All right, you guys, this is it. The first part of the third and final installment of the Insanity Trilogy. Okay, people, I'm warning you now, THIS THING IS HUGE. This is only the first fifty-four pages, and if my guess is correct this opus is going to wind up about three times that. (Hence my posting it in parts.) I also warn you that what you are about to read is complete and errant nonsense, plucked from my brain over the last two months and committed to paper in bits and pieces. For those of you with the guts to make it through this thing, I award you......um.....well, nothing, but you get the point. Anyhow, er, enjoy......::bursts out laughing:: (Um, ignore me.) ^_^

The Next Great Adventure

The night was chill and dark, with a great round harvest moon shining down on field and city and village, lighting all with a dim, silvery glow. Nearly every living thing beneath it was asleep, but in one small cottage near the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, a sixteen-year-old boy named Harry Potter was not to remain so for long.

Harry jerked awake with a start, his face bathed in sweat and heart pounding like mad. He'd been dreaming, he knew that, but it wasn't his dream that had woken him. He sat up and rubbed his face, reaching absently for his glasses and knocking over his glass of water in the process.

"Bother," he muttered, perching the glasses on his nose and throwing a wad of tissue over the mess. He cast about for his slippers, found only a half-eaten box of candy, and shivered as he pulled his bathrobe on. Moonlight was pouring in through his open window; brilliant, silver-golden moonlight that lit the ground-mist to an eerie splendor and made Harry wince and squint. The night had been warm when he went to sleep, but it sure wasn't now; Harry could fairly see his breath as he stumbled across the mess to shut the window, stepping on the soggy tissues and yawning.

Tissues were about the only normal thing in his room, which was crammed with enough oddities to give all the Dursleys a coronary. A bookcase on the far wall was stuffed with schoolbooks, both new and old, and littered with bits of correspondence from his friend Hermione. She was coming down to see he and Ron near the end of the holidays, but wasn't due for another day or so. A box in the corner was loaded with enough fireworks to blast the whole village sky-high, were it not protected with a number of tricky spells invented by the Marauders in years gone by, and piled all around it were the various order-forms that Ron's brothers Fred and George had sent his way for approval. Harry privately felt they were more interested in Sirius's opinion than his; they held his godfather and the other Messrs. in something like worship.

He'd been living with Sirius for two years now, ever since, through a very bizarre and complicated tangle of events, he, Lupin, and his friends had managed to prove Sirius innocent. The little man who was responsible for Sirius's wrongful conviction in the first place had lost his arms and the greater portion of his sanity in the process, but no one really cared about him, and Harry's life outside of Hogwarts had taken a very drastic turn for the better since then.

He and Sirius had bought this little cottage the summer before, and had been living after the fashion of two single males ever since--like slobs. As the Weasleys lived only the next field over, Mrs. Weasley had been spending the majority of her time trying to worm her way into the house with a broom, but Harry and Sirius would have none of it--they were proud of their mess. After all, they argued, Harry had been trapped with his neat freaks of relatives for most of his life, and Sirius--well, no one liked to talk about where Sirius had been.

Harry winced at the thought of Azkaban; it always started him on a whole chain of painful memories, and now he paused in the middle of his room, lost in them once more. Sirius had escaped to save him, but he would have had nowhere to escape from if it weren't for Pettigrew. And if it weren't for Pettigrew, his parents would still be alive...........

Almost by instinct, his eyes were drawn to the bookcase, one shelf of which was filled with wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him were countless pictures of his parents--one of their wedding day, one shortly after he was born, one of they and all their class at their graduation ceremony so long ago.

Here was a very battered photo of Sirius and Lupin, about to dump a bucket of something unpleasant on his father's head; his mother had her hands over her mouth in the background, though whether she was about to warn him or trying not to laugh was unclear. Harry had never seen this one move; it stayed nearly as stationary as an ordinary Muggle picture, as though out of reverence to the memory. Behind this was yet another photo, one of the many given him by the camera-happy Colin Creevey, and looking at it now made Harry's throat constrict as he felt the old, familiar prickling behind his eyes.

It was a picture of the farewell feast in his fourth year, when a combination of Peeves and some very interesting beans had contrived to start the biggest food fight in Hogwarts history. Zooming in and out of it were various students with armloads of food, but two figures stayed fairly consistently where they were. One of them was easily recognizable as himself, a skinny fourteen-year-old with untidy hair and the same round glasses he wore now, but it was the other one that always brought a sort of ache to his heart.

That other was a woman, a short, scrawny little woman of perhaps thirty-five, wearing black robes that were a shade too large for her and carrying a gnarled, highly polished wooden cane. Her long hair was black like his, but far more wispy and flyaway than even Professor Sprout's had ever been, and streaked with premature silver, and her strangely slanted eyes were an even brighter green than his. This was Professor Lorna Doors, his father's elder sister and Hogwarts' Herbology teacher of two years, who had filled the lives of nearly everyone at the school with a wonderful, unpredictable anarchy, and been the closest thing to a mother Harry had ever known.

