Chapter Five

"Has anyone seen Neville?" Harry poked his head into his tower room and looked around. Seamus was sitting cross legged in front of the fireplace with his eyes closed, and Dean was sprawled out on his bed reading through a book.

"Haven't seen him, sorry," Dean said.

Harry frowned. He wanted to talk to the boy about Cygnus Black, but he couldn't find him anywhere. He hadn't been in the Great Hall when Harry and Ron finally arrived for dinner, and he wasn't down in the common room.

Seamus started humming loudly, and rocked back and forth on the rug.

"What's he doing?" Harry whispered to Dean. He stepped cautiously around the Irish lad and gave him a strange look.

Dean shrugged. "Trying to connect with the mystical energies of the fire, I think."

"I can't connect with anything with you two yappin' away like that," the boy in question complained. He opened one eye and glared at them. "Master Dodds said to practice, so I'm practicing."

"With the fire in our bedroom? You're not going to burn us all to cinders, are you?"

"If I do it's only because ya won't shuddup and let me concentrate."

Harry shook his head. He grabbed his Charms notes and left the room; it was probably safer to work on his homework in the common room, and he could watch for Neville to come back. The thought of Cygnus Black was driving him mad, and he wanted some answers.

The common room was lively that evening. Throughout the previous week there'd never been more than a handful of students occupying the room at one time; it seemed everyone had been taking advantage of the freedom of summer and spending most of their time outdoors or elsewhere in the castle, but now the room was full, buzzing with excited chatter and good cheer. Most of the prime spots - all the sofas by the fireplace and the large tables by the bookshelves - had been claimed by older students, but it seemed a small group of first years had managed to snag a few chairs and a small desk in the corner.

Harry grabbed a chair and pulled it up to the desk where Hermione was sitting just as Lavender came down the stairs. The brunette bounced over towards a low chaise along the wall where Eugenie was poking at a square of linen with a needle and thread.

"I had a letter from Willow this morning," Lavender said nonchalantly as she sat down and took a small wooden instrument out of the cloth bag she was carrying. It looked sort of like a miniature harp, or a strangely shaped guitar - Harry wasn't sure which.

Eugenie clapped her hands. Her needled hovered in the air above her lap. "Ooh, did it finally happen?"

Lavender nodded smugly and plucked the strings of her instrument with absentminded polish. They made a soft, pleasant, twanging noise. "Daddy arranged it all with Lord Austin the day after I left; the wedding will be in October. I'll have to miss a week of classes for the feast, but I wouldn't have it otherwise. I've been dying to try my hair up and this is just the occasion for it."

Harry tuned the two girls out as they started chattering about flowers and dress robes and other girly things he had absolutely no interest in. He glanced across the desk at Hermione, who was shuffling through a few sheets of parchment and tapping the feather of her quill against her cheek. She bit her lip and muttered something under her breath, and crossed something off the paper.

"Hullo Hermione."

She jumped in her chair. "Harry! I didn't see you come in!"

"What are you doing - is that homework?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm reading over the last list of new stock Ophigenia sent me before I left London this summer. I've been trying to research muggleborns, but there's hardly anything in the library and what little I did find is grossly inaccurate. Did you know in one book the author purported that muggleborns are the offspring of fae-folk who wander into the muggle world and mate with non-magical humans? He claims I'm not the same type of witch as you at all, but some pixie-spawned half breed! How ridiculous!"

"You'll never be the same type of witch as me because I'm a wizard," Harry joked.

She swatted him with her quill. "Very funny, Harry."

"What did you want to know about muggleborns, anyway?"

"I'd like to know how I turned out a witch when neither of my parents have the talent, but I certainly do not believe that preposterous theory about a fairy seducing my mother," she replied indignantly. "It would be nice if I could find a biography of someone who's been through this before; I'd be interested to see how they handled the adjustment."

"Do you think I could look at that list? I was thinking of ordering some books to help me with our classes."

"Of course! Haven't I been after you all summer to do just that? Anyway, I was going to ask you if Hedwig wouldn't mind taking the letter; Oslo hasn't come back from delivering the note I sent to my parents when we got here."

"Sure, she'd probably like the exercise," he replied. The bird had been a little cross with him when he last visited her in the owlery, but there wasn't much he could do about it. She'd gotten used to frequent flights to Hermione's house in London over the summer, and didn't like the lull in activity now that he'd finally moved to Hogwarts. He didn't know anyone in the magical world except the people at the school, and he certainly wasn't going to send a letter to the Dursleys - Uncle Vernon would have a fit. He snickered, picturing Hedwig dive bombing Aunt Petunia's kitchen like the owl that delivered his school letter. It was tempting send her off for a bit of harmless revenge for the horrible way they'd treated him, but he wouldn't put it past his uncle or his cousin to seriously harm the snowy owl if they managed to get their chubby fingers on her. Besides, he'd washed his hands of the Dursleys when Uncle Vernon had left him on the streets of London; he was a wizard now, and there was no reason to ever get involved with those muggles again. Maybe he'd write to Kingsley to let him know how life at the academy was going so far, and that he wouldn't be signing on as cabin boy just yet. He wouldn't mind hearing some more about the man's adventures at sea since they parted ways.

He looked over the list of books, but the topics seemed random, and not at all what he was hoping for. The Eldar Grimoire of Ritual Necromancy made his stomach feel a bit queasy, and he certainly wasn't going to purchase Volume Seven of Hubbard's Treatise on Theurgical Augury without reading the first six. He skipped over A Collection of Letters from the High Druid Mac Ruith to his mistress, Orienne with flaming cheeks, and made up his mind to order Drafts & Philtres: A Simple Study by Blodwen Brisk. Unfortunately, none of the other books on the list seemed to suit his needs.

Hermione suggested he draft an inquiry to the proprietress of the shop asking for a list of her inventory in the subjects in which he was interested. He nibbled on the tip of his quill and gave it some thought. Fundamentals of Sorcery had been incredibly confusing after Master Dumbledore had started gathering steam, but he wasn't sure how to narrow that down to a specific query. The old wizard had touched on a number of broad topics that weren't clearly related by any thread that he could deduce. It might be a good idea to wait until after their second class to see what they were going to start with first. Charms had been somewhat less taxing on his brain. The hardest part was probably going to be memorizing all the wand movements and incantations, and he could start doing that on his own. Having a reference handy would be convenient; he didn't want to hike up to the library every time he felt like looking up a new spell. He dipped his quill into the inkpot on the desk and poised the tip over a clean sheet of parchment. Dear Ms. Ophigenia-. He paused. Was that an appropriate way to start a letter? He didn't know the witch's surname.

