Chapter Eight

"Thank Merlin it's Saturday," Susan sighed happily, dark hair gleaming as she stepped out into the sunlight.

"I don't think I've ever done so much homework in my life," Harry muttered in agreement, following half a step behind.

"At least you've finished it all, though," Susan pointed out. "And now we've got the weekend to ourselves."

"Yeah, but I feel like my head's going to explode," he complained. "I woke up reciting the ingredients for that sunburn soothing salve this morning."

Susan looked at him, plainly amused. "We haven't even gotten that much homework yet. It'll be worse later in the year, you know."

"It's not just the homework, though," Harry said, gesturing vaguely. "It's just – magic. You've grown up with it, so none of this is weird to you, but I didn't even know magic existed until a month ago! It's like… like learning a whole new language without knowing how to speak, you know? You're used to the little things, but I still barely believe this is all… real."

Susan frowned, a small crease forming between her brows as they drew together. She was quiet for a long moment, eyes fixed on her feet as she picked her way down the gentle slope. There was no real path to follow, not even one worn by the feet of generations, so the grass was ankle-high, thick and brilliant green. It rippled all down the hill until it met the Forbidden Forest, which curved like a dark, hungry mouth around the edge of the grounds, threatening to swallow Hagrid's little round hut where it nestled against the trees.

As the slope evened out and became flat, Susan looked up.

"Sorry," she said softly, meeting his eyes. "I didn't even think about that. I'm sure you'll get used to it, though."

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "It's alright. I'm sure I'm not the only one whose head is spinning."

"Just think about how Hermione must feel," Susan said, voice light and teasing. "How she ever made Gryffindor, I'll never know. She reads more than the Ravenclaws."

Just like that, the discomfort was dispelled. Harry laughed, feeling light at the sound of Susan's answering laughter, and burst into a run. Susan let out a cry, her footsteps quickening behind him. He slowed, watching his friend pull ahead of him, almost skipping. Her smile was bright and her eyes gleamed as she turned towards him, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear as the wind plucked it free from her braid. Her white skirt rippled around her shins like a jellyfish, stark against the grass and the black leather of her shoes.

He had been surprised to see her emerge from her dorm that morning wearing a muggle skirt and blouse combination, rather than robes. He hadn't really thought about what magical folk might wear for casual occasions, but after a week immersed in a world so clearly magical it was strange to see someone wearing muggle clothes. He had stared at her for several moments, and Susan, noticing his attention, had smiled and twirled in a neat circle. Megan, who had been chattering happily with Hannah, shot Susan a look Harry couldn't interpret. Susan only rolled her eyes in return, before asking why he was wearing his school robes on a weekend.

He had lied and told her that he hadn't brought any casual clothes with him, though judging by her frown he had not fooled her in the least. When she opened her mouth to continue her line of questioning, now suspicious rather than innocently curious, he had hurriedly changed the topic to the breakfast selection – "D'you think they'll have those grilled tomatoes again? I liked those." – and their plans visit to Hagrid.

The previous morning, Harry had received his first letter at Hogwarts, which was one of only two significant things that happened to him on Friday; the other was waking up and, for the first time, not briefly thinking it had all been a mad, wonderful dream.

He had been nursing a fierce headache and watching Sally-Anne nibble on a second slice of toast with a sense of vague concern, when he'd heard the rushing sound of the approaching flock and turned his attention upwards. He hadn't been expecting anything, of course, but he loved watching the display anyway. The multicoloured whirl of feathers was beautiful, and the graceful way the birds swooped around one another, descending in elegant spirals to their owners or dropping letters and packages from up high, made the whole thing seem almost like a dance. It made him sad to think that he might, one day, stop being awestruck by this – that one day he'd be like Susan, who politely asked portraits for directions and casually held her arm out for a tawny owl to land on.

The owl had promptly been introduced as Mischief, who had lived up to his name by stealing a piece of bacon from Susan's plate as she detached the letter he bore. Harry had watched with amusement as Susan cooed over the bird and offered him water from her goblet, which he feigned disinterest in until Susan made to set it down.