It would have been her summer to have him this year, according to the bizarre custody arrangements she and Sirius had worked out. He would be in Ireland right now, chasing leprechauns and fairies and helping Doors do whatever it was she did during the holidays, and anticipating all the interesting pranks she and Sirius would pull when the term started again--for Sirius was a teacher, too, though he'd only started the year before. They'd had loads of fun, the three of them, for the better part of the term; they and Lupin and the Weasleys, generally wreaking havoc wherever they could, without a care in the world.

Harry should have known it was all too good to last.

Sirius wasn't the only new teacher that year; several positions had been taken over by newcomers, but one in particular stood out then as now. Her name was Joanna Starling, and she was the incredibly beautiful Ancient Runes instructor who had captured the attention of most of the males at Hogwarts. Harry himself had taken something of a liking to her, though not nearly so much as Ron, who turned into a gibbering klutz at the mere mention of her name. As for Professor Snape--well, he would have been the butt of jokes for years to come, had not the true identity of Joanna Starling been too horrible for most to speak of.

It had been considered a given, that Snape would work up the nerve to propose to her sooner or later, and as Fate (and the Weasleys) would have it, most of the school was present when he was supposedly going to. Starling, however, had chosen that wonderfully propitious moment to reveal her true identity as a transvestital Lord Voldemort, and things had gone downhill from there. Half of Hogwarts had fled into the Forbidden Forest, and the other half raced about the grounds until Doors got her act together and blew the whole school to smithereens, before siccing a veritable army of Cornish pixies on Voldielocks and hauling Harry off into the Forbidden Forest himself. It had looked like the whole affair was in the bag, and they might just be able to defeat Lord Voldemort after all.

And then they let the Phantoms loose.

Harry, Sirius, and Lupin had trusted Doors, despite their fear of her plan, and indeed it would have worked, had not Lord Voldemort managed to wreck all and rebound Doors's spell at the last moment, causing all hell to break loose. The Phantoms and a large portion of the Forbidden Forest were destroyed, but miraculously nearly everyone survived uninjured. Nearly, but not all of them. Lorna Doors had died.

Standing in the glimmering darkness of his room, Harry could still recall in perfect detail regaining consciousness after the.....accident. He had found his aunt, trapped amid a tangled wrack of rubble, and there held her hand until she was gone. And though she had promised to watch over him, though her 'funeral' was as perfectly disastrous as she could wish for, though Harry would swear he had felt her presence every now and then, there were times when he still missed her as horribly as though her death were only yesterday.

This wasn't the first time he had woken to fight back tears in the middle of the night; Sirius had found him thus quite often at the start of summer, and had done his best to find words of comfort. His mourning had grown less of late, and was confined only to the night, but he was by no means the only one suffering from it--several times, Harry had heard Sirius do exactly what he was doing now, though he never said anything.

He shook his head, telling himself for the thousandth time that grieving did no one any good, and started for the window once more when two noises stopped him.

One he knew well; it was the fluttering of his owl, Hedwig, returning with yet another letter from Hermione. The other one, however, was a complete mystery; it sounded as though someone were trying to scratch their way through the back door. Kicking the soggy tissues off his foot, Harry tiptoed over to the window and peered cautiously out, wondering what sort of strange creature Fred and George had loosed on him now.

"What the......?"

Clawing at the door below him was not an animal, but a person, a man dressed in black and carrying a large bundle in his arms. Harry could hear Sirius moving downstairs, apparently wondering what was up, too. He studied hard the top of the intruder's head, shining in the moonlight, and his eyes widened.

"No way," he muttered, squinting through his glasses. "Professor Lupin?"

The man didn't look up, but Harry heard the squeak of the door being opened, and low words exchanged between Sirius and the man who looked suspiciously like Lupin. Sirius's hand gestured to the bundle, and Lupin shifted its weight in his arms so Sirius could draw back a fold of the cloth. The two stood with their heads together a moment, but Harry couldn't see what they were looking at, and a moment later both entered the house and shut the door.

Harry stood a moment, utterly bewildered. Whoever their prowler was, Sirius had obviously been expecting him, but why hadn't he said anything to Harry about it? There was little he didn't tell his godson, and it wasn't as though they hadn't had all sorts of bizarre nocturnal visitors already this summer. And what on earth was Lupin doing here, if indeed that was Lupin, on the night of a full moon? Even the Wolfsbane Potion didn't stop him transforming........

A loud clunk sounded downstairs, and a sudden, "Shhh!" from Sirius. He murmured something to the other man, but Harry couldn't hear what, so he tiptoed as quietly as he could across his room and out into the hallway, mindful of the creaky board down the center.

"--doesn't know what we're doing, and now certainly isn't the time for him to find out," whispered Sirius, shifting one of the kitchen chairs.

"I don't see why you haven't told him, Sirius," responded a voice that was most definitely Lupin's. By the sound of it, he was rummaging in a bag for something.

Sirius sighed. "I would have, but if it......if we try this and it doesn't work, it would only make things worse for him. Better we succeeded and told him later, than fail with him watching." He was quiet a moment, apparently lost in thought.

Harry stood silent as well, wondering just what on earth they were talking about. Sirius had never kept any major secrets from him, and whatever this was, it sounded big. He had half a mind to go barging into the kitchen and see for himself, when Lupin said something that could only be taken as odd.

"I wonder, will she want to come back?"