He checked with Hermione, who shrugged.

"It's fine," she said. "She's never seemed very fussy to me."

It mightn't hurt to request some information about the classes he hadn't been to yet as well. After all, he didn't have to buy every book on the list, and by the time he received a reply he might need help in those subjects as well. He added Transfiguration, Herbology, and Arithmancy to his request, but hesitated before including History & Lore. That was rather a broad topic, and there were likely to be scores of books having to do with it in some form. Perhaps he'd better wait and see what time period they were going to study first. He added another sentence and eyed the note with satisfaction.

Dear Ms. Ophigenia - I would like to owl order your copy of Drafts & Philtres: A Simple Study by Blodwen Brisk if it is still available. Also, I was wondering if you could please send me a list of books or scrolls you have for sale on the topics of Charms, Enchantments, Ancient Runes and Elemental Magic. I'm also interested in anything you have about Transfiguration, Herbology and Arithmancy.

Thank you,

Harry Potter

He glanced back at Hermione's list to check the price of the book he wanted to order and whistled. "Some of these pretty pricey." The book on Necromancy was a whole five galleons. Thankfully the potions text was only six sickles, but that was still more than he was going to be paid for a whole day's work on Saturday. Either witches and wizards valued reading a lot more than muggles did, or he needed to ask about a raise once he proved he was a good worker.

Hermione sighed. "I know. I've tried not to purchase anything too rare - those are always the higher priced items - but it's so tempting sometimes. I'm not used to having to worry about money like this; I'd feel a lot better about it if I'd had any luck finding a job."

Harry shifted awkwardly in his seat. Hermione had gone back to Hogsmeade twice during the week before classes started, but she'd still been rebuffed at every establishment she tried. "Is there anywhere else you can look?"

"I haven't inquired at the tavern yet; it was too busy the times I went in there. I thought bothering the owner when all the tables were full wasn't the best time to beg for employment."

"Well I'm sure you'll have better luck there," Harry said with an encouraging smile. "Ron and I will come down and you can serve us butterbeer and some of that stew she's got, and afterwards we'll sing your praises to Madame Rosmerta. Maybe she'll give you a raise!"

She smiled weakly. "Thanks, Harry, but I've got to get the job first. I don't even know if she needs any help."

"She's got to – seems like it's always busy in there."

"I might walk down after my Astronomy class tomorrow afternoon and inquire. Hopefully it'll be early enough the dinner patrons won't have taken over the place yet."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, it's alright, I'll be fine." She sat up straighter, her jaw set with determination. "I won't leave until she gives me a job, that's all."

"That's the spirit!"

"When do you start at the copyist?"

"Saturday morning. I'm thinking of asking him if I could work Wednesday afternoons too, since my last class is over at two o'clock." He was going to need as many hours as he could fit in between his schoolwork and chores if he wanted to start paying back his debt, especially if he had to work two whole days to buy a single book. Hopefully there would be time left for exploring. He rolled up his letter and tied it with a bit of twine.

"Don't forget to leave time for homework."

"Yes, mum."

She scowled playfully at him and handed him her note to the bookseller. He'd take them up to the owlery later, after he talked to Neville. Frowning, he looked around the room. It was still full of activity, but the boy wasn't among the crowd. Unless he'd snuck by and gone up to the dorm, he must've still been out and about somewhere in the castle.

"Neville wasn't at the library, was he?" He asked Hermione as she gathered up her things.

"I haven't been up there since this afternoon, actually. I'm about to head there now; do you want me to give him a message if he is?"

He ran a hand through his hair and looked at the notes he'd brought down to study. "No, I'll come with you. I should probably start on this Charms assignment." He called over to Ron, who was playing some sort of dice game with a couple of second years. "Do you want to come to the library, Ron?"

The boy eyed his handful of dice sourly. "Might as well - Pepper's killing me here. Haven't had a good hand yet."

They stopped in the owlery first to send Hedwig out to fly, and then made their way to the hall of archives. Neville wasn't there either, much to Harry's consternation. "He was at dinner, wasn't he?"

Hermione nodded as she led the way to a corner table near the back wall. "He left early, but I don't think he said where he was going. I'm sorry Harry but I wasn't paying much attention - Angelina Johnson was talking about her Illusions class and it sounded so fascinating. I hope we're allowed to take a heavier course load once we finish with our first year because I really don't know how I'm going to decide when they start offering us more options to choose from." She scanned the shelves behind their table and grabbed a few books. "Here, these are the books Neville and I used this afternoon. You should be able to find two of the spells in there."

"Couldn't you just tell us what page they're on?" Ron asked hopefully. He flipped through the first tome with a lost expression on his face.

"Yes I could, Ronald, but I'm not going to. You've got to do your own work or you'll never learn."

The redhead sighed and started scanning the pages. After a minute, his disgruntled expression faded and he became absorbed in his reading. "Hey, did you know there's a spell that makes a book read itself to you? Too bad we haven't practiced that one yet. Want to give it a go?"

"I think not, since this is a library and Madame Pince is very strict about noise," Hermione replied sternly.

Harry grabbed the other book, Ludovic's Lexicon, and opened to an entry near the beginning - the Aquamorphus Enchantment. The spell, he read with interest, allowed the target to breathe underwater for a short period of time. Since the effects were temporary, and it was nearly impossible to recast the enchantment whilst under the water unless one could incant non-verbally, it was not recommended for deep waters. There was a rudimentary diagram of the wand movement underneath the incantation and the description, but it was hard to decipher. Disappointed, he flipped the page. Taking a bath in the Black Lake might've been a bit more exciting if he could breathe underwater.

The next page was devoted to the Bubble Charm and the Bubble Head Enchantment, which were very similar. A slight difference at the end of the wand movement was the only difference between the two; the former was used to encase an object in an impermeable bubble, while the latter did the exact same thing around a person's head or body. Someone had written a note in the margins recommending the enchantment for brief underwater use instead of the spell on the previous page.