Distracted by this, Harry had been caught completely unaware when Hedwig swooped in to land on his shoulder and nipped his ear, a letter in a heavy parchment envelope attached to her leg.

The letter turned out to be from Hagrid, inviting Harry (and any of your friends) to visit him on Saturday morning after breakfast. Harry had been nervous asking Susan to go with him, though he couldn't really put a reason to the feeling, but Susan had accepted with a warm, slightly surprised smile.

It was for this purpose that the two of them were trekking across the last stretch of open grass to Hagrid's hut,

"Oh," said Susan, eyes wide. "It's… bigger than I thought."

"Well, Hagrid's pretty big," Harry reasoned, but privately he was a little surprised too.

The round house looked dwarfed beside Hogwarts castle, with its soaring turrets and grey stone, but it could probably more accurately be called a bungalow than a hut. It had a thatched roof and stone walls studded with several small windows, each with a different colour curtain pulled across it and spider-webs glistening faintly in the sunlight. The front door was roughly hewn wood with two or three stone steps leading up to it, beside which a pyramid of logs was piled high and a chopping block stood with an axe caught in it. Towards the back of the building, a short chimney rose haphazardly skyward.

Harry and Susan exchanged uncertain glances before climbing the stairs – and it very nearly was a climb, because the steps had clearly been designed for someone much larger to use. Harry knocked on the door, smiling faintly as he realised he had automatically used the Hufflepuff pattern.

"Hello? Hagrid?" Harry called, when nothing happened for several moments. "Hagrid! It's Harry!"

"Do you suppose he's not home?"

"He said he'd be around all morning…" Harry replied, dubiously. "Maybe he's–"

Suddenly, Susan shrieked. She stumbled backwards, arms pinwheeling as her heel slipped off the step. Harry lunged, grabbing her arm tightly to steady her and pulling her towards him as her fingers closed vice-like around his shoulder. Her eyes were huge and terrified.

He snapped his head around, searching for the cause of her alarm, and very nearly yelped himself. Rushing towards them was a huge, dark animal, its paws thudding rapidly on the grass. Harry had only a few moments to desperately reach for his wand, wishing fervently that they had done something other than transfigure matches into needles, because he didn't think needles would be much use against this creature, before the monster was upon them.

Harry pressed Susan back against the door, one arm thrust out across her ribs and the other tangled in his robes as he fumbled for his wand. The beast turned out to be an enormous dog, which panted slobbered on them rather enthusiastically as they quaked in stunned terror.

"FANG! Fang, git back 'ere!"

Susan laughed slightly hysterically, one hand fisted in the back of Harry's robes and the other clenched around her own wand, which was half raised beneath Harry's arm.

"Sorry 'bout tha'," Hagrid called, appearing from around the curve of the cabin. "Don' worry, 'e won't do yeh no harm – no, Fang! Cm'ere, yeh silly thing."

The dog reluctantly obeyed, giving Susan's wrist one last lick for good measure, and trotted to his master's side. Behind him, Susan was tense and quivering – Harry felt much the same. Ever since he had met Aunt Marge's pack of truly evil bulldogs, Harry had been nervous about dogs in general, let alone one the size of a calf.

"Alrigh' there? Looks like Fang gave yeh a bit of a shock," Hagrid said, chuckling in amusement. "'e's just 'appy ter meet yeh. Think 'e's been a bit lonely since Charlie Weasley left… used ter play fetch with 'im."

"Yeah," Harry croaked. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm fine. You alright, Susan?"

"Yes," she said, a little too high-pitched. "Hello, Fang. Nice to meet you."

She giggled, and Harry felt the hand against his back rise to clap over her mouth, muffling the sound.

Hagrid looked guilty. "Why don' you come in for a cuppa tea? Calm you down."

"Thanks," Harry said, Susan echoing him.

