myself was the British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot. . . And it was considered traditional to take a tour of the world, visiting and observing foreign wizards, learning obscure foreign magic, before pursuing their careers. By the time they applied for a real job, they would have gained a not-insignificant amount of experience. . ."

Dumbledore had a pained look on his face while he spoke. Harry knew why — he had never managed to go on his own tour because of his mother's untimely death.

"I don't understand, Professor. Why not make it mandatory for every student to go for an internship or a research project? And what does any of this have to do with my elective course?"

"With the number of students we have currently enrolled at Hogwarts, those are no longer practical options for most. To fill that void, we have come up with a course which we hope will equip the students with the tools they need to thrive once they are out of Hogwarts. . ."

The next morning, Harry woke up earlier than usual. For the first time since the Battle of Hogwarts, he had had a good night's sleep without getting drunk. Which was a good thing — he had forgotten to put his usual Silencing Charms around his bed. He had fallen asleep almost immediately after McGonogall had escorted him to his dormitory after a long discussion in the Headmaster's office.

The Headmaster had essentially offered him an opportunity to be the guinea pig for a pet project of his — in exchange for being excused from the regular electives. The new course was called Applied Magic and was expected to encompass a wide variety of magic — and more importantly, techniques — not normally taught at Hogwarts. As the name implied, it was mostly a practical course. He was going to be the first — and possibly the only student to opt for it in the current academic year. Despite Dumbledore's assurances to the contrary, Harry didn't expect too many students to sign up for it in their OWL year.

Based on the success of the pilot, the Wizarding Examination Authority was going to consider instating it as a regular course. Given that the course was considered too challenging for third years, WEA wanted it to be a NEWT only course. But Dumbledore had different ideas — he wanted it to eventually be a mandatory course starting from the fourth or the fifth year. A lot depended upon the success of the students taking the pilot course. That was the real reason Dumbledore wanted him to take the course — he had apparently managed to impress the Headmaster with his wand work.

While Harry hated being used, he had eventually accepted the offer. At least he didn't need to catch up on a bunch of theory centric subjects. And it seemed like he might end up learning something useful from the new course.

Harry groaned softly. First time was bad enough — he really hated dealing with classes and OWLs a second time.

Noticing that no one else was awake, and that there were about two hours to go before breakfast, he decided to go for a run around the lake. Now that was no longer a Quidditch player, he needed another physical activity to increase his stamina and keep him fit. He wished he had bought a broomstick. He had no desire to join the Quidditch team again — it was the single most time consuming extra-curricular activity he had ever undertaken — and time was one thing he didn't have in spades. But he had always found flying to be extremely relaxing. He still had his Firebolt, of course — safely packed away at the bottom of his trunk, which was locked using the strongest Locking Charm he knew. It was one of the few things from the future he hadn't placed in his Gringotts vault, figuring that it might come in handy in case he ever needed to make a quick getaway. But he couldn't exactly bring it out for a casual flight. He made a note to buy a new one at the first opportunity he got.

A couple of hours later, Harry was sitting in the common room which was devoid of people, waiting for the Marauders to come down. While he could make his way to the Great Hall in his sleep, he was supposed to be a new student — and new students tended not to be good at navigating the maze that was Hogwarts.

He was about to go and wake them up when he heard someone clearing their throat. He turned towards the source to see an extremely nervous looking Lily.

"Err. . . Potter — I mean Harry — I — I — wannapologise. . ."

Harry raised an eyebrow, causing Lily to blush. She wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing, though.

Taking a deep breath, she continued, "I — I wanted to apologise for yesterday. I was having a horrible day and when I saw you — I thought you were your brother playing a prank — and I kind of lost control —"

"Look —" Harry started, but was steamrolled by Lily who was still rambling.

"— I mean, I know it's not a good excuse, but I am really sorry. I — I'll make it up to you somehow, I promise —"

"Miss Evans," Harry interjected a bit forcefully this time, "It's fine. I understand — we all make mistakes. You don't have to do anything."

"Really? You'll just let it go?" she asked, looking disbelieving.

"Yes. Although if you do want to do something, you could help me get to the Great Hall. Those idiots," he jerked his thumb towards the boys dorms, "are taking forever to wake up — and I am getting hungry!" He didn't particularly care that the last bit came out like a whine.

Lily giggled. "Of course! And call me Lily."

Harry smiled. While he had not planned for it, it was nice getting to know his mother — even if she was a teenager at the moment. And after a couple of laps around the lake, he had worked up an appetite.

He noticed Lily looking at him strangely a few times on the way to the Great Hall. Harry chuckled inwardly — she was clearly bursting with questions, but couldn't quite figure out where to start without sounding nosey. He had seen Hermione in a similar situation too many times to not recognise the symptoms.

She decided to sit opposite to him on the Gryffindor table — not that there was anyone else on the table — they were the first Gryffindors in the Great Hall. Harry finally decided to put her out of her misery.