Sirius sighed once more, but this time Harry could sense a smile along with it. "Want to? Remus, what with all that's been going on in Ireland, what with all that will be going on soon, it's a wonder she hasn't found a way back on her own before now."

Lupin laughed softly. "Well then....shall we?"

"I believe we shall."

There came once more a shuffling noise, and Harry shivered with cold dread as he realized just what it was they were trying to do. Sirius had to be a little crazier than he'd thought.....No magic could bring back the dead, even he knew that, and Doors was not only very dead, he was quite certain she'd been cremated after her funeral. What on earth had Lupin found, that he would even dare try such a thing? And HOW had he managed to find Doors's body (he was assuming that was what the bundle was) if she'd been cremated? The whole thing was bewildering, but Harry had a feeling it wouldn't be for long. On the other side of the door, Sirius and Lupin had begun to whisper.

Harry leaned forward, his ears straining as he tried to catch something of their chant, but the door was solid oak. He held his breath, waiting for a flash of light, some grand herald that a soul was being returned to the earth, but in that he was sorely disappointed--the closest thing to a herald came quite suddenly in the form of one great, violent sneeze, followed by a thud and a string of cursing that would have made Lucius Malfoy blush scarlet.

It might not have been much of sign, but it was sufficient to startle Harry into leaning a bit harder on the kitchen door than he should have, with the result that he, a coat rack, and a misplaced chair went tumbling with a crash onto the flagstone floor.

For a moment he lay, dazed and winded, before he became aware of both Lupin and Sirius chuckling quietly.

"I could have told you you couldn't keep a secret from that boy," said Lupin. "He's far too much like James."

Sirius stood and pulled Harry to his feet, dusting off the shoulders of his bathrobe and flicking a dustbunnie from his ear. "Yes, well, Harry, as I'm sure you've heard all that just transpired in here, and, well--" he swept his arm in a gesture to the shadows behind him "--say hello to your aunt."

Despite the fact that he had known what his godfather and Lupin were up to, seeing his aunt Lorna again came as rather a shock, to say the least. She was half-crouched in the corner, still sneezing violently and slapping at a strange powder on her sleeves. Harry stared at her for a long moment, before she finally glanced up at him.

"Oh, comb od, Harry," she said thickly, sneezing one last time and wiping her nose on her sleeve. "Quit gawking at me like I'm Nearly Headless Nick and give me a hug already."

Harry, hardly aware that his feet were moving, shuffled across the kitchen and threw his arms around his aunt, who gagged and coughed but returned the embrace all the same.

"Easy there, easy," she said, wincing and patting her ribs. "I've been dead a while, you know. It's not easy readjusting."

Harry quickly let her go, still staring at her as though he thought she might vanish if he blinked (which he did.) "But....how--?" He started to turn back to Sirius and Lupin, but the former clapped a hand on his shoulder and laughed.

"Harry, trust me, you're going to find out a sight more than you wanted to about reanimating the dead before this year is out," he said, gazing down at his godson. "You and all of us."

Doors, still brushing at her sleeves, grinned suddenly. "So I'm right in assuming I'm not the only person you two plan on--er--returning to this plane of existence?" she asked. "And you'd be better off putting it that way, rather than having people think you're pulling a Silversleeves."

Both Sirius and Lupin gave an involuntary shudder.

"Silversleeves?" Harry croaked, still too shocked to actually register a word they were saying.

"Dyonisius Silversleeves," said Lupin, rising from his chair and looking as though nothing at all were out of the ordinary. "He was the first wizard to ever seriously dabble in magical resurrection. Devoted years of research to the art of reanimating the dead, using old Egyptian books and the like."

"And it worked?" said Harry, thinking vaguely that for once he might be able to prove Hermione wrong.

"Well, sort of," said Sirius, brushing more of the strange powder that adorned Doors's sleeves off the table. "He certainly reanimated them, in the sense that they walked and talked and breathed, but.......well, it wasn't THEM he brought back."

"Then.........what was it?" asked Harry, not really wanting to know.

"No one's quite clear on that," returned Sirius, wiping his hand on his bathrobe. "Seeing as whatever it was wasted little time in killing Silversleeves and all his laboratory workers, before going berserk and killing one another as well. Only one person escaped, a small apprentice named O'Lenihan, and it's because of him that all such resurrection attempts were internationally banned--Lorna, what are you doing?"

Doors was rummaging her way through the kitchen drawers, her over-long sleeves rolled back and dust-covered robes dragging on the floor. "Looking for scissors," she replied, fumbling in the main junk drawer near the sink.

"Well, good God, Lorna, you don't honestly think we keep them in a drawer, do you?" said Sirius, sounding thoroughly scandalized. "Look on top of the icebox."

Doors did so accordingly, while Harry sank weak-kneed into a chair, suddenly finding his legs too shaky to support him any longer. This was far, far too much for him to comprehend so swiftly; one moment he was mourning his losses in an attic bedroom, the next he was brought face-to-face with one of the very people he missed the most. He felt like collapsing and running at the same time; he had to do something, make something, tell someone.........The idea of racing up to the Burrow and throwing stones at Ron's window appealed to him, but no sooner had he gotten to his feet than Lupin's voice, sounding quite shocked, broke into his thoughts.

