"-the first witch of her generation to hold a position of power in the Wizengamot, which up until then, had been restricted to-"

Harry groaned as his eyes opened slowly. He ached all over, and his head throbbed painfully. The harsh light of Madame Pomfrey's dominion burned at his retina's and he quickly found himself covering his eyes with his hands.

He hissed and drew his hand away from his right eye when a spike of pain startled him – the soft words he had awoken to stopped suddenly.

"Harry?"

He opened his eyes slowly this time, merely wincing as he looked upon Hermione sat at the side of his bed, her copy of Hogwarts: A History perched against his leg. He blinked slowly. "Hermione?"

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried, flinging herself at him – he grimaced as her arm caught his side. "I'm so glad you're alright!" Harry smiled and returned the hug. He found his mood lifted, despite waking up in a hospital bed again.

"What happened?" He asked slowly, frowning. Hermione pulled back after a moment and chewed on her bottom lip for a moment as her eyes darted about his face – he noticed her eyes lingering on his right eye for a moment. "What? Is there something on my face?"

He touched at his face for a moment, and that familiar stinging sensation returned in full force. He hissed and looked around the room for a moment. "Do you have a mirror?" He asked quietly. She nodded slowly and pulled a small mirror from her bag on the floor.

Harry took the mirror silently and brought it up before his face. He grimaced at what he saw. It wasn't ugly, but a fresh, inch-long scar ran down the side of his face. It began just above his right eyebrow and cut vertically through the hair. It stopped at the recess of his eye and continued for a bit on his cheekbone – it seemed he was lucky that it was on the outside of his eye, at least. Sirius would no doubt claim it would look rather roguish as he got older. All Harry saw was another scar people could stare at.

He sighed tiredly as he looked at it – luckily, it was quite thin, and seemed to have been a clean cut. He tried to remember what could have made it – so many things had happened, and toward the end was when things got a little fuzzy in his mind. He distinctly remembered being in pain with the Golem – had it been then?

"How are the others? Are you alright?" He asked, his eyes flicking to Hermione, who had perched herself on the side of his bed and who was kicking her legs idly.

She nodded quickly and took the mirror back when he offered it to her. "Everyone's fine, Harry. Neville will be a little sore for a few days – most of his ribs were broken by the Golem, but he's up and about. Tracy had her ankle fixed quickly – she didn't even need to stay overnight. Daphne had a few potions and was good as new – Madame Pomfrey doesn't even think it will scar." She answered, holding his hand in hers idly as she recounted their friend's injuries. "I just needed a single potion and I was as good as new." She shrugged awkwardly.

"So, why am I in here?" He asked, looking around the room.

"Honestly, Harry – you had a room dropped on you. Frankly, I'm amazed you only slept through a single night. I don't even think they've alerted Sirius, Arcturus or Remus yet."

"I remember now…" He whispered quietly, remembering the way that he had been looking directly at Quirrell – Voldemort – whoever he had been. He had felt different to how he had expected. He'd felt sad, but more disappointed than anything. It was odd, to be disappointed in how you were going to die.

It had felt so different from the ambush and the Troll – both times he had been utterly terrified, but he had been more terrified of who he was with, rather than what was happening. He had wanted to face his murderer, to look him in the eye and stand proud – like his parents would have. He wanted to meet them proudly, not as a weeping child.

While he was glad to have survived, happy, even – the memory of the experience felt hollow. Disconnected, almost.

He sighed and squeezed Hermione's hand. "I suppose it was Headmaster Dumbledore who saved me?"

Hermione nodded and her thumb began tracing slow circles on the back of his hand. "He brought you in just after he left to find you. Merlin, Harry – there was so much blood."

"Blood?" He asked, frowning. Then he remembered it – the curse he had caught in his side. He remembered the searing, white-hot pain that had torn through him. Just thinking about it, he could hear his own scream of pain, echoing through the chamber above the roar of the flames surrounding him.

He threw the cover of his bed off on his left side and lifted his pyjama shirt. There, running diagonally up his side was an angry red scar – thin, but angry. The skin was tight and fresh – no doubt Madame Pomfrey had performed her best work on him. He looked up and saw Hermione gawking at it.

"What happened, Harry? Headmaster Dumbledore didn't say anything." She whispered, reaching out with a hand, while her other kept a firm hold of his own right hand, and traced the wound, barely touching the skin. He grimaced and hissed lightly as he felt the muscles stiffen beneath her touch. She glanced up and blushed a little. "Sorry."

He tugged the shirt down and pulled the cover back over his torso. "It was Professor Quirrell." He sighed. "But, it wasn't really."

"What do you mean?"

"Professor Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort."

Hermione gasped, and jumped a little, as if she had been struck. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was slightly open. "You-Know-Who was possessing a professor?" She asked, after a moment.

"All year, I would guess. It's why he wore the turban – you could see Voldemort on the back of Quirrell's head."

"We were taught by You-Voldemort for a year?" Hermione gasped, her eyes staring into the distance.

"I think that was more Quirrell than Voldemort, frankly. I think it took a great deal of effort to show himself to me – even then, it was more to gloat than anything. He wanted me to see that he was alive."

"I'm so sorry I couldn't be there with you, Harry." Hermione muttered, staring into her lap. "I'd have helped if I could."

"You'd have only gotten yourself killed – or worse, expelled." He grinned, chuckling as he saw her fight a little smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. "Honestly, Hermione – I'm glad none of you were there."

"I told you that you were a great wizard though – you obviously beat him."

He grimaced and shifted in the bed a little. "I didn't." He grunted, wincing as he felt her eyes dart to him. She turned to look at him fully, tucking one of her legs underneath her. "I don't know what happened, Hermione. One moment I'm standing there, waiting for the next curse – and the next, there's a flash of light, an explosion, and the room is coming down."