After some manoeuvring to get the door open, and a much calmer second introduction to Fang, the three of them arranged themselves inside Hagrid's cabin. Inside was an assortment of oversized furniture that made the house seem disproportionately small. This included a bed that levelled out at about Harry's shoulder height and chairs that left a good several inches between his feet and the ground. He had to strain to see over the table-top and eventually resorted to tucking his feet under his body to boost himself up as he stared in fascination at the eclectic decorations.

There were wild-flowers wilting in a vase on a window sill, an array of hams and pheasants hanging from the ceiling, a careworn patchwork quilt thrown over the bed, several open cupboards in which a collection of chipped mugs and plates were displayed, and a crossbow leaning against one wall. It was sort of like stepping into a children's book.

Hagrid bustled about, setting two of the smaller cups – which were about the size of soup mugs – out in front of them, teabag strings dangling over the side. He also placed a bowl of sugar with a wooden serving spoon on the table, pushing aside a newspaper to do so, and set the kettle to boil, before turning to Harry with a beaming smile.

"'ow've you been, then?" he asked, sitting on the third chair. "An' who's this?"

Susan offered her hand, which Hagrid shook as carefully as he could manage. Harry had a brief moment of irrational fear at the sight of Susan's hand, which for the first time looked terribly small and delicate, enveloped in Hagrid's huge one.

"Susan Bones," she said, smiling. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Hagrid."

Hagrid chuckled, looking faintly embarrassed by her politeness. "Ah, jus' 'Agrid's fine, Miss Susan. Bones, yeh said? Yer not Amelia's girl?"

"No." Susan shook her head. "She's my aunt. Emily Wright was my mum…"

"Ah, Eddie's girl, then," Hagrid said, nodding. "Didn' know yer parents that well, 'm afraid."

Susan grinned, cheek dimpling. "I wouldn't have thought so. Mum and Dad were both Ravenclaws at heart – not much for the wilderness."

Harry listened to Susan talk of her parents with a small pang of envy. He had assumed, from the way she talked about her aunt and didn't talk about her parents, that she was like him – an orphan – but it seemed she had grown up knowing about her parents, even if she didn't know them. As a child he had longed to know more about his parents, collecting things in drips and drabs from his aunt and uncle and imagining the kind of people they might have been. He'd been told, more times than he could count, that his father had been a drunken delinquent and that his mother a freak, but he'd made things up in his head too – like that his dad had loved to cook, and his mum had sung along to radio songs while she did housework.

Once, when he was six, his aunt made him clean out the attic. He had found a jacket with a flower embroidered up the sleeve that he had pretended belonged to his mother and kept it in his cupboard. For a week, he slept curled around it like it was a favourite stuffed toy, until his aunt found it. She had shouted at him for stealing her things, and promptly thrown it away.

Harry jumped slightly as Hagrid poured the boiled water into his cup, having been quite lost in thought, and quietly asked for two sugars when questioned. He caught Susan giving him an unreadable look out of the corner of his eye, and flushed slightly.

"Enjoyin' yerself at Hogwarts?" Hagrid asked cheerfully, apparently not having noticed Harry's distraction. "'ow've yeh classes been?"

"Erm," Harry said. "Alright, I suppose. We haven't done much yet, really – mostly theory stuff that makes my head spin."

Hagrid grinned at him, beetle-eyes shining. "You an' me both. Always liked practical magic better than theory… too borin', 'specially history o' magic."

Susan huffed, and Harry hid his smile by blowing at the steam rising from his cup. Susan had been more disappointed than anyone by History of Magic, but twice as determined to pretend she wasn't.

"'ave yeh got a favourite class, yet?" Hagrid prodded, peering at Harry hopefully.

Harry thought for a moment. "Potions, probably."

"Yeah?" Hagrid asked, raising an eyebrow. "An' Pr'fessor Snape's alrigh' to yeh?"

"No worse than he is to anybody else," Harry replied, frowning faintly at the question. "It's not bad. The theory stuff is a bit confusing, but brewing's easier and we do more practical stuff than in any other class – except Herbology."