"Lorna, what on earth are you doing?"

Harry looked up and saw at once what Lupin meant; Doors had found the kitchen scissors and was in the process of chopping her wispy hair with them. She dropped both hands and scissors at Lupin's outcry and snorted.

"I'm plantin' corn. What's it look like I'm doing?" she asked, nudging the fallen tendrils of flyaway hair with her foot. "This would be a lot easier if I had a mirror, you know."

Sirius stepped forward and snatched the scissors from her hands, looking quite grateful she hadn't had time to get snip-happy. "And just why are you scalping yourself?" he demanded, setting the shears safely out of her reach.

Doors looked rather surprised. "Well, really, Sirius, you don't honestly expect me to keep all this hair once I've got w--"

Sirius clapped a hand over her mouth, glancing nervously around and shaking his head. "Are you out of your mind?! They'll hear you!"

Doors, who was looking distinctly disgruntled and rather as though she'd like to bite her friend's hand, scowled.

"Mfffl flulff leth?" she said crossly, and Sirius hastily removed his hand. "Oh, come on, Mr. Paranoid, no one's going to hear me; hardly anyone even knows about it yet."

"All the more reason to keep it that way," said Sirius, still looking as though the walls had ears. "And anyway, for God's sake don't go getting slice-happy just yet; it's odd enough having you back as it is, and you without all your hair would be a bit too much. I mean, really, Lorna, have you ever given yourself a haircut before?"

Doors opened her mouth to snipe at him, but paused. "You know, I don't think I ever have," she said reflectively. "The last time anybody cut it was about fourteen years ago, when it got caught around the railings of the fence near Scotland Yard."

"Then don't you think you ought to leave it to someone who actually knows what they're doing? And anyhow, you go giving yourself that major of a change, people are going to talk."

"Yeah, I suppose," said Doors, eying the small pile of hair on the floor. She shot Sirius something of an annoyed glare, and added in the tone of an afterthought, "Though I suppose they'd be a little too preoccupied with the fact that I was even ALIVE to notice something like my hair."

Harry, who had been growing steadily more confused as this conversation went on, finally spoke up.

"Sorry, but I have absolutely no idea what you people are talking about," he said, sitting back down as his knees gave way once more.

Doors looked at Sirius, who looked at Lupin, who was rummaging through the cupboard. "And WHY is he still human?" demanded Harry, his head spinning.

"Well, that one I can explain," said Lupin, turning around with his arms full of sugar packets. "I've spent the last few months researching obscure branches of magic in Romania, and I came across a very little-known potion from which the Wolfsbane Potion was derived. It's immensely complicated and many of the ingredients are very rare, but I made it all the same. Finding a body for Lorna could only be done on the full moon, so I rather had to." He set the sugar down on the table, tapped it with his wand, and four cups of peppermint tea appeared.

"And how--how did you do that?" Harry asked, taking a cup and glancing at Doors, who was examining the house plant by the window. She waved her wand, muttered something, and a long, thin creeper trailed its way up the dusty windowsill.

"Yet another unknown spell," sighed Lupin. "Silversleeves discovered it, but his instructions were so convoluted it took me the better part of two months to figure it out." He took a long draw at his tea. "So long as you have some artifact of the deceased, you can draw upon the memory of them as they were at the moment of their death--cuts, scrapes, robes and all. Now, I just happened to have one of Lorna's old projects floating around--" He reached into his pocket and pulled out the remainders of what looked like a super-sized Dungbomb gone slightly wrong "--and so I used it in the spell. Took me long enough to get it right, but as your dear aunt hasn't sprouted antennae or poisonous fangs, I'll assume I did indeed perform it correctly." He shot an puckish look at Doors, who was sitting perched on the counter with her long braid pulled over her shoulder. In the light coming through the window Harry could see the strands of silver among the frizzy wisps had advanced considerably, and her young, mischievous face seemed a bit more weathered than before.

"Oh, don't get all full of yourself just yet," she said, her eyes twinkling green through the dimness. "I could still wind up growing horns like Whatsisname at the Ministry."

The kitchen roared with laughter, but Harry yawned as well; it was nearly three in the morning, and he hadn't exactly gotten to bed early in the first place. His three companions continued to talk long into the night, but Harry didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until Sirius shook him awake, some six hours later. And when he did, Harry knew Dumbledore was wrong--death wasn't the greatest adventure after all.

Diagon Alley and Other Disasters

"Come on, Harry," Sirius was saying, as Lupin clattered noisily around the kitchen. "We've still got to get to Diagon Alley for your school things."

Harry sleepily raised his head, peeling his cheek off the back of his hand and straightening his glasses. "Wha?" he muttered blearily, wiping a trail of drool off his chin.

"School, Harry," Lupin laughed, setting a pan on the suspiciously clean stove. "You know, that vast stone building where you supposedly receive your education."

"What about it?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. His head was fuzzy and heavy, and he couldn't quite remember just how he'd wound up at the kitchen table--

Doors! Harry sat fully up and looked quickly around, hoping wildly it hadn't all been a dream. "Where's Doors?" he asked, quite awake now.

"Oh, she's around here somewhere," said Sirius, looking somewhat amused. "Last I checked, she was howling over the state of the vegetable garden out back."