Hermione frowned at that and the two were silent for a time – neither quite knowing what to say, it seemed. "Anyway, what was that you were reading? You did that before, after the Troll." Harry asked, deciding to change the subject.

What he hadn't expected was for Hermione's face to turn scarlet as she chewed on her lip nervously. "Well, it's my copy of Hogwarts: A History – I read it to you every time you're in here. I started after the Troll, because I thought you might like it – it's silly, I know, but I thought-"

Harry hadn't meant to chuckle, but he found the noise trickling past his lips regardless. Hermione's rambling ceased as she frowned at him a little. He held his free hand up and grinned. "I'm sorry – I didn't mean to laugh. It's just – it's the most Hermione thing you could have done." He chuckled, coughing a little as his side stung. "I really do appreciate it, however. Thank you."

He squeezed her hand and offered her a tired smile. Hermione smiled in return and shifted a little on the bed. "So, where are the others?" He asked, looking around at all of the empty beds.

"They're asleep, probably." Hermione shrugged, glancing around the room. "Clara brought us in here in the middle of the night – we were down there for hours. We were all fairly exhausted."

"How much sleep did you get?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at the witch. She avoided looking at him.

"I wanted to make sure I was awake when you woke up." She muttered, looking at an interesting spot on the covers. "I haven't been to sleep yet."

Harry sighed as he took in the bushy-haired witch. Over the course of the year, their friendship had blossomed, and he found himself enjoying these moments alone with her. She was always there, making sure he ate enough, and making schedules for them all to study – it was nice. Hermione had quickly become one of his dearest friends, though she drove him to madness with how she would put himself before her own needs.

"Hermione, you need to get some sleep." He sighed, rolling his eyes and nudging her hip with his thigh.

"If you think this is the first time I've stayed up reading, you obviously don't know me very well." She sniffed, raising her nose in the air just a little. Harry chuckled.

"Oh, I don't doubt that for a second – but I don't want you tired and miserable. We went through a lot. You need your rest."

"I will – when you're let out of here." She smiled, squeezing his hand a little.

They were both quiet for a few moments – both content to just enjoy the company of the other, rather than fill the silence with conversation. Harry took in Hermione's appearance – noting the fresh robes, and the way her hair was tied back into a ponytail. He also noticed that his robes were nowhere to be seen – no doubt they had been wrecked beyond repair. At least neither of them was covered in that awful Devil's Snare slime.

"Are we getting in trouble for the whole mess? Will we have detention until fifth year?" He asked after a time, cocking a brow as he smirked a little.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him – he had the distinct impression that she would have preferred to hit him for a brief moment. "No," She sighed, "Headmaster Dumbledore has said it was beyond our control that we ended up there. No detentions – we haven't even had points taken."

"Thank the Gods it wasn't Snape who dug me out then."

"Professor."

"Right, Professor Snape." Harry chuckled, rolling his own eyes.

"What is it between the two of you – you've been at odds ever since our first class. I've always wondered." Hermione asked, frowning a little as she looked at him.

Harry grimaced and shrugged a little. "My father and he didn't get along. Everyone tells me I look just like him, except for my eyes – they were my mothers."

"So, he sees someone he never got along with, and as a result, you both come to blows in class?"

"That's about the extent of it, honestly." He replied, shrugging.

"It doesn't seem right." Hermione replied after a moment. He couldn't help but agree.

Harry had known about Professor Snape for years – or Snivellous, as Sirius had referred to him. He had known all about the Marauders and their rivalry with the Potion Prodigy from Slytherin, which had stretched back as far as their first train-ride to Hogwarts, when his father had bumped into Snape and knocked him over by accident.

As the years had trickled by, the rivalry had escalated from harmless pranks, to down-right bullying between them. The Marauders would often target Snape, who in turn, would cast some hex or jinx at them in a corridor later on. It had rubbed Harry the wrong way – he despised bullying, in any form – and now, to be held accountable for a man that had been dead for over a decade…

"Nothing much I can do about it, honestly." Harry sighed, shrugging a little. He would be polite and respectful, as was expected with any professor – Merlin, he was likely one of the only students that treated Filch with respect – but he didn't have to like the greasy bat.

"The school year has been difficult enough for you as it is – Merlin knows you don't need the added stress." Hermione sighed, though she smirked at him a moment later. "It's no wonder you're so far down in the class rankings."

"Hey now-" He began as he sat up a little against his pillow. "I'll have you know I'm only second in the theory, but first in the practical." He smirked, earning an eye-roll from Hermione.

"Carry on, Potter, and you'll find yourself alone in here." She replied, playfully.

"You'd abandon me to Madame Pomfrey just like that?"

"And don't you forget it." She nodded, nudging him a little with a giggle. It was nice to see Hermione relax and just be herself. Too often, she was too focused on her studies – burying her nose in a book to read ahead for the next class or revising for one reason or another. He didn't begrudge her any of that, of course, but it was nice to see the girl behind the books and cleverness every now and then.

The door opened at the end of the room, and both of them turned their heads to look at the new arrival. There, standing in lilac robes with a squat cap upon his head, was the Headmaster. He smiled his grandfatherly smile and approached with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Ah Miss Granger, I thought I might find you here." Dumbledore smiled as he came to a stop at the foot of Harry's bed. Harry noticed the slight blush on Hermione's cheeks and chuckled a little – she lightly pinched his arm. "May I have a moment of Mister Potter's time? I promise to return him to you just as he is now."

Hermione glanced at him, and he gave a slight nod and a smile – it seemed to reassure her, before she hopped off of the bed and gathered up her book. "I'll go fetch you some clothes, Harry."

"Excellent idea, Miss Granger – I imagine young Mister Potter here is most eager to go about his day."

Hermione nodded, and the two of them watched as Hermione left the room, her school shoes clicking against the marble stone and bouncing around the cavernous room.

Harry turned his gaze to the Headmaster after watching his friend leave – his eyes appeared tired, and his cheeks sallow. Had the Headmaster also been awake the entire time? From where Harry sat, he looked more his age than any other time he could remember.