"Tha's good," Hagrid said, sounding slightly relieved. "Yeh mum was good a' potions. Prob'bly best of 'er year, 'cept for Snape."

"She was?" Harry asked, slightly breathlessly.

He was vaguely aware of Susan's eyes on him again, but all he could really feel was the thud of his pulse between his ears, in his mouth, and the physical ache at the mention of his parents. It yawned inside him like a chasm, deep and dark and empty.

"Yeah," Hagrid continued, oblivious. "An' charms, o' course. Wasn' much for duellin', but she was right clever with spells – an' Runes,'s a matter o' fact. Wanted ta be a spellmaker, if I remember righ'ly."

His hands were gripping his mug so tightly now, that a lesser cup would have shattered under the pressure. His knuckles were white around the handle, the porcelain pressed so hard against his palm that the bones ached.

"What about my dad?" he asked softly. "What did he like? What did he want to be?"

"I think yeh da's best class was Transfiguration," the giant man replied, after a moment of thought. "But 'e loved flyin'. He was on the Quidditch team fer Gryffindor fer five years. Played Chaser, I think. Loved playin' pranks, too. 'E an' 'is friends." Hagrid chucked again, eyes distant and fond. "They were always getting' into mischief, those four… prankin' the Slytherins an' getting' in ter all sorts o' places they shouldn'ta. Don't really know what he wanted to be after Hogwarts, 'm not sure 'e really knew 'imself."

"What… what House was my mum in?"

"She was a Gryffindor, like yer da' – Prefect an' Head Girl, as yeh know. Think Profess'r McGonagall was a mite disappointed yeh aren't one of 'er cubs, like yeh parents."

Hagrid trailed off awkwardly, taking a gulp of his own tea to cover the silence. Harry stared blankly at the table, unseeing eyes tracing the edge of the newspaper pages, and absently scratched Fang behind a large, floppy ear as the dog butted his head against Harry's thigh, whining. Susan, who had been quietly and unobtrusively sipping her tea for the past several minutes, spoke up.

"Harry told me you were the groundskeeper," she said, her voice so smooth and interest so genuine that Hagrid was completely diverted. "What does that mean, exactly? What do you do?"

Harry was half aware of Hagrid making an enthusiastic reply, and Susan making appropriately fascinated responses, but he wasn't listening to the words. Instead he focused on the high, butter-smooth sound of Susan's voice, already familiar to him, and to the deep, comforting rumble of Hagrid's voice, trying to let the cadence of the conversation soothe him. It worked, to an extent, but the emotion in his chest was fierce and he felt as though he might come apart at the seams from trying to hold it all in. He was angry and sad and joyous, and a million other things that were too indescribable to have names, but the emotion that raged the strongest was longing.

What Hagrid had told him was more than he'd ever known about his parents, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearlyenough. He wanted more. He wanted enough to piece them together in his head, to bring them alive and see his mother's smile and hear his father's laugh and the warmth of a guiding hand as he learned to fly, or stirred a potion. He wanted to know what his mother's favourite colour was, what his father's favourite dessert was, what books his mother had love, which Quidditch team his father had supported. He wanted the little things that made them people, that no-one could really tell him: the scent of his mother's perfume, how soft her hugs were, the colour of her eyes when she laughed, the way his father looked when he was annoyed, what he would say if Harry had a nightmare or grazed his knee or got a bad mark for a test…

"Oh, that sounds great, doesn't it, Harry!" Susan exclaimed.

Harry blinked, surprised and a little disoriented by his sudden re-entry to the conversation. He had no idea what they had been talking about, but a glance at Susan's face assured him that he wasn't agreeing to swimming with the Giant Squid or setting Professor Snape's robes on fire, so he cleared his throat.

"Er, yeah, sure," he said, slightly awkwardly.

"Great!" Hagrid beamed, apparently oblivious to Harry's bewilderment. "C'mon then, they're jus' out the back 'ere. 's about time I fed 'em, anyway. No, Fang, yeh better stay 'ere."