He read through a few more pages. Many of the spells were interesting, though some seemed a bit pointless. Needing a spell to fasten your buttons when getting dressed was a tad ridiculous, in his opinion. After a few minutes and dozens of pages he sighed in frustration. There were hundreds of pages in the book, and the spells seemed to be ordered in no particular fashion that he could discover.

"How on earth are you supposed to find anything like this?" he complained. "These spells could be anywhere. There's got to be a better way to do this."

Hermione remained silent, buried in a large tome about Runes, but Ron nodded vigorously. "We'll be here all night at this rate. Scratch that - all week."

He consulted Flitwick's list again. The first spell, Muto Capillus, was easy because it was the one the instructor had demonstrated in class, but the others - Colovaria, Pigma Fulgo, Plumavaria, and Luma Spargora - didn't appear to be similar at all. Honestly, what he needed was a charm to find the information he was looking for.

Suddenly, Ron crowed in triumph and leapt up from his chair. It clattered loudly against the stone floor as it toppled over. "I found one!" he shouted.

A hawk-faced woman with tightly pinned grey hair and thick oval glasses was upon them in an instant. "Need I remind you that this is a place of study," she hissed furiously. "If you must collaborate in my library, you will do so quietly, or you will not be welcome here!"

Hermione looked scandalized. "I'm so sorry, Madame Pince," she said as she glared across the table at Ron, who was looking rather sheepish. "We'll be quiet, I promise."

The archivist pursed her lips and eyed them sternly. "Good. I will not warn you a second time."

Ron gently picked up his chair and ducked into his seat. He buried his head in his book until the librarian was well out of sight.

"Honestly, Ronald," Hermione scolded with a hiss. "If you get me kicked out of the library on the first day of classes I will never forgive you."

"Sorry," the redhead muttered. He cleared his throat. "Anyhow, Harry, I found one of the spells." He slid his book over and pointed out an entry at the top of the page.

Luma Spargora - the Light Spray - was a charm that caused a rainbow to shoot out from the tip of the caster's wand. The arc would hover in the air where it was cast for a short period of time, but there was a second variation that allowed the caster to direct the spray to affix itself onto another object, painting the surface temporarily in the colours of the rainbow.

They worked on the Charms assignment for about an hour, and managed to find all the spells except Pigma Fulgo. Though the names and incantations were all completely different, the four spells they did find all had to do with colours somehow, so Harry was willing to bet the last one did too. Unfortunately, he searched through every page of the books Hermione had suggested without any luck. He thought about asking the archivist for help, but didn't want to bother her after Ron's outburst. He could always come back on Tuesday after she'd had a chance to calm down.

Instead, he took his Magic of the Wildes book out of his bag and flipped open to the chapter on Transfiguration. It was his first class in the morning, and he wanted to impress his head of house. After a few minutes of reading, though, he was confused. The definition in the book seemed slightly similar to the definition of charms and enchantments Hermione had given Flitwick in class that morning. He thought about the lilies that Mistress McGonagall had transfigured for his aunt when they'd first met. Turning an umbrella into a flower wasn't quite the same as changing hair colours, but it was still changing one thing into another - red hair into green hair. Surely there was a difference, but at the moment, it eluded him. Hermione wasn't able to offer any clarification, and got a bit huffy when he was surprised.

"It's the first day, Harry," she growled irritably. "I don't know everything yet."

Wisely, he refrained from further comment and made a note to ask the teacher in the morning.

A troop of Gryffindors arrived early to the Transfiguration classroom the next day. Enrollment in the class wasn't quite as high as in Charms, which seemed to be the most popular subject - not surprising considering how numerous and varied its applications - but it was a close second. Apparently, Harry wasn't the only one who wanted to make a good impression upon their Head of House. McGonagall was seated at the desk in the front of the room, and waved them all inside with a brief smile.

"Good morning," she greeted. She put away the scrolls she'd been reading and stood as the apprentices took their seats. "I'm exceedingly glad to see all you young Gryffindors here this morning. Transfiguration is a very useful magic to learn, though it is no easy feat to master. I've faith that each and every one of you will work very hard to succeed in this class."

Harry raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"I was wondering what the difference is between charms and transfigurations. Master Flitwick said that charms and enchantments are spells that change the properties of an object or person, but isn't that the same as transfiguration?"

McGonagall raised a brow. "That is a very good question. Transfigurations are spells that permanently change the structure or physical characteristics of an object. If I were to turn my desk into a bookcase," she paused and tapped her wand, and a short, squat bookshelf stood where the desk used to be. "It will remain as such unless I change it back. When we transfigure something, we are altering the complete nature of that object. Charms and enchantments, on the other hand, usually add some sort of property or characteristic to the surface of the object's existing form. Did Master Flitwick demonstrate any spells in your class yesterday?"

Harry nodded. "He turned Gwen Robbins' hair green."

"I'm sure she was delighted," McGonagall remarked dryly. "Though the great majority of charms and enchantments are very different than the subject matter we will cover here - making objects lighter than they appear, or causing them to hover in the air, for example - there are indeed some that can mimic the effects of transfiguration. If I wanted to change the colour of this shelf, I could use a spell from Master Flitwick's domain - Colovaria." She waved her wand and the shelf turned green. "This effect is temporary and will eventually wear off. The stronger the caster, the longer the spell will last, but it is never permanent. In addition, the Colovaria charm does not change the fundamental colour of the wood; it adds the colour green on top of the natural shade. A stronger and more lasting result can be achieved with transfiguration." She tapped her wand again, and a scarlet hue spread out over the green until the shelf was entirely bright red. "The wood itself is now red on the most fundamental of levels, and will always be so unless otherwise influenced. Does that answer your question, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Very good. The similarities and differences between the two fields are important to note; I applaud you for taking such initiative with your studies."

Harry flushed under the praise and wrote a few lines about her explanation in his notes. He felt a personal sort of duty to prove to McGonagall that she hadn't made a mistake by sending him his acceptance letter; he wasn't going to take any chance that she'd decide to send him back to the muggles. Though she'd made it clear several times that she believed wizards belonged with wizards, it wouldn't hurt to keep in her good graces. He also wrote a few words to add to his Charms notes when he had a break between classes. The woman certainly was very thorough.