"Headmaster?" Harry asked after a moment, placing his hands in his lap. His body still ached somewhat, but it was a manageable pain – after all, the fact he was in pain meant that he was alive. Not something he would have thought not so long ago.

"I have come to discuss what happened down in the dungeons between yourself, and Professor Quirrell. It's all a complete secret, of course – so, naturally, the whole school knows."

"They know, do they?" Snorted Harry as he ran a hand through his loose hair. "They know that Voldemort is still alive?"

"Ah, no – they do not. The school believes that you and your friends, thwarted Professor Quirrell when he attempted to steal something of value from the school."

"Then that isn't the truth." Harry frowned. "Shouldn't they know Voldemort was in the school, teaching them?"

"I believe they should, yes. Too many are unaware of the many, many ways in which he could return. For good reason, if they did, panic and hysteria would run rampant."

"But the Aurors-" Harry began, only to have Dumbledore hold up his hand.

"Will be told in due-time, Harry. For now, I believe it best if as few people as possible are aware."

Harry blew out a sigh and leaned back into the pillow behind him. What good was it knowing that Voldemort wasn't really gone, when you could do nothing to help finish him off? He knew of possession, or at least, the concept of it – there would never be a more perfect time to catch The Dark Lord than in the state he was in!

His thoughts went back to the meeting with The Council, those few years ago. He had thought Voldemort gone – never to return. It seemed it had been wishful thinking on his part. If he were a megalomaniac, who had been lain low by a baby – he'd be wanting revenge.

"He's going to keep coming for me, isn't he?"

Dumbledore wouldn't meet his eyes and was quiet for a while. "It is difficult to say, Harry. On the one hand, you are the boy who laid him so low – on the other, I believe you to be the one person he truly fears."

"He's scared of… me?" Harry asked, blinking quickly as the confusion threatened to overwhelm him.

"Of course – for the last time he faced you, he was almost killed. Who does not fear death, hm?" Dumbledore nodded sagely; his hands clasped loosely in his lap as he peered over his half-moon spectacles.

"But, he had me – I couldn't do anything against him."

"Ah – that, I believe, I cannot answer. To try to understand the mind of the mad, is to invite madness into yourself." Dumbledore sighed, before reaching into his robe and pulling out a short bit of wood, holding it between his finger and thumb. "This is all that remains of Professor Quirrell's wand."

Harry took the small bit of wand and turned it in his fingers, eyeing it carefully. He looked back up at Dumbledore and felt his forehead throb a little. "This is all that's left of it?"

The Headmaster nodded slowly. "Indeed, Harry. Now, I was hoping I could ask you a few questions."

"Of course, Headmaster." Harry answered, rolling the wood between his fingers slowly as he stared at the remnant of the wand that had nearly killed him.

"Now, I have spoken with your friends and gotten their versions of events, and now I need yours. In your own words, then, how did you find yourself on the third floor?"

Harry shrugged with one shoulder. "We were walking up the stairs, to the seventh floor and we got stranded by the staircases. We met the Occamy a little while later after we were wondering what was banging on the door."

"I see – as for the riddle, I take it that was Miss Granger? And Mr Longbottom solved the Devil's Snare?"

"Aye – Daphne was caught in the shoulder by the Occamy." Harry nodded, remembering the pained sounds his friend had made as the girls applied the Dittany. Those sounds would haunt him for the rest of his days.

"And how did you get over the chasm?" Dumbledore asked, peering over his half-moon spectacles.

"We levitated each other over it."

"Indeed? Quite an ingenious plan – Miss Davis, was it? I find that the simplest solutions to a problem are often the ones we overlook. I believe you brought the roof down on the Golem?"

"Yes, sir. I used my coat and doublet to get it to bring the ceiling down."

"You continue to amaze me, Harry – there are many who would be too terrified to act in the situation you found yourselves in." Dumbledore smiled, patting his forearm gently. Harry found himself smiling a little at the praise.

Before he could stop himself, a question that he had been turning over in his head trickled past his lips. "Why could I not call Clara until the ceiling came down?"

"Ah," Dumbledore smiled, leaning back a little. "That, I believe, was my fault. You see, I put the mirror there as another task – one I noticed was annihilated beyond repair by your encounter with Professor Quirrell."

Harry winced.

Dumbledore noticed, but continued on. "Those chambers were chosen specifically for one reason, Harry. The rune-work woven into the stone down there is older than this castle – it allows for no Portkey, Apparition, Floo, or even Phoenix travel to breach its walls." The Headmaster leaned forward with a toothy grin, and a wink. "I have a theory the chambers were constructed by Myrddin Emris himself."

Harry found his jaw dropping slightly at the possibility – and then he shrank in on himself. He had completely destroyed the final room. Whatever possibility of finding out the truth of those chambers was likely significantly less now, thanks to him.

Dumbledore chuckled a little and patted his arm again. "Don't worry my boy – I would rather have five healthy students than one old chamber."

"I am sorry, though." Harry grimaced, running his fingers through his hair slowly as he blew out a breath. "That chamber must have been really something before it collapsed."

"Oh yes, it was quite the sight." Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "But, it does well to focus on the here and now – not on what could have been, or what could be."

The two were silent for a few moments as Harry felt the words settle on him. He knew, better than anyone, about his penchant for wondering what life would have been like – Sirius often joked that he'd leave his head in the clouds when he went flying.

"Was all of what we went through to guard the mirror? Professor Quirrell mentioned something about a stone?"

"Ah, that would be Nicholas Flemmel's Philosopher's Stone – it was being kept safe in the castle after a number of attempted robberies in Normandy, before it was moved here." Dumbledore nodded, slowly standing.

Nicholas Flemmel was a legend among Alchemists, and even Harry's textbooks for the class often cited and referenced the man more than once – he was a genius!