'They' turned out to be a litter of kneazle kittens which, according to Hagrid, had been either orphaned or abandoned around the end of August. They were still tiny, and Harry could hardly believe it when Hagrid informed them that the kittens were actually several weeks old already. They simply grew more slowly than their non-magical cousins.

"They're so sweet," Susan cooed, sounding so unlike herself that Harry had to stare. "We've got a Kneazle at home, but he's ancient."

He shook his head, bemused, and looked back at the kittens. There were five in total, with tufted ears and the same large, golden eyes. The fur of each was different from the next in both pattern and colour, ranging from spots to stripes and black to white, with solid colours and ginger fur mixed in. They were piled together in a wiggly pile of fur, blinking sleepily up at the humans intruding on their sleep, and even Harry had to smile at this. They were sweet, and the sight of their soft pink mouths as they yawned made him smile, the pain in his chest easing.

"Hello," he said softly, offering his hands to the kittens for inspection.

The little white one fastened its mouth around one of his fingertip, sucking enthusiastically. It was soon joined by its siblings, who tumbled over one another in their eagerness to reach him. Susan laughed in delight and crouched beside him, one shoulder pressed warmly against his as she reached out to stroke their tiny bodies.

"What are they doing?" Harry asked curiously, as the kittens continued to lick and suck at his fingers, becoming increasingly insistent.

Hagrid chuckled. "They're lookin' fer milk. How'd yeh like to try feedin' 'em?"

With half an hour left until lunch was due to begin, Harry and Susan said their goodbyes to Hagrid and Fang. Susan gave the big dog a tentative pat, still shaken from her earlier encounter. Harry gave him a scratch behind his ears, grinning as the dog panted happily. He wasn't sure he liked dogs on the whole, but Fang was, much like Hagrid, impossible to dislike. They had played a game of fetch, and Fang had happily returned the stick each time, though it was clear that only Hagrid could throw it far enough for Fang's liking.

"It was nice ter see yeh, 'Arry – and ter meet yeh, Susan," Hagrid said, smiling at them through his beard as they stood at his doorstep. "Yeh'll have ta come see me again soon. Them Kneazles are mighty fond of yeh, an' it was nice fer Fang ter make new friends."

"We'll come back as soon as we can," Harry promised.

"Definitely," Susan agreed, smiling.

She hopped down the stairs, Harry following a step behind. He hesitated for a moment, and then dropped to one knee at the base of the stairs, leaning his face away from Fang's inquiring nose.

"Harry?"

"It's my shoelace," he lied, fiddling with the perfectly tied knot. "Go ahead, I'll catch up."

"Alright," Susan said, hesitantly. "If you're sure."

Harry nodded, eyes fixed on his hands. He watched her leave out of the corner of his eye, her green shirt blending with the grass around her, before standing once again and turning to the door where Hagrid still stood.

"Hagrid?" Harry asked, hesitantly.

He kept his eyes on the ground, feeling heat prickle up the back of his neck with nerves.

"Do you think… d'you think my parents would be proud of me?" He blurted, darting a look at Hagrid's face. "Being in Hufflepuff. Everyone… everyone says Hufflepuffs are just 'left-overs'. Would they be disappointed that I'm not in Gryffindor, like they were?"

Hagrid's expression softened, and he blinked hard several times. His eyes looked suspiciously wet, and Harry felt heat crawling up his neck in embarrassment at the sight.

"'Arry, yeh parents loved yeh more than life," Hagrid told him, voice thick with emotion. "I think they'd be proud of yeh even if yeh were a Slytherin. Don' yeh worry about tha'. Don' worry for a minute that they wouldn'a been proud."

"Thank you," Harry said, voice cracking. "Thank you."

Hagrid cleared his throat roughly. "Go on, away with yeh. Susan'll be waitin' for yeh."

Harry nodded and started off after her, wiping his face dry as he heard the door shut behind him.