Letum Solwein raised his hand. "What about human or animal transfiguration - is that permanent too?"

"Animate transfiguration is both a finicky and morally ambiguous branch of this field, which we will not study this year. As with any transfiguration, alterations to a living being are permanent unless reversed, provided you are successful in the casting. To impose your will on another living creature, you must either be the stronger party by a significant amount, or have a very receptive subject. However, that is a matter for another day. For now, we must begin at the beginning.

"As I said, transfiguration is a very difficult magic to master. There are no wand movements; in this subject the wand is merely a tool to focus and guide your innate magical power. Though it is not common, you may use any other channeling tool, such as a stave or dagger, to perform a transfiguration. Much of the effort required here will be internal - visualization and concentration are vitally important to success." The witch twitched her wand and a score of small wooden balls flew out of a cupboard in the corner and zoomed around the room. One ball stopped and hovered in front of each student in the class.

"Spells such as charms and enchantments chiefly rely only on the power of your surface level magic. In order to begin transfiguring, you must be able to access the deepest wells of your magical energy. These are specially charged transfiguration orbs - go ahead and take them; they won't hurt you."

Harry hesitantly plucked the small ball out of the air. The moment he touched it, it started glowing blue.

"You will use these orbs to locate and access the depth of your magical reserves. Once you get used to the feeling of keeping that link open, you should be able call upon it more readily whenever you want to perform a transfiguration. Eventually you will be able to do it without thought," McGonagall explained. "This practice may also have the added benefit of making your other surface spells marginally more powerful."

She guided them through an incantation and set them loose to practice. Harry touched the orb with the tip of his wand and whispered the spell. Aperio Animus. A faint tickle grew briefly in his belly, but vanished when he removed his wand. Nothing happened on his next incanting, nor the next three, but on his fourth try the soft tingling sensation resurfaced. He kept his wand where it was for a moment and tried to visualize the well inside him that McGonagall had described, but the feeling was mildly uncomfortable - an itch that needed to be scratched. The longer he tried to hold it, the more he wanted remove his wand and end the spell. By the end of the hour, he was able to successfully cast the spell almost every time, but he could hold the duration only briefly. Glancing around the room the last few minutes of class, it seemed that his housemates were all experiencing the same difficulty. Hermione seemed personally affronted by her orb's refusal to cooperate; she was glaring at it with ferocious determination, as if she could will it into submission with the power of her mind.

"Your only assignment for next class is to practice; we cannot move on until you have made significant progress in this task," Mistress McGonagall said as they gathered up their things at the end of the hour. She stood in front of her desk and eyed them sternly over the top of her wire-rimmed spectacles. "Should you fail to devote enough time to this exercise you will find yourself rapidly falling behind once we begin to study actual transfiguration. I trust none of you will disappoint me."

"No, Mistress," the students chorused as they filed out the door.

Harry finally had a chance to speak to Neville privately during the break before History & Lore. Once again, the common room was mostly deserted; the older apprentices had a heavier workload and didn't have as many free hours in the middle of the day. It suited Harry's purposes just fine; he and Neville were able to secure a quiet table in the corner while the other boys played a game of cards on the sofa. Neville had a blank sheet of parchment in front of him, and was chewing on his quill nervously.

"You said you had to do this all the time for your tutor," Harry prompted when the boy sat there with a blank, befuddled expression on his face.

Neville flushed. "Yes, but I've never tried to link your two families together really. Let me just think a minute."

"Well, how about if you do them separately and then we can see what relatives we have in common?"

The boy brightened. "Sure, that'll work. I can't believe I didn't think of that - I get so nervous under pressure. Gran's always scolding me about it."

A prick of guilt tugged Harry's at gut. He hadn't meant to make the other boy uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Neville, really. It's alright if you can't remember; I'd just really like to know if I have any other family. All I've ever had is the Dursleys - my mum's sister and her family - and they're awful. Black doesn't seem like the friendliest chap but if he is my cousin, I'd really like to know. He can't be any worse than Dudley, anyway."

Neville relaxed and pulled the parchment towards him. He made a dot at the top of the page and labeled it Harry Potter. "That's you, obviously," he said. He drew two lines and added James and Lily. "And those are your parents. Your father's father was Charlus; it was his wife that came from the Blacks - your grandmother, Dorea."

Harry was quiet and traced the ink lightly with his finger. He'd never known the names of his grandparents before, not even on his mum's side. They'd died before he was born, and Aunt Petunia had had some sort of falling out with them anyway. She liked to pretend they never existed, right along with her sister. He swallowed a lump in his throat. "That was easy enough. Now we just need to know how Dorea was related to Cygnus then, right?"

Neville nodded and started anew. "There's Cygnus, and his father and mother. I don't have to do his mother's side do I? I'm sure it's probably not that way that you're related."

"No that's fine, go on."

"Alright, so his grandfather and grandmother were-" he bit his lip and stared at the paper, as if a hopeful glance would make the names spring onto the page. Tentatively, he filled in two names - Orion and Walburga. He managed to trace a few more generations back from Orion, but Dorea never made an appearance.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I really can't remember," he said. He slumped dejectedly in his chair, a worried furrow creasing his brow.

Harry stared at the paper. "Maybe you've left someone out. Did Orion have a sister besides Lucretia?"

"I don't think so, but I'm not entirely certain. My tutor only made me learn the direct line of the current Lord of the House. Some of the others I remember from looking at the scrolls so often, but the Black family is complicated," he said morosely. He started to say something more, but stopped and scratched his nose nervously. His eyes skittered over the paper anxiously and looked away.

"What is it?" Harry asked. He, too, was a little disappointed their efforts hadn't turned up any answers, but Neville was acting particularly strange.

"There's someone else you could ask, but I don't know if you'd want to. I don't even know if you could, actually."

"Who?"

"Well besides Cygnus himself, of course, or Malfoy. It probably would be a better idea to just ask them; they'd probably laugh, but I'm sure they'd tell you. At least, Cygnus might - he did acknowledge you were family, after all. He wouldn't have done that if he meant to ignore you."