"Alas, events spiralled out of control and the stone and mirror were both destroyed."

"I hope you don't mind me saying this, Headmaster – but good riddance, as far as that mirror is concerned." He muttered, feeling his shoulders shudder at the thought of it.

"Indeed – while fascinating, it was quite the dangerous artifact. Now," Dumbledore agreed, pausing to gently clap his hands together. "I do believe Madame Pomfrey will return shortly with your potions – I understand you have a week free to spend however you wish before the feast and your journey home."

"Thank you, Headmaster – for rescuing me, I mean." Harry said, watching as Dumbledore paused on his way to the door.

"It was my pleasure, my boy." Dumbledore smiled, turning back to look at him briefly before continuing his short walk to the door.

Harry sighed as he heard the door close after the Headmaster as he sunk down into his pillow. Perhaps he wouldn't mind if Hermione got some rest before she brought him his clothes – he was rather comfortable, after all.

The last week of term had passed by quickly. Harry and his friends had spent the time relaxing all throughout the castle and the grounds. It hadn't been uncommon to find the five of them laying on one of the grassy banks that sloped lazily towards the Black Lake, where they would watch the Giant Squid playfully wave a tentacle at them every now and then.

When they couldn't be found there, they often found themselves wandering the halls of Hogwarts, or spending time in either the Library or Great Hall for hours at a time.

Harry took the time to lavish attention on both Clara and Hedwig – both of the female birds lapped up his attention greedily. So much so, that at one point, he'd had to separate the two of them for an hour when they began to shove one another – he'd been positive that Clara had been ready to set Hedwig on fire.

It had been during this separation that he'd once again noticed that Hedwig had opted to spend time with Hermione – perhaps she had noticed that Hermione was the only one of their group without a Familiar? Neville had his toad, Daphne her Hawk, he had Clara and Hedwig, and Tracy had her Chinchilla, Kiki.

Harry always got a little nervous whenever Tracy brought Kiki out – all the birds would stare unblinkingly at the clumsy rodent, who more often than not, would stumble and fall backwards as it nibbled on a leaf of some kind.

While he knew Familiars didn't prey on one another, it was still enough to set off his anxiety at times. Tracy, it seemed, gave no thought to it – often holding the little Chinchilla up to Clara for his Phoenix to get a better look at it, as if her black eyes had moved from it. He often imagined that if Clara had lips, she'd be licking them.

So, while they had lavished attention onto their Familiars, they took the time to enjoy the Scottish summer. While it wasn't particularly hot, the son had shone brightly for the whole week and there had been a pleasant breeze – one the birds took full advantage of as they glided lazily on the currents.

In the days following his release from Madame Pomfrey's care, they had all heard the whispers of 'The Wolf Pack' when they meandered their way through the halls or sat together at the trestle tables of the Great Hall. At first, Harry had been confused – and then Daphne had pointed out they were referring to them.

He had been struck speechless – their little group had earned themselves a nickname? He could only imagine the bemoaning of Sirius when he discovered they hadn't become the second coming of the Marauders.

Neville had snorted at their little nickname, before coming up with his own – Vargarnir. Harry hadn't pretended to know what Neville was on about, and his friend had noticed. That had led to a lengthy discussion on Neville's Norse roots, and how they were like a pack of wolves – Vargarnir.

While Harry appreciated the little nod to his own house with the wolf imagery, he couldn't help but chafe at the thought that both Neville and Daphne's houses were ignored – not to mention how Tracy and Hermione felt. He'd asked them that very question just a few days before, and they'd shrugged him off, claiming they were perfectly fine with it.

But it wasn't fine, was it? Neville had his own prestigious house, history and sigil he was proud of, and so did Daphne. Where were the nicknames based on the Bear of House Longbottom, or the Stallion of House Greengrass. It felt wrong that they were seemingly ignored.

Daphne had told him to get his head out of his arse, and that they were perfectly fine with it – it was him, after all, who had brought them all together, with the exception of Tracy. While was flattered, of course, it hadn't exactly made him feel any better. Instead, he'd just taken to silently pouting over it, which he found, earned him less punches in the arm from the strong-willed Slytherin.

Neville had been Neville about it, simply shrugging his shoulders and throwing his arm around his Little Wolf's shoulders with a grin. He had rolled his eyes, looked pointedly at the three girls, and awaited their jokes. Now, thanks to the arse that was his best friend, the three girls couldn't go a day without making a joke about it. Hermione and Daphne even giggled – giggled!

Harry sighed as they entered the Great Hall – the candles floated in the air, and the whole room felt warm and inviting. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were already sat at their respective tables, murmuring amongst one-another, while Slytherin filtered in with his fellow Gryffindor's. Neville was at his side, and Hermione was a step ahead of them.

The Head Table was already full of teachers, and Harry gave a little grin to Professor Cantrill – he had been a regular visitor to her office ever since the escapade with the mirror in January. He had revelled in the stories of his mother – of how she had devoured any and all photography magazines that she could lay her hands on and kept a stack of them in her trunk each year.

There were other stories of course. He especially liked the one where she had thwarted the Marauder's pranks, and even turned one or two around on them – at least he now had a few answers for Sirius, who to this day, remained clueless. The swell of pride he felt for his mother, for one-upping the Marauders, of all people, had buoyed him throughout the year.

The Professor gave him a smile of her own, and a little wink. The two of them had formed as much of a friendship as one could between a member of staff and a student. He found Professor Cantrill, or Hope, as she insisted, to be a witty and delightful conversationalist.

He shuffled onto the bench between Neville and Hermione – Neville to his left, and Hermione on his right. All along the table, his fellow students whispered and joked with one another – there was a small pop as something from the Weasley twins exploded in a puff of smoke to raucous laughter.

He noticed Daphne and Tracy on the Slytherin table, sitting among their fellow first years. They seemed to be in some discussion with Blaise Zabini and Tomas Lyre – a Vassal of House Bulstrode, if he remembered his Noble Families. Both were quiet boys, though in the few conversations he'd had with them, both were pleasant and polite.