Harry's eyes must have gone as round as he thought they had, for Lupin clapped a hand on his shoulder to keep him from racing for the door.

"Not just yet, Harry. Breakfast's ready."

Harry wolfed his bacon and eggs, the morning sunshine pouring through the kitchen window and splashing across everything. Now that his mind wasn't spinning like an overwound top, he realized that he and Ron were due back on the Hogwarts Express the day after tomorrow, and he still hadn't gotten any of the supplies on his list.

Doors came clattering in while he was gulping orange juice, her hands and robes covered with earth and a great wisp of hair sticking out of the top of her braid. "Sirius, I don't know how even you could wind up with a garden that disgusting," she said, wiping her hands on Lupin's back. "You didn't even think to perform a basic Slug Repelling Charm, did you? Your tomatoes are holier than Remus's socks!"

She sat down at the table and snatched a piece of toast, scattering clods of earth over the floor and jogging Harry's elbow.

"What?" she asked, as Harry stared at her. "Still think I'm going to disappear if you breathe wrong?"

Harry nodded faintly, and Doors threw a thin arm around his shoulders. "Well, I'm not," she smiled, leaning her forehead against his. "Like it or not, I certainly hope I'll be around for a while."

Harry started to grin back at her, but before he could say anything the kitchen door burst open, admitting a freshly scrubbed, polished, and gleeful Ron Weasley, closely followed by Fred, George and Hermione, who must have arrived early. "Come on, Harry, time's wasting!" he said, jangling a bag of something that sounded suspiciously like money. "Mum gave me some extra money to spend, and if we hurry we can still make--"

Ron stopped dead in his tracks, Fred and George slamming to a halt behind him and nearly squashing Hermione. His eyes went rounder than dinner plates, and he paled visibly beneath his freckles. For a moment he just stood, gawking, and then--

"AAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!" He and the twins made a mad dive out the door, crashing through a trellis covered in Virginia creeper and landing with a muffled thud in Lupin's pile of old takeout boxes outside the door. Hermione continued staring open-mouthed, until a hand appeared and jerked her out of view by her collar.

Harry blinked, startled, wondering just what could have--

"Oh, NO," he moaned, fighting back laughter as he glanced at Doors, who had smacked her forehead.

"Something tells I'm going to get that a lot," she said, her eyes twinkling as she shook her head.

Ron's eyes peeped around the doorjamb. Harry knew the scene must look odd, to say the very least; Sirius still tearing at his bacon; their kitchen halfway clean; Lupin rattling around with two dirty handprints on his back, and Harry sitting calmly over breakfast with his dead aunt.

"What?" he asked, suppressing a snort at Ron's horrified expression. "Aren't you going to have some eggs?"

Hermione's eyes appeared above Ron's, followed by George, then Fred. All blinked blankly at Doors, who grinned and somewhat lazily lobbed a spoonful of jam at them. It hit George square on the forehead, but so stunned was he that he didn't seem to notice.

Hermione made a gagging noise.

"Oh, get in here, the lot of you," Harry sighed, as a blob of jam dripped off George's noise onto Hermione's head. Without a word the four complied, standing rather uncertainly near the door, as though determined to keep an exit nearby. Exasperated, Harry flicked his wand and the door slammed shut behind them. Ron jumped.

"All right, you guys, believe it or not we can explain this," he said, buttering some toast. "Or, well, they can."

He watched on in amusement as Sirius launched into his spiel, while Doors shook silently with laughter and Lupin kept coughing into his sleeve. His friends' astonished faces were enough to crack anyone up, and by the time Sirius had finished, Harry was choking into his napkin.

"So....that's it?" croaked Hermione, still looking stunned. "P-Professor Doors is back for good?" Sirius nodded.

"Well, okay, then," said Fred, grabbing a piece of toast and using it to scrape the jam off George's forehead. "Good to have you back, Professor. Almost wish I was still in school to see the horrors this year."

Sirius and Lupin exchanged meaningful glances, but said nothing.

"Well, anyhow," said George, after a puzzled glance at both of them. "We came down here to get Harry. We're on our way to Diagon Alley, as Ron was saying before he decided to send us all for a little flight. Mum's given he and Ginny some extra money, so Fred and I thought we'd go along and, er, supervise their spending." Ron snorted.

"Where is Ginny?" Harry asked, realizing that she hadn't tumbled through the door with the rest of the horde..

"Percy had a cold," Ron said, shivering. "Need I say more? She'll be down in a minute; last we saw of her, she was trying to force some potion or other down Percy's throat." He drained a mug of orange juice. "Say, Professor," he said, turning to Doors. "You want to come along with us and scare the bejeebies out of everyone?"

"Bejeebies?" Doors said, raising her eyebrows. "Honey, you've been around your mother too long. Nah, I'd better stay put and leave the shocking for when we get to Hogwarts."

The twins snickered, and Harry raced to get dressed, flinging on a set of too-short robes and clattering about in search of his shoes.

As he dug under his bed for another sock, Hedwig soared in through his window, a dead mouse in her beak. She landed on his dresser and hooted sleepily.

"Hedwig," he said, lacing up a worn sneaker. "I know I've said this before, but it's been a VERY weird night."