Harry shook his head. "I'd rather know what I'm getting into before I go talking to them. They didn't exactly seem like the type to lay out the red carpet for me at the family reunion."

"Does the colour of the carpet matter that much?"

'Never mind," Harry said. "There's just something I don't like about Cygnus Black, and Malfoy's a git as far as I can tell. Who else is there?"

"Your godfather."

A cold wind swept through the room suddenly, though Harry was the only one that shivered. His bones turned to ice, and his heart beat frantically against the constraints of his flesh. Dry dust filled his mouth, choking him and filling his lungs with sand and dirt until each breath he took was a ragged, painful spike in his chest. "What?" he asked hoarsely.

With a shaky finger, Neville pointed at one of the names scrawled on the parchment. "Your godfather - Sirius Black."

Harry stared at the name scrawled on the parchment in Neville's spidery handwriting. "Sirius Black is my godfather?"

The other boy nodded nervously.

"Why didn't you tell me that first off?" Harry demanded, his voice sticking in his throat.

Neville shrank in his chair, his face distraught, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care. Anger boiled in his gut, hot and unforgiving. Where had this godfather been after his parents were murdered? Where had he been when Harry was being shipped off to the Dursleys? He pictured, for a moment, his life as it should have been – growing up knowing he was a wizard, knowing the names of his grandparents and his cousins. Gritting his teeth, he tried to tamp the acid building in his throat.

"I'm sorry, really I am. I'd assumed you knew about him."

"How could I have known about him, Neville?" Harry shouted angrily. The room around them went quiet. "You know what I told you!"

Neville glanced anxiously around the room. "Maybe we should go up to the dorm."

Harry looked around. A pile of cards lay abandoned on the floor in front of his other three roommates who were staring at him with wide eyes and slack jaws. One of the girls in second year stood frozen in the archway that led up to the girl's bedrooms. "Fine," he ground out, and stormed up the staircase.

He paced around the tower room as Neville followed him, hesitantly, through the door. "I can't believe you didn't tell me I had a godfather."

Red heat flared on Neville's cheeks, but it was anger, not embarrassment. "You've got no right to be upset with me, Harry," he said. His shoulders shook, but he held his ground. "I told you as soon as I realized that you didn't know anything about him."

Harry slumped onto the floor beside his bed and hung his head. Neville was right, of course. He wasn't angry at his friend anyway; he was angry at Sirius Black, but the man wasn't there to yell at. "I'm sorry, Neville. I didn't mean to shout at you."

Neville sat down beside him and sighed. "It's alright. I get angry sometimes too, at my parents. Sometimes when I visit them, I get so mad when they won't answer me. It's stupid - I know they'd talk to me if they could. I shouted at Gran once, though, after one of those times."

Harry chuckled miserably. "How did she like that?"

His companion shrugged and picked absently at the rug on the floor. "She didn't take it too well. I had extra lessons in manners and etiquette for a month. "

They sat there in silence for a moment until Harry worked up the nerve to ask the question that was burning in his mind. "Do you know where he is?"

Neville nodded slowly. "He's in prison - locked up in towers of Azkaban in the North Sea."

Harry raised his head, surprised. "For what?"

"Treason. I don't know too many of the details, though; it happened when we were really small."

A pained laugh escaped Harry's throat, and he wondered if his life could possibly get any more complicated. "Are you sure this isn't all just a dream?" he asked, his voice rough and shaky. "I'm not still in my bedroom at Aunt Petunia's house, waiting for Dudley to barge in and steal my pillow?"

"I don't think it's a dream. Do you want it to be?"

Harry thought about it, but only for a moment. No matter what surprises the acceptance letter to Hogwarts had dug up, he was glad he'd received it. Whether or not he had a traitorous bastard for a godfather, and a cold, arrogant ponce for a cousin, he had Hermione, and Ron, and Neville, and all the other friends he'd made at Hogwarts.

There was a soft knock on the door and Ron stuck his head through. Seamus and Dean were hovering behind him. "Err, just wanted to let you know that we're headed off to History if you want to come with us."

Sighing, Harry stood and rolled up Neville's crude chart. He stuffed it in his satchel, not forgetting to note that Sirius Black was Cygnus's uncle. Under different circumstances, the man certainly would've been able to tell Harry who Dorea Black had been, and maybe give him advice on how to interact with the boy, but now, Harry was tempted to put on a brave face and hunt down the Slytherin boy for information on his incarcerated godfather. Who knew, though, if Cygnus had even ever met the man, or if he knew what crime he'd committed? He would have been just as young as Neville at the time.

A fog blanketed Harry's thoughts as he shuffled to History & Lore with the rest of the group. Beside him, Hermione was trembling with excitement - History was one of her favorite subjects, and she'd been thrilled to learn that they'd be doing a substantial amount of research for their class essays. Harry was significantly less enthusiastic; he followed along behind the others with a drag in his step. Wizards a hundred years dead and buried didn't interest him in the slightest at that moment; there was only one person he wanted to learn about just then, and he doubted the man would be a part of Master Binns' curriculum for the day.

Fortunately for Master Cuthbert Binns, he had a remarkable talent for capturing the wayward student's attention. He floated through the wall and hovered a foot off the ground, his translucent skin shining dusty blue in the dimly lit room. Gwen Robbins squeaked when she saw him and tried to hide under her chair, but most of the other students seemed more excited than afraid.

"Brilliant," Varick Wullbinder exclaimed as he took a seat in the front row.

Binns coughed and patted his generous, though see-through, stomach. "Yes, yes, I'm a ghost. Everyone take a good look now," he ordered gruffly. "I'll not have you making a fuss about it all year long." He bobbed up and down slightly.

One of the buttons on the waistcoat of his eerily glowing robes looked like it was about to pop open. Harry wondered what would happen if it did. Could the man go down to the tailors and have a new set sewn, or would he have to find a ghostly seamstress to patch him up?

"Get out your quills; we've got a lot to cover today," the man urged. He floated forward into the desks.