It took little time for the plates and dishes before them to fill, with large piles of corn-on-the-cob, sausages, slices of beef, mutton, venison, and chicken breast filled with cream cheese and wrapped in streaky bacon.

There were jugs of gravy – both meat and vegetable, thick and thin. Bowls of vegetables, and sizzling skewed kebabs of meat, peppers, and onions. Harry wasted no time in helping himself to a pair of the bacon wrapped chicken breasts, a corn-on-the-cob, a spoon of broccoli, carrots and peas, parsnip, and some fresh chips. He lathered it all in a nice thick gravy, and he could feel his mouth salivating at the sight of it all.

Neville filled his plate with a pair of juicy looking steaks, with each appearing to be both halves of the cow they came from, a pile of potato, and a generous helping of green beans, carrot, and parsnip. Rather than the gravy, however, Neville opted for a strong peppercorn sauce, and for a moment Harry was glad the cow was already dead, for fear it would have drowned.

Hermione, by contrast, had put little on her plate. She had helped herself to a pair of chicken and pepper kebabs, which were still sizzling on their sticks, and a handful of vegetables. There were carrots, cauliflower, sweetcorn, and runner beans. Perhaps she was just pacing herself – she was the brains of the three of them, after all.

The meal passed quickly, with only the groans of pleasure and the clicking of cutlery on plates to fill the Hall. There had been a few times where he himself had taken a bite from his chicken and almost had his eyes roll into the back of his head – the soft cream cheese made the chicken nice and moist, while the bacon was neither too crispy, nor too soft, and complimented it all perfectly. His favourite part had been the corn-on-the-cob, however. He had spread a little butter and speared it on either side with a pair of little sticks and devoured them both.

As it was, Hermione had finished first and opted not to have another plate, while Neville barely cleaned his plate before heaping more food on. He himself was fully sated, even knowing that dessert was likely – maybe he'd treat himself to something, as a going-away gift to himself.

While he ate well throughout the year, none of their meals were like the Welcoming or Leaving Feasts, with perhaps the exceptions of Halloween, Christmas and Easter. Each meal was well balanced and nutritional, and with the exercises he performed in his room each evening, he remained fairly fit – though no doubt he would have to increase his exercise as he got older. Perhaps he could take up running, with Clara and Hedwig flying above him in the early morning. The thought of it made him smile for a moment.

"You look like Kiki, with that smile you have right now." Hermione grinned, elbowing him playfully.

"I do not look like Kiki." Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, I don't know – that far away look on your face, and the way your cheeks look a little chubby when you smile…" Hermione sighed dramatically. "You'd have made an excellent rodent."

He felt his eyes narrow at his companion. "My cheeks aren't chubby when I smile."

"He's right – those bloody dimples." Neville groused, wiping his mouth on a nearby napkin. "He's not even a teen and he has the girls sighing as he walks past."

"I do?" Harry asked, stunned. He found his face heating.

"And he doesn't notice it either!" His friend sighed dramatically, throwing his arms in the air. Hermione chuckled into her goblet on his other side.

"Why are you both picking on me all of a sudden?" He groaned, rolling his eyes and elbowing both of his friends playfully.

"It's our solemn duty as your friends." Neville nodded resolutely as he puffed up his chest. "Otherwise, you might start to take yourself too seriously."

"I grew up with Sirius – I doubt there's much chance of that happening." Harry sighed dramatically as Hermione chuckled to his right – he grinned at her.

"You mean you grew up a victim of his pranks." Neville laughed, slapping Harry on the back.

Harry almost found himself thrown across the table from the force of it – as it was, his spine felt bruised. He'd almost forgotten how strong the Longbottom Heir was. "I happen to remember you being a victim just as often."

"Honestly, from everything I've heard – it sounds like you grew up in a madhouse." Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes.

"Oh aye, you were kept on your toes – but it wasn't too bad. We got him back a fair few times." Harry laughed, remembering in particular the time they had swapped Sirius's shampoo for Slytherin green hair-dye. That had been one of Daphne's more brilliant ideas.

A gentle tapping of a glass at the head of the room drew their attention and the entire student body became silent. Above them hung the four banners representing each house, hanging lazily above their respective tables – by the end of this feast, one of those banners would by hanging proudly behind the Headmaster.

Harry watched as Dumbledore rose from his golden throne. "Another year gone! Now, as I understand it – the House Cup needs awarding, and the points stand thus…"

Harry shifted a little in his seat a little. He'd been awarded a number of points over the year, both for answering questions in class, and for scoring high in his homework – not to mention the Troll. Hopefully, his contributions would have made some sort of impact.

"In fourth place, Ravenclaw, with five-hundred-and-six points."

All the tables clapped politely while the Ravenclaws grumbled quietly amongst one another. Harry pursed his lips as he clapped – it was never a good feeling to come last in any endeavour.

"In third place, Hufflepuff, with five-hundred-and-ninety points."

Again, everyone in the Hall clapped, and Harry found himself glancing at Daphne and Tracy on the Slytherin table – it came down to Gryffindor and Slytherin. He narrowed his eyes at his friends as he caught their eyes – they in turn, smirked.

"In second place, Gryffindor, with six-hundred-and-three points."

Harry cursed under his breath, and stuck his tongue out at Daphne and Tracy, both girls covering their mouths with their hands in an attempt to stifle their laughter. Now he'd have to deal with their impossible gloating for the entire train ride home in the morning – that wasn't to say he wouldn't have gloated if he were in their position.

"And in first place, with six-hundred-and-fifty points – Slytherin!"

The Slytherin table erupted, the students cheering and celebrating their victory, many of them banging on the table before them in glee.

"Yes, yes, well done Slytherin!" Dumbledore called out, speaking over the cheers as they died down. "However, recent events must be taken into account, and I have a few last-minute points to award."