Harry was in a much better mood by the time they returned to the castle. There was still a faint ache in his chest, but hearing Hagrid say that his parents would have been proud of him, no matter what, had lifted his spirits. Susan had blithely ignored his red-rimmed eyes and made no mention of his earlier quietness, instead gushing happily about the kneazle kittens. Distracted by thoughts of the lunch awaiting them, neither of them noticed the danger until after it had noticed them.

There was a sinister cackle, and something small and hard struck Harry in the chest. He stumbled slightly, bumping into Susan, who steadied him with one hand. He glanced at the object on the floor, rubbing the sore spot on his chest, and noted that it was a wooden-backed blackboard eraser. He looked up at the same moment Susan did, searching for their attacker.

"Peeves," they breathed in unison, exchanging horrified looks.

"Ah-ha! Ickle Puffie firsties, all alone!" Peeves crowed, eyes alight with evil glee. "Shouldn't have wandered out of your den, badgers!"

Peeves descended with a feral battle cry, throwing another blackboard eraser at them. This time, Harry dodged to the side, Susan leaping away in the other direction so that it clattered along the stone between them.

"Run!" Harry shouted, voice echoing off the walls.

He took off across the hall, listening for the sound of Susan's footsteps but unable to distinguish them from his own as they echoed and doubled. Like Peeves had said, they were alone. There was no-one else for him to target, and no way they could out-run him forever. Walls wouldn't stop him, so the only thing to do was…

"Let's split up!" Harry yelled behind him, swerving to leap up the marble staircase opposite the Great Hall. "He can't follow both of us!"

With that, Harry turned his attention to the stairs, praying he wouldn't trip up them and bruise his chin, like Neville had done the day before. Something went flying past his head, and he grimaced – evidently, Peeves had decided that Harry was the better target. Harry was glad Susan would be safe, but grimaced at the thought of the fate awaiting him.

He pounded down the corridor. Peeves was close behind, clearly enjoying making Harry flinch as he pelted the walls with the blackboard dusters. He was obviously stopping to retrieve the ones he dropped, because the clatter of wood on stone came too frequently for the number of dusters the poltergeist was carrying.

Harry flew past coats of armour and portraits which shouted encouragement, panting and aching from the few times Peeves had managed to hit him with the erasers. He had no idea where he was or where he was going, and he could only hope that he would find a teacher or that Peeves would lose interest. He knew that both were foolish hopes, given that the teachers were probably all at lunch by now and Peeves wouldn't give up so easily.

He took a corner hard, shoulder colliding with the wall and jostling a portrait. The occupant shouted in surprise, but Harry hardly heard him. He stared in horror at the dead-end facing him, and could do no more than turn to face his fate, frozen in horror. Peeves grinned, exposing pointy teeth in vicious glee, and began to pelt Harry with the dusters.

One bounced off his shoulder, another hitting him hard in the stomach. He gasped, the breath knocked out of him, and cried out as one struck him in the face. He raised his arms, covering his head, and felt a final duster collide with his forearm. Peeves blew a loud raspberry and, when nothing else happened, Harry peeked out from between his arms.

The poltergeist had vanished, leaving his weapons behind. Harry slumped in relief, wincing as he began to register his injuries more clearly. He was clearly going to have bruises later, if he didn't already, and his mouth and cheekbone were stinging fiercely. Tentatively, he touched his lip, sighing as his fingers came away bloody, and ran his tongue over the swollen flesh; a split lip, then, and a bruise on his cheek. He grimaced at the coppery taste of his own blood and glanced around, realising with a sinking heart he was completely lost.

He dug into his pockets, and to his relief came up with his timetable and wand.

"Lead me," he muttered, poking one of the squares with the tip of his wand.

The compass melted into life on the parchment, the needle whirling until it found its target.

"Great Hall," Harry said, tapping the compass again with his wand.

The needle whirled again, pointing off in a slightly different direction – but Harry paused. He couldn't really go to the Great Hall looking like he did. It wasn't that bad, really, but he had a feeling that his housemates would make a big deal about it. It would be healed up in a few days, so there was no real need to get it treated, but…

He sighed. "Hospital Wing."