Despite Harry's earlier reservations the class was interesting, though his writing hand was severely cramped by the end of it. The first magic users to live on the English Isles were simple nomads. Magic was vastly different in those times. Practiced without wands or formal incantations, it was raw and unforgiving, wielded only by those strong enough to invoke the wild, untethered power of the earth and the moon. This primal force of the prehistoric cosmos offered no mercy or succor for those weak of heart or body, Binns lectured. The wizards of that era, though they did not name themselves as such, practiced their craft mostly through ritual and song, supplicating themselves to the will of the untamed magic. It was they who built the great ritual circle of Stonehenge to offer up their sacrifices and prayers to the powers they did not fully understand.

"What kind of sacrifices?" Seamus interrupted eagerly.

Binns paused, and looked around the room with a startled expression on his face. "What's that? Oh, goats, rabbits, and the like."

"Not the muggles, then?"

A furious whispering broke out through the room.

"Muggles?" Binns raised a ghostly brow and frowned. "In those days there was no distinction between the muggle and wizard. Of course, there were those who were unworthy to harness this primeval magic, but they lived amongst our ancestors peacefully."

A spotty-faced girl sitting next to Gwen leaned forward in her seat. "So muggles are real?"

Binns frowned and flew over towards her desk. "Come now, girl, don't tell me you're one of those fools who believe they're just a fairy story? We don't have time for that sort of nonsense in my classroom. Have you never met a muggleborn? You've three in your class this year, I'm told." The ghost bobbed in place and surveyed the class. "Are there any of you in the room?"

Hermione shrank in her seat, hiding her face in her bushel of curly hair.

"No?" the teacher tutted disappointedly, and floated back towards the front of the room. "Suffice it to say muggles are indeed as real as you or I, but they've been banished to their own, sterile world, so you've no need to fear meeting one. I shouldn't think you'd have much to worry about if you did happen upon one by some means, anyhow; they're little threat to us. Hopelessly simple-minded I'm afraid."

Behind her curtain of hair, Hermione bristled, and Harry ducked his head to hide his grin. He thought Binns' description quite aptly described his cousin, Dudley.

"Where do muggleborns come from if muggles are so dim-witted?" Eugenie asked curiously. "Surely one of us couldn't have been born from such a primitive species?"

"There are several theories, though nobody has yet managed to discover the truth. Some believe muggleborns aren't the children of muggles at all, merely poor babes switched out of their cradles for changelings when their parents aren't minding them closely," Binns answered mildly. He coughed and spun around. "We're getting dangerously off topic now; no more questions if you please. As I was saying, the first wizards to inhabit our lands roamed the island, moving from place to place according to the needs of the tribe. It wasn't until after the construction of the megaliths that the roving groups began to set down roots and form rudimentary settlements."

After class, Harry found himself dragged out into the hall by a particularly irate Hermione.

"I am not a changeling," she hissed furiously. Her eyes blazed hazel fire, daring him to argue.

He held up his hands in surrender. "I never said you were."

"The nerve of that man – hopelessly simple-minded – can you believe him?" she sputtered venomously.

Ron walked over and gave the spitting girl a wide berth. "What's got her wand in a knot?"

Harry shrugged.

"Oh, never mind," Hermione huffed. She started off down the corridor at a brisk pace. "I saw you were upset on the way to class, Harry - did you talk to Neville about Cygnus Black?"

"Who's Cygnus Black?" Ron asked.

Harry grimaced as turned a corner. "Some friend of Malfoy's, that prat Seamus was talking about yesterday. He says we're cousins."

"You and Malfoy?"

"No, me and Black."

The redhead frowned. "Is he as much of a git as the other one?"

"You've haven't even met the boy yet," Hermione scolded.

"You didn't like him either, Hermione," Harry pointed out pragmatically, and turned back to Ron. "He didn't say much really, just hullo. Neville was going to help me figure out if we really are related, and how closely, but he couldn't remember. He did tell me something else though – Cygnus's uncle is my godfather."

Hermione stopped and grabbed his arm. "Surely not!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide.

Harry nodded. "Apparently he's in prison for treason – has been for a long time. That must be why I didn't end up with him when my parents died."

"What did he do?" Ron gaped.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. Neville said he didn't know any of the details."

"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked quietly.

Harry was quiet for a minute. Secretly, he was desperate to know everything there was to know about the man his parents had chosen to be his godfather. Maybe he was a criminal now, but surely he wasn't always bad? Hopefully his parents would've had more sense than that. "I don't know yet," he said finally.

They rounded a corner and stopped short. Loud, heated voices drifted into the hall. Quickly, the three apprentices ducked into an alcove behind a suit of armor just as Headwizard Dumbledore appeared through a doorway with a middle-aged man in fine robes.

"This is a place of higher learning, my lord regent, not a stage for political machinations and superfluous pageantry," Dumbledore said coldly. His normally jovial expression was hard and unwelcoming.

The visitor's face darkened. "You forget yourself, Master Dumbledore. This may be your domain but I am still-"

The master of the castle did not look cowed in the slightest. "I assure you, I have forgotten nothing."

The man pursed his lips sourly and smoothed out his plum-coloured doublet, fiddling with a gold button on the vest. "I'm afraid I really must insist; It can't be helped - not at a time like this. Arrangements have already been made."

The Headwizard's face tightened. "I do not support this, Cornelius."

"There's been movement; you know it as well as I," the man pressed crossly. "Do you think you'll be untouched here in your tower, surrounded by your books and scrolls?"

"Hogwarts is well equipped to protect itself."

"And the rest of the kingdom?" The man puffed up his chest and shook his head. "No. I'll not back down on this, and that is my final word on the subject. You'll see to dinner as I requested?"

Dumbledore did not look pleased, but he brooked no further protest. He nodded stiffly and retreated back up to his tower as the man – Cornelius – swept off down the hall.

"What do you supposed that was about?" Ron whispered.

"I don't know, but it didn't sound good. Did you see the Headwizard? He was angry about something, and that other man wasn't helping," Harry pointed out gravely.

Hermione bit her lip. "I think that was Regent Fudge - did you see the torc around his shoulders? I recognize the symbol from the castle in Lionsgate."