Harry looked around the Hall, as did almost every other student in the room. Who had earned points so late into the year that they were awarded at the ceremony?

"Firstly, to Mister Neville Longbottom, for an outstanding knowledge of Herbology that greatly surpasses the current first year curriculum, I award twenty-five points."

Neville choked on his mouthful of drink, and Harry found himself slapping his friend on the back as the rest of their table cheered.

"Secondly, to Miss Daphne Greengrass, for an excellent demonstration of Runes, not seen in a first year for quite some time – I award, twenty-five points."

The Slytherin table cheered as their lead remained strong, and Harry found himself clapping and laughing as Daphne blushed crimson at the sudden attention and tried to hide behind her hands.

"Next, to Miss Hermione Granger, for a cool use of intellect when others were in peril – twenty-five points."

He cheered with the rest of Gryffindor as he threw an arm around Hermione's shoulders and gave her a little squeeze while she gaped like a fish.

"Miss Tracy Davis, of Slytherin, I award twenty-five points for an excellent application of her Charms education to conquer the most daunting of challenges."

Tracy, it seemed, attempted to hide behind Daphne as she too blushed a deep crimson.

"And finally – to Mister Harry Potter, for the courage to face impossible odds, twenty-five points."

Harry grinned as he was pulled into a one-armed hug by Neville and Hermione tackled him from the side – all three laughing loudly. They may not have won Gryffindor the House Cup, but the gap between themselves and Hufflepuff was larger, while the gap between themselves and Slytherin had been shortened – the loss seemed a little easier to swallow.

Harry watched as the Slytherin banner moved to hang behind Dumbledore clapped his hands. "Assuming my calculations are correct, that leaves Slytherin with seven-hundred points, and Gryffindor with six-hundred-and-seventy-eight points. Slytherin, wins the House Cup!"

Slytherin stood as one and cheered – one or two of the more exuberant students jumping onto the benches and laughing as they stomped their feet. Harry stood with them, clapping for his friends – oh, he would gripe and bemoan their gloating come the morning, but in that moment, he couldn't have been happier for them both.

The feast ended shortly after, with everyone filtering back to their Common Rooms, under the watchful eyes of the Prefects.

Neville had his arms around both himself, and Hermione, as they walked the stairs up to the portrait of The Fat Lady. He was grinning widely and joking the entire time, how if they'd only had one more Gryffindor in their little group.

"We'll get the cup next year, Neville." Harry chuckled, ducking out from his friend's grip as they made it to the portrait. Already, the noise from the Common Room was almost deafening as the Twins started one of their signature parties.

For the first time that he could remember in the year, nobody was shying away from him. When they had first arrived, he was Harry Potter: The-Boy-Who-Lived and whispered about in the corridors as he walked past. After Hogwarts, he had heard the whispers about killing the Troll, how it was only a matter of time until he went 'Dark', as it were. With the added strangeness that had happened with the mirror, it was no surprise that students had avoided him, and to some extent, his friends.

Even Ron Weasley had kept some distance after he'd apparently blown the windows out of Gryffindor Tower on Christmas. Oh, he had remained polite and attempted to draw Harry into a conversation about Quidditch and Chess any chance he got, but there was a wariness that hadn't been there before.

He didn't exactly mind it, if he were honest with himself. The less people he had coming to him for autographs – he'd suffered through no less than a dozen in September before the school got the hint – the better. However, he was mindful of more than just his own wishes – he had the reputation of both House Potter and House Black to maintain. Not to mention, many of the students currently attending Hogwarts would be his colleagues in the Wizengamot someday – it paid to make friends, not enemies.

Hopefully, next year would be better, and as it was, he had the entire Summer to relax and unwind from the stresses of the year. Oh, he had duties to attend to, but nothing like what the school demanded of him – not mention Woopy's cooking!

"Here come the heroes of the day! Three fifths of The Wolf Pack!" One of the twins called, standing atop a table with a Butterbeer in hand – how had they gotten hold of that?

"It's Vargarnir." Neville muttered as Percy Weasley, the pompous Prefect who – in Harry's opinion – thought a little too much of himself, brushed past them. The fifth year paid them no mind at all as he moved to pull the twins from the table.

"The what?" Dean asked, stepping up to their side and clapping Harry on the shoulder. Seamus was right behind him, grinning at the three of them – Harry noticed Hermione had finally extricated herself from Neville and cocked his brow at her, earning himself a gentle jab in his ribs and a roll of her eyes.

Neville sighed as he turned to face Dean. "Var-gar-neer, it means 'The Wolves'."

"So, ye's 'The Wolves'?" Seamus asked, frowning a little.

"That's about the extent of it." Harry sighed, shaking his head. "Remus will be over the moon." He snickered, earning a jab in his arm from Neville. He winced and rubbed it a little, but the chuckles didn't stop.

"Who's Remus? You've mentioned him a few times this year." Dean asked, looking at Harry as his cat, Bishop, ran up his leg and curled herself around his shoulders. Harry reached out and scratched the playful feline between the ears gently – he had sent both Hedwig and Clara back to Blackwall just before the feast.

"He's the Steward for House Black. He, Sirius and my father were best friends while they were at Hogwarts."

"Oh, and he likes wolves?" Seamus asked, perching himself on a nearby table. Harry noticed that, for the first time in a long time, the boy had eyebrows.

"Yeah, he likes wolves." Neville smirked. "Bit obsessed, actually."

"Sirius is going to be impossible; you know."

"Oh aye – he was hoping for 'The Mini-Marauders'." Neville chuckled, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the back of a nearby sofa.

"I'm going to get us drinks – who wants one? Harry? Neville?" Hermione asked after a moment.

"I'll help you." Harry smiled, noting Neville's raised hand, as well as Dean and Seamus's.