****

He, Hermione, and the Weasleys arrived in Diagon Alley about half an hour later, having forcefully pried Ginny from her somewhat ungrateful patient. Harry and Hermione headed off to Gringotts while Fred and George worked their mojo on their hapless siblings.

"Mrs. Weasley's going to kill them," said Hermione, as she and Harry made their way down the steps outside the snow-white building, their bags filled with clanking coins. They had just spotted Ron dragging a very irate Ginny away from Madam Malkin's, where she had apparently, if Ron's shouts were any indication, just spent half her money on a set of extremely fancy dress robes.

"We need dress robes?" said Harry, realizing that he still had yet to actually look at his school list. He pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket, and sure enough, down at the bottom it read 'Dress robes are required for all pupils, as the school will be hosting several formal ceremonies over the course of the year.'

"Huh," said Harry, bemused. "Wonder what that means?"

"I don't know," responded Hermione, looking over hers as well. "You mean Sirius didn't tell you?"

"Not a word," said Harry. They had caught up to Ron and the twins, who were trying to drag him back inside to try on dress robes of his own.

Harry shook his head and distracted them by mentioning that Ginny might want to pick up some extra Potions equipment, if she was planning on studying with Madam Pomfrey this year. Both twins shot him withering glares, but Ginny had dragged them off before they could curse him for it.

"Thanks," sighed Ron, wiping his forehead. "Knowing those two, I'd wind up with something that looked like it came out of Peeves's wardrobe."

Harry and Hermione laughed, and the three headed in to brave the horrors of formal clothing.

The shop was packed; Harry slammed right into Parvati Patil and nearly knocked Lavender Brown into a rack of buttons. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were leaning against the wall near him, watching the chaos with amused looks on their faces, but the rest of the house seemed ready to start ripping throats if they didn't get some service soon. Harry spotted poor Madam Malkin through the press, her mouth full of pins and looking very frazzled as she did up Padma Patil's robes.

"What on earth is going on here?" demanded Hermione, staring at the chaos with her mouth open.

"Haven't you heard?" asked Dean, snickering. Hermione shook her head.

"Ernie MacMillan says his cousin knows just why we've all got to get dress robes and stuff," put in Seamus, his face reddening under his freckles. Harry got the distinct impression he was trying very hard not to laugh.

"And?" said Harry, not really sure he wanted to know.

Dean and Seamus looked at each other. "Well, we're not sure we really believe it," Dean said after a moment. "But according to Ernie, one of the professors is getting married this year."

Harry gaped. "W-What?" he said, flabbergasted. "Who?"

Seamus shrugged. "Don't know. Ernie just heard that's what it was, and really, why else would we all need formal clothing? Dean's taking bets on who it'll be, but nobody knows for sure."

Harry and Hermione looked at one another, wearing identical looks of shock. "Wow," he said, understanding why Seamus wanted to laugh--the idea of any of their professors tying the knot was more than enough to make one chuckle. "Maybe that's what Sirius was talking about last night."

Seamus looked interested. "Huh?"

Harry hurriedly tread on Hermione's foot, warning her not to say anything, and said, "He kept talking like something big was going on this year, but he wouldn't say what. If that's really what it is, though, no wonder he wouldn't spill the beans. He'd want the shock value to stay as fresh as possible."

Dean snorted. "Too late," he said. "I think the crowd's thinning a little; maybe we should try and find something before all the good stuff's taken." He and Seamus pressed into the throng, leaving Harry and Hermione to process this new information.

"Wonder who it is?" mused Harry, watching as Dean, head and shoulders taller than most of their classmates, sort of swam through the crowd. "I mean, I seriously can't see any of our teachers having any sort of a social life....."

Ron waded over to them, clutching a lumpy, paper-wrapped package and looking harassed. "I'm getting out of here," he said, stumbling as a younger boy slammed into him. "I'll meet you outside, all right?"

Harry nodded, and he and Hermione split up to corner different assistants.

It wasn't easy. By the time Harry had actually managed to nab a seamstress, half the robes in the whole shop were gone, and he had to get a set of blue-green ones downsized about four sizes to fit him. He paid quickly, leaving the poor woman a fairly ample tip, and bumped into Hermione on his way out the door.

"Good Lord, what a madhouse," she said, blowing a strand of hair from her red face. "How'd you do?"

Harry held up his package, which had been tied with a length of hem facing. "Good enough. Had to get them shrunk a bit, but I suppose they'll do." He pointed at Hermione's parcel. "You?"

"Not bad, actually. Cost me enough, but at least I didn't wind up like Hannah Abbott. I ran into her on my way from the changing room, and she'd picked out some dreadful frilly pink thing that looked like an overdone doily."

Harry laughed, and the two of them rounded the corner to find Ron sitting at a table at Florean Flortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, wolfing his way through a hot-fudge sundae and smearing chocolate all over his nose.

"Ron, it's ten in the morning!" cried Hermione, aghast. "Couldn't you at least wait until lunch?"

Ron belched. "Nope," he said, licking the saucer and leaving his tab on the table. "Come on, let's get to Flourish and Blotts."