They eased out of their hiding place and quietly hurried off down the corridor, speculating wildly about what the two men had been arguing about. Instead of lunching in the great hall, they stuffed their packs with a loaf of knotted bread and a rind of soft cheese, and spread out under a fragrant pear tree in the orchards behind the horse paddocks. Basking in the warm breeze, they concocted several absurd theories, each one more elaborate and fantastic than the next. By the time Harry and Ron had to pack up for Herbology, the boys were certain the kingdom was about to be invaded by an army of dragon-riding werewolves, and that Regent Fudge wanted to use the eyrie in Ravenclaw tower to breed a herd of Hippogriffs for a mounted aerial defense. Hermione was reasonably less convinced.

Neville and Lavender met the two boys as they were racing joyfully down the hills towards the castle, and they all trooped through the open portcullis into the Herbology courtyard together. A colourful rainbow of flowers and vines clung to each wall and trellis of the large outdoor terrace, filling the air with a heady aroma of sweet summer blooms. Along the back castle wall, a long thatch-roofed cot served as an area for lecturing and working with plant specimens. Outside the high stone walls of the courtyard, a small dirt path led around the corner to three large glasshouses where Mistress Sprout grew a jungle of plants and flowers.

The dimple-faced herbologist was up to her elbow in dirt, digging up a marked off section of earth in the corner of the terrace, when the Gryffindors arrived. "Welcome, welcome," she beamed cheerfully, and waved them into the workroom with her spade. "Go on in and have a seat; I'll be right along."

A few minutes later, after the airy room had filled up with students, the witch bustled through the door and absentmindedly brushed a bit of dirt off her apron. She stood at the front of the room and smiled brightly. "Welcome to Herbology! I'm sure you all know by now that plants and flowers have many other uses besides currying favor with your sweetheart and looking pretty in your garden. Every petal, leaf, and stem can be muddled, steeped or boiled into a wealth of helpful tonics and salves. We're going to start off this year with some of our more common herbals. I've dug up some plots out in the courtyard; each of you will be responsible for planting and tending a few varieties of your choice, but first we need to start identifying species and learn a little bit about proper care and maintenance. How many of you have ever worked in a garden before?"

Harry raised his hand, along with almost everyone else in the class. At the next table, Neville had a dreamy look on his face.

Mistress Sprout counted their hands and clapped enthusiastically. "Splendid. I'm sure this will come very easily for many of you; Herbology is a skill that can be learned at any age, so some of your mothers may have already contributed to your instruction." She floated a daisy-like bunch of white and yellow flowers into the air and distributed them evenly amongst the work benches. "This is feverfew, a common plant in these parts. It grows abundantly on every hill and valley in the kingdom; we couldn't get rid of it if we tried. Lucky enough for us, it has many healing properties. Now, the knowledgeable gardener will recognize its similarity to another of our bountiful flora - Chamomile. See here, though, how some of the leaves are smooth and the stem stands upright of its own accord."

Harry tried to sketch a rough facsimile of the plant in his notes, but the drawing left much to the imagination. He grimaced at the attempt and took another good look at the flower in front of him. Hopefully his memory would be stronger than his artistic talent.

Sprout went on to detail the type of soil and water content that the plant preferred, and its natural growing season. Feverfew didn't seem to be very particular; apparently it would hold up just about anywhere. "With the aid of various spells today's herbologist can greatly extend these growing periods if he or she wishes, but feverfew is sturdy and prolific enough that you'll want to save any treated space for more delicate species."

She collected the flowers and moved on in turn to agrimony, hawkweed, betony, and hart's tongue. For homework, they were to write an essay on the medicinal properties of each of the plants, which didn't seem too difficult. The witch recommended a few titles that she knew were available in the library, and also suggested an encyclopedia to those wishing to purchase their own reference.

Somehow, Harry wasn't quite sure how, he found himself carrying Lavender's daintily embroidered purse as he escorted her to Potions. Unfortunately, they took a wrong turn somewhere and had to race madly through the dungeon corridors to correct their error before the clock struck two. According to Katie Bell and several of the other older Gryffindors, Snape liked to keep tardy apprentices after class to scrub out old cauldrons. Oliver Wood insisted he kept a cupboard full just for that purpose. Fortunately, the two students found the proper hallway and ducked into the laboratory moments before the door slammed shut. Harry slid quietly into a seat next to Hermione and tried to calm his labored breathing.

Master Snape stalked towards the front of the room, his black cloak billowing behind him like the shade of death. He was exceptionally tall, and when he turned to regard the class with his black gaze, he towered above them like a giant. "You will forget everything you have ever learned about this subject thus far," he began. His voice was but a whisper, but it was as sharp as the blade of a silver-edged knife. Glittering eyes swept around the room, searching for any sign of disobedience or protest. "I'll not have you fouling my laboratory with whatever foolish habits you've picked up from the addle-brained tutors your parents had the ill-advised notion to employ."

Harry looked at Hermione with raised eyebrows. At least they wouldn't be starting off too far behind the rest of the class.

Snape removed a bundle of long spidery roots from one of the many cupboards along the wall and set it on his desk. "I have taken the liberty of procuring enough dandelion root for today's lesson; however, from today onwards you will be responsible for providing your own ingredients. None of the potions we will brew this year require any ingredients that cannot be foraged or grown on the Hogwarts grounds or in the forest. You will notice on your schedule that you have an extra hour set aside for this class on Friday mornings. We will use that hour to harvest various ingredients, but there is no need to wait to build up your personal stores. I strongly encourage you to begin on your own time. If you fail to come prepared to a brewing session, you will suffer my extreme displeasure." A dark look conveyed just how much they did not want to test the mettle of the man's warning.

The potions master indicated they should all come forward to receive a sample of the dandelion root. Harry found himself waiting in line behind Cygnus Black; in his haste to find his seat before Snape arrived, he hadn't noticed the boy in the class.

The Slytherin looked at him impassively. "Potter," he greeted neutrally, with a slight nod.

"Err... hullo," Harry replied. He shifted uneasily on his feet. Before he could make up his mind whether to ask the boy about Sirius, he'd taken his share of supplies and walked back to his seat next to Malfoy. Letting out a breath, Harry stepped up to Snape's desk. The man's glare was unsettling as he sorted through the remaining roots for a tangle large enough to share with Hermione. As he walked back to his seat, he felt the man's intense gaze prickling at his back, but when he turned around the Potion Master's was looking elsewhere.

Hermione nudged him as he sat down again. "Well?" she whispered. "Did you talk to him?"