The two of them set off into the crowd of Gryffindors, and weaved their way to the table that had been filled with countless bottles of Butterbeer, mead, juice and water – the glass was lightly frosted as the cooling charm that had been applied to them did its work.

Harry scooped up three bottles of juice, while Hermione pilfered two of her own, and they set off back to the small group of boys.

"I'm telling you – it glowed!" Neville sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before Harry passed him a bottle. He also handed Dean and Seamus one each and smiled as Hermione passed him his own. They all grinned and clinked their bottles together before taking a long pull.

As they all let out content sighs, with Seamus smacking his lips as he eyed the bottle, Harry didn't think it could get much better than this. Surrounded by friends, laughing and having a good time. It was a shame it would all end in the morning.

Harry groaned as he dropped into the carriage seat and closed the sliding door behind him. It was his own damn fault – Hermione, Daphne and Tracy had made sure to point that one out enough in the trip down to Hogsmeade.

He had stayed up far too late, laughing and joking with his fellow Gryffindors – Neville had entertained them all with stories of how he would have fought the giant Golem that had tossed him through the air, Seamus helping him re-enact the battle.

Hermione had slipped off to bed at ten and had even warned them about the time they had to be ready to leave for. While Harry was normally an early riser, the fact he had gone to sleep at two had meant he had fought tooth and nail to remain in bed before Neville had threatened to call on Hermione.

Harry had panicked in his sleep deprived state and fallen out of the bed in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets. Neville had been Neville about it and had retreated from his room, laughing the whole way. Harry swore at his friend and threw one of his pillows after him.

He had showered and dressed reluctantly, and had attempted to curl in on himself on the carriage-ride down to the train – something that hadn't gone unnoticed by his three other friends as they pointed out the irresponsibility of having stayed up half the night. As if he hadn't been regretting it since Neville burst into his room.

He groaned and shifted a little – there wasn't nearly as much room on the return trip to London as there had been on the trip to Hogwarts, with the inclusion of both Hermione and Tracy. A small mercy, at least, had been the three girls sat on the far bench, Tracy and Daphne on either side of Hermione. Harry and Neville stretched out on the bench opposite the three girls.

"So," Tracy began, her voice far too cheerful for Harry's liking. "What's everyone's plans for the Summer?"

"Wizengamot." Daphne and Neville said together, with Harry's mumbled addition trailing a moment later.

Hermione and Tracy looked between one-another and blinked. "But, what are you going to do for fun?" Tracy asked after a moment.

"Sleep." Harry muttered under his breath, shifting himself a little more – when had these benches become so bloody hard?

Daphne snorted, and Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "You're adorable when you're sleep deprived, Potter." The raven-haired Slytherin chuckled as she crossed her legs. For once, none of them were in their school uniform, or other such formal attire. Each of them had opted to wear simple, comfortable clothing.

Harry had thrown a simple doublet on, with his usual trousers and boots, much like Neville had chosen to wear. Hermione and Tracy both wore Muggle clothing – Tracy in a summer dress with polka dots, and Hermione in denim jeans and a t-shirt. Daphne, ever the Highborn Heiress, looked nothing less than the dark-haired beauty he was sure she would grow into, with her thick hair curled and tied back in an intricate up-do with ringlets framing her face, and a black ankle-length dress that seemed to flow as she walked.

He'd cuffed Dean, Seamus and Ron over the back of their heads for staring.

"Eat shit, Greengrass." He grunted, pulling his cloak a little more over him as he tried to burrow his way into the corner between the window and the bench. Neville chuckled on the other side, and Harry found himself kicking Neville's boot before he could stop himself.

"Is he always this moody when he's tired?" Tracy asked, smirking at him from her side of the cabin.

"Yes." Neville and Daphne agreed instantly, grinning at one another.

"Could've hesitated for a bloody moment, at least." He griped sulkily.

"Would you watch your language, Harry – it's terribly uncouth." Hermione said, rolling her eyes as she flipped through a book. The train jolted for a moment before the station began rolling by slowly.

"This is it. Our first year is over." Neville muttered, watching the trees pass by as they sped up.

"It's gone by ever so quickly." Hermione sighed. "At least we'll write to one another over the Summer."

"Some more than others." Daphne agreed, giving a pointed look to Neville.

"Hey, I write!" Neville grouched, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. Harry fought the urge to smirk – it was good not being the target of Daphne's barbs.

"Oh aye, but it's always about plants. How is a girl supposed to feel special?" Daphne moaned dramatically, leaning into Hermione for support, causing the girls to giggle. Neville just blinked, confused.

"She's playing with your head, Neville." Harry muttered with a roll of his eyes as he watched Neville's mouth open and close a few times.

"Girls." Neville sighed, causing the girls to break into their laughter once more.

"So, Neville – any plans?" Tracy asked once the laughter had died down.

"Oh aye – I'll be looking after-"

"-the greenhouses." Harry and Daphne finished for him as one.

"Well, there was no need for that, frankly." Neville huffed. "Honestly, you'd think you'd have all developed a new appreciation for plants after that last adventure."

"Yeah, we know not to go near them." Tracy muttered, causing the room to echo with their chuckles – even Harry found himself joining them.

"Aside from that, I suppose, there's the Wizengamot – the three of us are old enough to attend the sessions now. Maybe visit Blackwall?" Neville said – more of a question than a statement, honestly. Harry nodded and chuckled at Neville's grin.

"Don't forget the wedding." Daphne added.

"Wedding?" Hermione asked, cocking her head a little as she looked up from her book.

"Sirius Black's wedding to Amelia Bones – wedding of the decade, apparently." Daphne snorted. "A little early to call it that, if you ask me."

"Why do they say that?" Tracy asked, frowning.

"Well, Amelia Bones is the head of the D.M.L.E – the department that attempted to send Sirius to Azkaban a few years back. Though, that was a different head at the time." Harry answered with a sigh as he rubbed at his eyes. He'd forgotten about the bloody wedding – not that he wasn't excited, of course. He'd just forgotten how political it was going to get.