The three moved on, Hermione muttering darkly about poor nutrition until Ron called her Poppy Junior, at which point she abandoned her dignity and delivered a sharp elbow to his ribs. The two continued quibbling until they had reached the bookstore, where they found Ginny still poring over herbals and old medical books, despite Fred and George's attempts to draw her off elsewhere.

"Don't make eye contact," Ron muttered, as the three shuffled past. Each grabbed a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six before consulting their lists again and heading off in different directions.

The shop was somewhat dusty, and by the time Harry had collected all his books he was coated in a fine powder and sneezing violently.

"Ag," he muttered, as he paid at the counter. "Now I remember why I always avoid the library. I'm allergic to books." He glanced at Hermione, who was loaded down with even more bags than she'd been in their third year, when she tried taking every course Hogwarts had to offer. "What gives?" he asked her, pointing.

"Oh, these? Well, they cancelled the N.E.W.T.s last year, so I'm sure we'll be taking them this year instead....I just want to be prepared."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Hermione, if anyone in all Hogwarts is ready for the N.E.W.Ts, you are," he said, checking the coast to see if Ginny was hanging around. The three darted quickly out the door and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Where to now?" Harry asked.

The trio wandered through the apothecary and Magical Menagerie (Crookshanks had fleas, so Hermione stopped in for a shampoo), and Harry and Ron dragged Hermione through Quality Quidditch Supplies, where they ran into Fred, George, and Ginny once more. The latter had her nose buried in some thick medical volume, while the twins watched Seamus Finnigan pile gold on the counter.

"Where'd you get all that?" demanded Ron, gaping, as the shopkeeper handed Seamus a neatly wrapped broomstick box.

"I got a job," Seamus answered proudly. "Me dad paid me to be mail boy in his office, and I changed it all in at Gringotts for this beauty." He patted the box, which read Nimbus Two Thousand and Three on it. "Not a Firebolt, but I could work for about nine years and still not afford one of those things." He glanced out the window, to where his mother stood waving impatiently. "Ack, I've got to go. See you all at Hogwarts." He waved and was gone.

"Wish I'd had a job," grumbled Ron, rummaging around for his money bag. "Then I could have gotten this a couple years ago and still had a chance at the House Quidditch team."

Harry stared at him as he plunked the bag on the counter, then realized Ron still hadn't spent any of his extra money. He had quite a lot still in the purse, and apart from wondering where on earth the Weasleys had gotten so much extra money, he wanted to know just what Ron planned to do with it.

"I've been wanting one of these since first year," said Ron gleefully, taking a gleaming Nimbus Two Thousand off the rack and laying it reverently on the counter. "They've made some modifications since then, of course, so it's a bit faster and steadier than the old series, and now I've finally got a decent broomstick." Hermione goggled as he paid the cashier about forty Galleons and shoved what was left back into the bag. Without waiting for she and Harry to retrieve their jaws, he bounded from the shop and into the street.

The three wandered about the alley all day, until late afternoon rolled around and they realized the twins and Ginny were long gone. Everywhere they went, they were held up by classmates swapping rumors about the wedding, which was now apparently a verifiable fact.

"I just know it's McGonagall--she's finally realized she needs a man," gushed a Hufflepuff third year in the sweet shop.

"Not a chance," laughed Ernie MacMillan. As the conveyer of the wild rumor, he was more than enjoying his time in the spotlight. "MCGONAGALL? She's an old maid if there ever was one."

"I bet it's Professor Black," Mandy Brocklehurst, a Ravenclaw sixth year, sighed dreamily. "He had to get taken sooner or later."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all snorted into their tankards of cider. They wheeled round on Mandy, who went beet-red at the sight of them and made a mad dash for the restroom.

Colin and Denis Creevey, who had been sitting near Mandy, both waved excitedly when they caught sight of Harry. "Hey! Harry! Hi! Who do YOU think it is, Harry?" Colin squeaked breathlessly.

Harry fought back a sigh. "I don't know, Colin," he said. "Not a clue. I do know it's not Sirius, though." He and Ron both snickered, tucking Mandy's little tidbit away to torment Sirius with later.

"What about him and your aunt, Harry? Wouldn't they have made a good pair?" piped Denis, in an even squeakier voice than Colin. No sooner had he said it than his face fell, and Colin kicked him sharply.

"I-I'm awfully sorry, Harry, I just forg--"

To both the Creeveys' intense surprise, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all exploded into gales of laughter, tears streaming down their faces. The shop was crowded and noisy, and so only the Creeveys stared at them, open mouthed. Their very nervous-looking Muggle father called them off before the could gather their wits and demand an explanation, leaving the three to gasp for air until they could speak again.

"You know they're going to think you're crackers now," chucked Ron, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "Laughing when Doors is supposed to be dead, it looks like you've gone round the bend for sure."

"Well, it won't for long," put in Hermione, chortling herself. "I mean, she is going back to Hogwarts with us, right? She said something about shocking everyone at the school."

Harry paid, and the three of them made their way down the long cobbled street to the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron, where the could safely Floo home.

The sun was slanting westward by the time they trundled up to the Burrow to drop off Ron and Hermione's things. Fred and George popped out, to tell them that Mrs. Weasley didn't know about either of the you-know-whats yet, and to keep their mouths shut. The trio wisely mentioned nothing, and made their way down the grassy slope to Harry's cottage wondering just what Doors would have done to the place.