"Miss Evans — Lily — you clearly have something on your mind. Care to share?" he asked as he poured himself a goblet of pumpkin juice.

Lily blushed at having been caught so easily, but that didn't prevent her from launching a barrage of questions at him — most of which were related to his past. Thankfully, he had thought of most of the things beforehand. He intentionally kept the answers as vague as he could, not wanting to give a head start to anyone digging into his past. Lily was clearly not satisfied with many of the answers, but didn't probe further. Harry wished he could bring her into the secret. But he knew the revelation could completely ruin any chances of his parents getting together. Or worse, she might feel pressured to marry James. He didn't want either of the outcomes.

In turn, he asked her about her family. While she didn't say it out loud, Harry was perceptive enough to figure out that things were not going well between the Evans sisters. He wasn't really surprised — Petunia couldn't have turned nasty overnight, after all.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the Marauders. Not wanting to be around them, Lily quickly excused herself.

"What was Evans doing here?" asked Sirius, who was sitting beside him.

"Having breakfast," replied Harry drily.

"But why was she sitting with you? She normally avoids us like plague!" Sirius persisted.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, since the lot of you were taking forever to wake up, she helped me get here. And she won't avoid you if you stop annoying her."

James looked ready to protest, but Professor McGonagall descended from the High Table with their course schedules.

"Look at today!" groaned Sirius. "History of Magic, double Potions, Transfiguration, and double Defence Against the Dark Arts. . . Binns, Slughorn, McGonagall, and that Meadowes woman — all in one day!"

History of Magic was by common consent the most boring subject ever devised by Wizard-kind. Professor Binns, who was ghost even in the 70s, had a wheezy, droning voice that was almost guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness within ten minutes, five in warm weather. He never varied the form of their lessons, but lectured them without pausing while the students took notes, or rather, gazed sleepily into space.

Not wanting to waste his time doing any of that, Harry had brought an advanced Defence text disguised to look like the prescribed History book on the outside with him. He was hoping to spend the class reading up on some new curses. He had even occupied an empty desk at the very back of the class. But Lily, apparently still feeling guilty, had decided to keep him company. It was like having Hermione sitting beside him all over again — not that he wouldn't do anything to have the girl sit beside him once again. But Hermione had always been a bit too zealous about academics — Lily was worse.

"Harry, you really should take notes! This stuff is bound to come up in OWLs," she nagged him for what seemed like the hundredth time. "What are you reading anyway? That doesn't look like a history book to me."

"I already know most of that stuff, Lily," replied Harry, almost whining. And he wasn't kidding. Somehow, surprising even himself, he remembered most of what Binns was teaching — despite never having paid attention to the class. Perhaps it was the effect of Hermione's tutoring before the exams.

Lily huffed, "Fine! Suit yourself!"

He at least pretended to take notes after that. In reality, he was making a note of spells he needed to practice. Lily seemed happy to see that.

The next class was double Potions with the Slytherins. Harry had never understood why anyone in their right minds would ever want to put bitter rivals like the Gryffindors and the Slytherins together in a class as accident-prone as potions. And yet, every single Potions class he had ever attended had somehow been a combined one with the Slytherins. Back then, he had suspected Snape had something to do with it. But if Slughorn was doing it as well, there was a good chance that it was either a long-standing Hogwarts tradition, or Albus 'Power-of-Love' Dumbledore had something to do with it.

Unfortunately for Harry, he had gone straight from breakfast to History of Magic, which meant he had to run back to the Gryffindor Tower to get his Potions book and equipment. Despite using his shortcuts, he barely managed to make to the dungeons as Slughorn was starting with the roll call.

"I am sorry for the tardiness, Professor. I —" he tried to think of an excuse, but Slughorn cut him off.

"Not to worry, Mr. Potter. It not uncommon for new students to get lost in the corridors of Hogwarts," replied the Potions master. "Take a seat."

Turning around, Harry noticed that the students were sitting around cauldrons in pairs. He was confused — Snape had never allowed them to work in pairs. Nor had Slughorn — back in his sixth year. Pondering over the puzzle, he looked around for the Marauders. Predictably, James and Sirius were sharing a cauldron between them while Remus and Pettigrew were sharing another. Turned out everyone was already paired up with someone. With a jolt, he realised that Lily was sitting with a Slytherin — was that Snape? His jaw dropped open. What kind of a weird alternate reality had he fallen into? But the rational part of his mind realised that she was likely stuck with him because she couldn't find anyone else. He intended to rectify that in the next class. Despite her nagging, he still wanted her as a friend.

Not finding anyone to partner with, Harry walked over to one of the empty tables at the far end of the class. Slughorn had different ideas.