"I sent Hedwig off with a message last week asking Sirius to invite you both." He added, looking at both Hermione and Tracy. "These two will be coming because they're political allies – the parasites."

Daphne rolled her eyes and reached over to slap him on the arm, while Neville kicked his boot. "We both know you'd miss us, Potter. Besides, I expect a dance." Daphne sniffed, settling back into her seat.

"There's dancing?" Hermione asked, wide-eyed.

"Only if you want to." Neville smiled. "It's expected of us – Harry and I are the last of our Houses, so we have to make nice with the heirs and the like. You could dance, or you could sit and read – it's entirely up to you."

"At least you won't have to deal with the wastrels twice your age waiting for you to come of age." Daphne sneered, looking out the window.

"What do you mean?" Tracy asked as she leaned across Hermione a little.

"Daphne is the heir to House Greengrass – it's a powerful family with allies on both sides of most political debates. No doubt they think they could control our resident Morgana." Harry replied, sitting up a little as his back began to ache.

"Why Harry, I do believe that's the nicest thing you've ever called me." Daphne sighed, batting her eyelashes at him, causing him to snort and roll his eyes a little.

"I wouldn't get used to it – you're still a pain in my arse."

"I knew he couldn't keep it going." Neville chuckled, wincing as Harry kicked his boot again. "Alright, I'll shut my mouth."

"Gods, that's the best thing I've heard all day." Tracy grinned. Neville, ever the mature one of the group – stuck his tongue out at her. "What about you, Harry?"

"What about me?"

"Any plans in the Summer that aren't Wizengamot and wedding related?" Tracy asked, smiling a little.

"I'm going away for a few weeks – looking over my lands and that sort of thing. I'll try to write, but I can't promise it'll be regular. You're all invited to Blackwall at some point, in case the two of you were wondering?" Harry added, looking between Hermione and Tracy. "By personal invitation of Lord Arcturus Black himself." Harry grinned.

"I'd accept it for that alone – he doesn't invite many to Blackwall. You must have impressed him." Daphne nodded, looking at the two girls.

Hermione flushed red and Tracy gaped like a fish. "I take it, that's difficult to do?" Hermione asked nervously. "He seemed rather easy-going when we met him."

"Arcturus has a certain reputation – one that's well earned, I'd add. He likes to act the intimidating Lord, but he's just as bad as Sirius at times." Neville chuckled.

"Drives Remus up the wall, I bet." Daphne nodded.

"You make it sound like I'm from a mad-house." Harry muttered. "He's always been stern, but fair – though he does enjoy turning Sirius's pranks around on him. I know he expects a lot from me, but he makes sure I'm happy and well looked after – I'd have him no other way."

The rest of the train ride passed quickly, and Harry even managed to catch an hour-long nap before he was shaken awake by his friends as they pulled into their destination. Harry yawned and pulled his cloak from his body and got to his feet, stretching a little. Daphne and Tracy were already out the door and standing in the corridor with their trunks.

Hermione was on her toes, trying to shimmy her luggage over the rail that kept it in place, and had her brow furrowed and tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth as a result. Harry gave a quiet chuckle before stepping around her and lifting it down. A quickly murmured thank you, and she was waiting with Daphne and Tracy.

Neville was next, lifting his trunk down easily, and even going so far as to hand Harry his own as he threw his cloak over a shoulder rather than put it on. There'd be no need for it – they'd be Floo'ing back to Blackwall.

The train came to a stop, and they waited by the doors. A moment later, there was a sharp whistle and the doors swung open. The air of the platform assaulted his nose first – it smelt of steam and bodies. The platform was packed with parents and guardians, all awaiting their children – he even spotted the occasional Muggle interspersed with the crowd.

He eyed the familiar black curls on the right-hand side with a grin – spotting a number of other adults that he recognised nearby. There was Augusta Longbottom, in her signature hat, Remus and Arcturus, both grinning at the sight of him – even Castor Greengrass and his wife, Thalia.

Harry waved as Tracy peeled off for a moment to catch up with her own parents, and Hermione had practically taken off at a sprint to her own parents – a friendly-looking couple not far from his own small group.

He dropped his trunk at his feet and threw his arms around Sirius, grinning all the while – moments later, he could feel Arcturus and Remus both wrapping their own arms around him as they all laughed.

"It's good to have you back, pup." Sirius whispered into his hair.

"It's good to be back – I missed you all."

"Oh, just you wait until we get back and you see what Lispy's been up to." Remus chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head.

"Oh, what's she gone and done?" He chuckled, pulling back for a moment, and eyeing the adults around him.

"Oh, just a bit of this, and a bit of that." Arcturus shrugged with a wink. "I think you'll like it."

"Harry!" Hermione's voice called, causing him to turn his head. He smiled as he saw her rushing over to him, her hair bouncing with each step. "I want you to meet my parents!" She grinned, almost bouncing on the spot. A moment later she was joined by two pleasant looking adults, clearly her parents from the family resemblance.

He held his hand out to her father first – the older man smiling at him kindly as they shook hands. "Mister Granger, a pleasure – I've heard a lot about you from Hermione."

"All good, I hope? And please – call me John."

"Only the best, I'm afraid." Harry grinned, and he saw Hermione roll her eyes with a smile. He turned his attention to Hermione's mother next – her brown eyes almost identical to Hermione's own.

"Missus Granger, a pleasure." He smiled, bowing, and politely brushing his lips against her knuckles as he was taught.

"My, a real charmer." Hermione's mother chuckled, elbowing John in the side playfully. "And please, Harry – call me Jean."

"Did someone mention a charmer?" Sirius asked, grinning, and winking at Harry. Harry looked nervously at Hermione – he knew the beginnings of a Sirius Prank when he saw one. Hermione returned his look as she worried at her bottom lip, she looked just as nervous as he felt. "Sirius Black, how do you do?"