For a third time, the compass reoriented itself, and he set off in the direction it indicated.

As it turned out, he was much closer to the Hospital Wing than he would have thought. The Hospital Wing was apparently located on one of the lower floors of the castle and took up the entire eastern quarter of it. Inside, Harry noted as he peered through the partly open arched double doors, it was a long sunlit chamber in shades of grey and white. The narrow windows arched from floor to ceiling, stopping only when the ceiling began to curve, and between each one was a bed. The white bed-sheets and plain walls were swimming with the coloured light from the stained-glass panels high up, breaking the monotony and making the space seem a little more bearable.

"Hello?" Harry called uncertainly, stepping through the doorway. "Erm, is there a doctor here…?"

"You just missed her."

Harry jumped at the sound, turning to look at the speaker, whose bed had been hidden from outside the door. Sally-Anne was propped up against a mound of pillows, her thin arms lying loosely across her lap. She looked as thin and worn out as her voice sounded, and terribly frail. Harry swallowed hard.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm in the Hospital Wing. What do you think?" Sally-Anne asked, a faint, teasing smile on her face to soften the words. "And it looks like I should ask you the same thing. That looks nasty. What did you do, Harry? Take a bludger to the face?"

"Is it really that bad?" Harry asked ruefully.

"Not really," Sally-Anne assured him. "But it does look like it hurts. Madam Pomfrey will fix it right up for you, though – don't worry, she won't be gone long."

She sat up straight, paling impossibly with the effort, and patted the bed beside her legs encouragingly. Harry sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, worried he would somehow break her if he wasn't careful. Immediately, the girl sank back into the pillows with a small sound of relief. Her eyes fluttered closed, her lashes such a pale blonde they barely showed against her milky skin. There was a smattering of freckles across her cheekbones, and her hair was even more ethereally blond than Draco's. The paleness of her against the white bed-sheets made Harry worry she might simply fade away.

"Are you… what's wrong with you?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself.

Sally-Anne's eyes opened; the grey-green of her irises was bright despite her obvious illness.

"I just get really tired sometimes," she said, after watching him for a long moment. "It's alright, really. I'm used to it."

"Alright," Harry said dubiously, watching her blink sleepily at him. "Do you like it here?"

"In the Hospital Wing?" she asked, eyes twinkling mischievously. "Well, I can't say I'd want to spend a lot of time here…"

Harry grinned at her. "No. I meant at Hogwarts."

Her answering smile was so bright and honestly happy it made Harry's breath catch, and it transformed her face. She was remarkably pretty, Harry realised, even with the too-sharp angles of her bones under her skin. She was almost fairy-like.

"Yes," she said, with conviction. "Yes. It's like a dream, being here. Getting my letter. I never thought…"

"That this kind of thing could be real?" Harry finished.

"Yeah," Sally-Anne said, smile fading to a softer version of itself. "Sometimes it still seems unreal."

"I know what you mean."

They sat that way, Harry plucking at the bed-sheet as they talked and laughed together. He could feel his cheeks heat inexplicably every time Sally-Anne laughed, and found himself elated every time he managed to coax the light, sweet sound out of her.

He was almost disappointed when Madam Pomfrey returned and healed his injuries, leaving him with no reason to linger at Sally-Anne's bedside.

First off, you guys a freaking amazing! As I posted last chapter, I was like, "Oh, it'd be cool to have one hundred reviews when I post chapter eight..." because at the time I had about 85.

120. A HUNDRED AND TWENTY, GUYS. Wow. You are all awesome :) Thank you so much for giving me such a wonderful gift!

Okay, so, about this chapter being (really, ridiculously) late: I'm sorry, but I came down with some kind of horrible virus that had me curled up in bed for about four days wanting to puke every time I so much as smelled water.