"Mr. Potter," he called out, "why don't you join Miss Black over there?" he pointed towards the corner closest to where he was standing. Looking towards the direction he was pointing at, Harry realised that Bellatrix was indeed sitting alone in what had to be the darkest corner of the dungeon — probably the reason he had not noticed her earlier. Cursing his luck, he picked up his things and walked over to her cauldron as Slughorn continued with the roll call. She didn't look particularly pleased with the development.

"Potter," she called, "I apologise for not believing you yesterday, but you have to admit, it sounded rather far-fetched, especially given your brother's penchant for practical jokes. . ."

Harry nodded — it did sound reasonable — and at least she hadn't slapped him.

Bellatrix smirked — turned out Harry had vocalised his thoughts. He turned red.

"Moving on, if we are going to work together for the rest of the year, you better be up to the mark. I'll not have you drag me down. . ."

Harry raised his eyebrows, "You assume we are going to work together for the rest of the year?"

"No one told you how this class works?" asked Bellatrix, looking annoyed.

"What do you mean?" asked a confused Harry.

Bellatrix gave him a look he had become very familiar with during the weeks he had spent at Grimmauld Place — the one that blatantly questioned his mental prowess.

"Most of these pairs were formed back in first year. Slughorn decided that it was not feasible for him to supervise so many students individually or grade so many assignments. Each pair is treated as a unit. We brew our potions together and submit joint assignments. Both students get the same grades, regardless of their individual contribution. Fair warning: I cursed my last partner for screwing up my grades — the detention was well worth it. Slughorn has allowed me to work alone since then."

Harry gulped, wondering if Slughorn would allow him to work alone.

They were interrupted by the Potions master calling the class to attention.

"Now then, now then, now then," said Slughorn, "Before we start the class, I'd like to remind you that next June you will be sitting an very important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Those of you considering a career as an Auror or a Healer should note that you need a NEWT in Potions to be considered. And to join the NEWT class, you'll need to score at least an Exceeds Expectations in your OWLs."

"Having taught you for five years, I don't see why any of you can't score at least an Acceptable in your Potions OWL. All you need is put in a bit of hard work."

"Moving on, today we will be brewing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. . ." he spent the next ten minutes briefly explaining the properties of the Potion and the role of various ingredients that went into it — something Snape had rarely done.

"The ingredients and method are on the blackboard for your reference" — Slughorn made them appear with a flick of his wand — "or you can use your books if you prefer. You will find everything you need in the store cupboard" — he opened the door of the said cupboard with another flick of his wand — "you have an hour and a half. . . Start."

Harry was relieved — he had decent idea of how to brew that particular potion, having messed it up once. Looking at Bellatrix, he said, "Prepare the cauldron while I go get the ingredients. . ."

"Who put you in charge?" she challenged, almost instinctively.

"Well, we could do it the other way round if you prefer. . ."

She scrutinised him for a while, making him very uncomfortable. Finally she spoke in a low, almost growling, voice, "No it's fine. But do not try to order me around, Potter."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Black," Harry replied as he stepped towards the store cupboard.

The potion was complicated, no doubt. But they didn't have much trouble brewing it. Between the two additional years of experience he had and Bellatrix's brewing skills, they managed to brew a close to perfect potion — the colour was only slightly off. He was impressed with Bellatrix's brewing skills. She clearly wasn't a prodigy like Snape, but she certainly knew her way around a cauldron.

"A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion," called Slughorn, with fifteen minutes left to go. He moved slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potions a stir or a sniff. At last he reached the their table.

"The potion is almost perfect — certainly good enough for use in the Hospital Wing. Please collect as much as you can in a flagon and label it clearly with your name. I'll pass it on to Madam Pomfrey after grading. Feel free to use an extra flagon if one is not enough. Excellent work, Mr. Potter, Miss Black."

The only other pair he had similar things to say about were Snape and Lily. Their potion was apparently even better.

"Homework: one foot on the Draught of Peace — its uses, properties, side-effects and anything else you can come up with. And two feet on what went wrong with your potion, including the properties of and interactions between various ingredients. The ones who brewed the potion successfully are exempt from the second one, of course. To be submitted next Monday. Class dismissed. You're free to leave once you have cleaned up."

The class groaned collectively at the amount of Homework.

"You're not half bad, Potter," remarked Bellatrix as they cleaned up. She was looking extremely pleased.

"Why, thank you, Black!" replied Harry. "Can I stop watching my back, then?"

"You're safe until you screw up. And I won't curse you in the back. . . Now, we are meeting on Saturday after lunch in the library for homework. Don't be late, or I might count that as a screw up."

"Hey! Don't I get a say in this?" protested Harry.

"No," she replied haughtily as she slung her bag over her shoulder and walked off, leaving an annoyed Harry behind.

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Authors Notes

Thank you for reading. And special thanks to all the reviewers.

Harry didn't lose his Firebolt while escaping from Privet Drive in my version of canon. I always found it stupid that he didn't secure it somehow.

Let me know what you think of the chapter. As always, constructive criticism is welcome.

Published: June 05, 2017