"Who?"

Rolling her eyes, she took the root and started scraped off the sides as Snape demonstrated at the front. "Cygnus Black, of course."

He shrugged. "I said hullo."

She shook her head in exasperation, but didn't respond. For the rest of the class they practiced dicing, slicing, chopping, and many other cutting techniques. Apparently, the different methods of ingredient preparation drastically altered the effect it would have when thrown into the cauldron. Snape watched them closely, stalking up and down the aisles critiquing their efforts without leniency or pity. Harry stiffened as the man hovered beside him. He could feel the wizard's hot breath on his neck, and he hunched closer to the table, slowly cutting through the thin root with his silver knife. He was meant to be dicing, and the pieces needed to be as close to uniform size as he could manage, but he was having a bit of trouble keeping his hand steady under such careful scrutiny. Thankfully, the man moved on without comment, which was luckier than Hermione had been. He'd pronounced her efforts lackluster and underwhelming, and she'd been stewing silently in her seat ever since.

As they cleaned up their messes afterwards, Snape assigned work for the next class. "Three feet of parchment on how to identify and properly harvest comfrey root, liverwort and black briar leaves. I shall not stop you from picking through a patch of deadly nightshade if you fail to adequately research the topic for our session on Friday – may you suffer your own fool consequences. In addition, you will describe the substantive properties of each ingredient, and denote any hazardous effects they may have when combined over a flame. We will begin brewing a simple potion when we return to the dungeons; if you haven't harvested your ingredients properly, you will fail miserably."

Harry wiped down the table as Hermione took their chopped up roots to the store cupboard. Potions was his last class of the day, and he was looking forward to spending the rest of the afternoon outdoors.

"Potter," Snape barked suddenly.

Half the class stopped what they were doing at looked at Harry curiously.

"Yes, sir?" Harry answered nervously.

"Stay after class."

Confused, Harry nodded and sat in his chair uneasily while everyone else filed out of the room. Hermione gave him a questioning look but left him alone; she had her Astronomy lecture next, and the hike to the top of the stargazing tower was a long one. Anxiously, he picked at a groove in the table where someone had cut a little too deeply and wondered what the man wanted to see him about. He couldn't want him to scrub cauldrons for almost being late, or certainly he would've asked Lavender to wait too. The door shut softly behind the last student with a quiet snick, and silence descended on the room. The Potion Master sat at his desk and stared, his long bony fingers steepled in front of his chin. There was a smudge of black ink on his thumb.

When the man neglected to speak, Harry cleared his throat nervously. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Snape tapped his fingers thoughtfully against his mouth, his expression inscrutable. "The Deputy Headwitch tells me you have been raised by muggles, Potter," he said suddenly. His tone suggested that Harry might as well have been reared amongst wolves. Privately, Harry thought the Dursleys weren't much of an improvement.

"Yes, sir," Harry answered. For a brief moment, he wondered why Hermione hadn't been asked to stay as well. Maybe Snape didn't know she was one of the muggleborns.

"I will not tolerate your lagging behind your classmates."

"I promise I'll work very hard," Harry replied fervently. He hesitated briefly. "I've ordered a book, sir - Drafts & Philtres: A Simple Study by Blodwen Brisk. I thought it might help my studies."

Snape sat back and spread his hands out on his desk, drumming his fingers absentmindedly against the wood. "A passable work. It will certainly do no harm, unlike several other worthless volumes I could mention. You will come to me for a recommendation when you have finished it."

It was not a question, but Harry nodded and the wizard waved him away. Gathering up his things, he breathed a sigh of relief. Snape wasn't nearly as horrible as he'd been warned. Strict, certainly, but he didn't seem completely unreasonable.

"Potter," the teacher called after him just as he was about to walk through the door.

Harry turned back. The man wasn't looking at him anymore; he had his head bent over a large book and was scrawling out a few lines on a roll of parchment next to it. "Yes, sir?"

"Your mother was a particularly exceptional potioneer. I shall expect nothing less from you."

Harry froze, his hand stuck on the cold iron door handle. He swallowed thickly, and opened his mouth to ask how the man had known his mother, but his voice stuck in his throat.

Snape looked up. "That's all, Potter. You may go."

Nodding dumbly, he stumbled out into the hall and slumped against the cool grey walls. He breathed in the damp, musty air for a moment. To a boy who'd always been on his own - the Dursleys hardly counted for anything - the sudden inundation of distant familial connections and casual references about his parents were leagues beyond overwhelming. He blinked back a hot, angry tear.

"Are you lost, Potter?" a cool voice asked.

Harry looked up and laughed. "Perfect," he muttered, and pushed himself off the wall. "No, I'm fine for now, thanks."

Cygnus Black watched him walk away, a shrewd expression on his face.

Harry wandered outside and found a shady spot by the lake to mull over the startling revelations of the past few days. If regent Fudge had risen out of the water just then and claimed to be his long lost brother, he didn't think he'd have it in him to be surprised. He knew it was silly, but he felt cheated somehow. Once, his parents had been his and his alone - a dream to safeguard in the safest, most secret recesses of his heart. They'd been but ghosts of a memory - transparent ideals that he prayed to at night in the dark solitude of his bedroom. Now, their names were popping out of people's mouths faster than he could prepare himself, and it felt like they were no longer his own. He raked his hands through the dirt by his side, closing his fingers around a small smooth stone. It wasn't just his mum and dad, either. Now there was the godfather he never knew he had, and the network of great aunts and uncles and cousins, however distantly related they may be.

Sighing, he threw the stone in the water and watched the ripples glide slowly across the glassy surface of the lake. It was better, of course, that there were people who might be able to share some stories with him. Maybe if he proved himself to Master Snape the man would be a little less surly, and willing to divulge what he knew about Lily Evans Potter.

He made up his mind to go back into the castle and surround himself in the warmth and good cheer of the friends he'd made when a regal grey owl swung over the lake, grazing its wingtips in the clear blue water. The bird circled the shore lazily and soared towards his spot under the tree. As it flew by, it dropped small scroll in his lap. Harry's name was engraved in gold script on the scarlet red ribbon. Raising an eyebrow, he unfurled the thin letter, wondering what on earth the magical world wanted to throw at him next.