See, the thing is, when I get sick, my brain forgets that it has an off switch. I am thinking, constantly, and mostly about writing – but I don't want to be. I get no rest even when asleep, because it feels like I've just been thinking all night anyway. So I took a couple of extra days to un-fry my brain and think hard about a couple of things in FWQ. There's a (minor) plotline I'm tossing up over including, and it's making me reluctant to continue writing until I'm certain which direction I want to head. I also half-wrote this chapter and trashed it about three times, because I was unhappy with it... Ah well! Sorry for the writing angst, my lovelies :)

Chapters will probably be up once a week from now on, as opposed to twice. Sorry about that!

Chapter related ramblings: Sorry that it's late and not even very interesting, and probably riddled with errors. I posted before I could convince myself to trash it and start over. I am also sorry about Hagrid's accent, haha. I tried my best, but I've always struggled with writing Hagrid… Still, I felt Hagrid was the best character (at this point) to tell Harry a bit more about his parents, and I always felt that he should have in canon. Alas, it was not to be… until I did it my way.

Regarding Harry asking about Lily&James' Hogwarts house… I can't actually find where he finds out they were Gryffindors, so if I have contradicted canon by having him unaware at this point, please let me know, and/or try not to let it bug you too much!

On an sorta-unrelated note: I have a tumblr now! Anyone who is interested is welcome to head on over and stalk/follow me for random bits of info about FWQ, and my future projects… I have many ideas and I am shamefully eager to share with anyone interested to know. I'd love to discuss pairings and characters, and sometimes I'll even offer a free oneshot request to the first to submit a prompt/pairing/etc! I need to kick my arse about writing, so I figure this is a good way to do so… yeah. I am "veytta. tumblr .com" over there, so go check it out! I'd prefer to do anonymous review replies over there, because I don't like my Author's Notes clogging up the word count like this, so, anons, please let me know if I can do that!

Next chapter continues Harry's first Saturday, and you will see more of Draco and the others then, I promise! Please review! I don't mean to beg or blackmail, but I've been feeling kind of down about my writing lately, and your reviews would help me regain my confidence and post more quickly this time :)

REVIEW REPLIES

Judas'Dahlia: Phew! Glad you're enjoying Neville and Hermione's presence :) They haven't had a big role yet, but they're definitely going to be sticking around! Here's some more Sally-Anne to feed your speculations :)

MitaRose: Hehe, thank you :) I'm glad you like Thuban!

Samoothie: Thank you! You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that you think my writing quality is up to par :) Ravenclaw, really? Huh. Ravenclaw is about the only House I can't see canon!Harry fitting into :P Haha, I hope I'll hear from you again :)

Veronica: All I have to say right now is WOW. Your reviews have been so long and detailed lately! Thank you so much! My reply isn't going to be quite as long this time, haha, because I feel bad about clogging up the word count – I'll just pick the important bits to address :)

Thank you so much for your comments about Draco's characterisation. Draco is… a lot of fun to write, but I am constantly worrying if I am portraying him well. He's not quite true to my vision, so I'm a little put out about that, but I am so relieved to hear that he's a believable read anyway :) Oh? You've put your fears regarding Nott to rest? I see…

I am also incredibly glad to hear that you like Susan. Susan is a newcomer, so I worry a lot about whether readers are going to click with her, or feel that she's taking up too much of the story for a character that is essentially an OC, given that we don't see much of her in canon.

More Sally-Anne clues for you here :)

Oh, no. I wasn't taking your JKR-related comments as bashing! I've just had several people make comments like "Oh I wish JKR had done that" or "Your version of CharacterX is better than JKR's!" or something, which I find both flattering and a little mortifying, because they're her characters and I'm just playing with them. My comment there was for everyone to read, not just directed at you :) Sorry.

As for the Drarry: I'm not sure when it will be posted. I know I'll have a lot of fun writing it, but there are one or two other things that I am dying to write, so they will take priority. It's my take on the Veela cliché – which, if you don't know me very well, means I'm going to twist it and poke a bit of fun at it and try and address it in a more original manner. I am not at all fond of Veela fics, so it came out of left field for me! If you have a tumblr, feel free to hit me up over there for more details!