The answer became immediately apparent when they entered the clearing, and found the entire shabby surface of the cottage covered in a tangled, leafy vine. Smoke was rising from the chimney, and from inside the house there came a terrific crash as something very big made contact with the floor.

Harry stopped, glancing askance at the now unfamiliar dwelling and wondering vaguely if they weren't all reliving their Marauder days in there. Hermione grabbed his hand and pulled him forward.

They checked again on the threshold of the kitchen door, gawking. Not only could they actually see the counter (more or less--it was still littered with papers), Doors and Lupin appeared to be viciously dismembering the shelving in the sitting room. Sirius was nowhere to be seen, but if the splashing sounds on the second floor were any indication, he was actually attempting to do some laundry.

Harry gawked. "W-Wow," he stammered, taking in the newfound semi-cleanliness with round eyes. "I thought you'd do some damage, Doors, but this....." He trailed off.

Doors grinned at him, a wisp of silver-threaded frizz dangling in her face. "What, you think this was my idea? Good God no, honey, this whole insanity is Remus's doing. He always was a tidy little boy......Of course, it could have just seemed that way because he shared a room with James and Sirius..." She broke off and made a perfectly killing oinking noise.

Harry laughed; upstairs, a heavy thud sounded, followed by a splash and a string of curses. "I heard that!" Sirius called crossly.

"Good for you," Doors shot back, narrowly missing Lupin's head with a shelf. "It would have been wasted if you hadn't."

Even Hermione snickered, and Ron started coughing very hard into his sleeve. "So, what exactly are you going to do with all this wood?" he asked, as Lupin zapped at the joists on one end and effectively collapsed the frame.

"That would be a question better posed to Sirius," he said, whisking the lumber into a neat pile in the corner of the room. "Disassembling the shelves was his idea. I've no clue why, unless he wants to get rid of that wall."

Ron shrugged, but Harry was watching his aunt. Something was different about her (well, besides the fact that she was alive), but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.....

"Hey," he said suddenly. "You don't need your cane any more."

Doors glanced up, absently hopping over the broom Lupin had set to sweeping the floor. "Nope," she cheerfully affirmed. "Thank God, too; I'd probably kill myself if I came back and still needed that damn thing."

"But...I thought that spell or whatever it was returned you exactly as you had been," said Harry in confusion. "What gives?"

"I made a few modifications," Lupin put in, flicking the broom to a halt. "I knew Lorna would kill me if I brought her back still--er--handicapped."

"Wise lad," Doors said, throwing her arm around Lupin's neck and catching him in a loose but inescapable headlock. "Otherwise I'd have to try that trick Sirius always used to use on Peter."

"Please don't," grimaced Lupin. Harry got the distinct impression he was trying not to laugh. "I'd like to keep the blood flowing to my brain, thanks."

Doors released him. "Party pooper," she said, glancing at the ceiling as there came yet another crash from above. "What is he DOING up there?"

Harry shook his head. "Not sure I want to know," he said. "But there is something I do want to know, and that's is there any truth to this wedding rumor that was flying around Diagon Alley? Ernie MacMillan started it, but as all of you are teachers, you'd know if anyone would."

Doors and Lupin looked at one another. "Hoo boy," muttered the former, her bizarre voice taking on such a dismal inflection that all of them fought back a snort of laughter. "You want to do the honors, Remus?"

Lupin sighed. "Not really, but I somehow don't think that matters," he said mildly. "Yes, Harry, the rumor, for what it's worth, is accurate, but truthfully we don't know much more than you do. However...." He trailed off.

"However," continued Doors, as Lupin turned away to hide a small smile. "Given what we do know, I'm not really sure we want to find out the rest of it." She glanced at the ceiling as another thud shook the house, followed by a terrific splash and an indignant hooting that could only be Hedwig.

"Anyhow," she went on. "The wedding's due this Christmas, and we have the groom, at least, confirmed--"

Lupin snorted into his hand.

"This oughta be good," muttered Ron. Hermione kicked him.

"Oh, it is," Doors said, her eyes twinkling. "The groom happens to be one of your former Defense Against the Dark Arts professors, one, um, whatsisname..."

Harry paled. "Oh, you DON'T mean--" he started.

"--Gilderoy Lockhart," Lupin finished, watching their stunned faces with amusement.

Dead silence, broken only by Sirius's muted curses, fell.

"Eeep," muttered Ron.

There was a loud thumping on the stairs, and a moment later Sirius, covered in soapsuds and odd socks, appeared in the doorway. He didn't look pleased.

"Lorna," he said, twitching a strand of dripping hair from his eyes. "I don't know just what sort of spell you gave me, but right now I've got an army of pillowcases leading a war against Harry's owl." A sock fell off his shoulder and landed with a squelch.

The two adults exploded into laughter, and shook hands to congratulate one another.

"Smashing idea, old bean," Doors said, chuckling.

"Some things never change," Sirius grumbled darkly, sloshing back up the stairs and losing another sock along the way.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were still gawking. "Lockhart," Harry murmured, thunderstruck. "Who on earth would marry LOCKHART? He doesn't even know who he is, for crying out loud!"

"Greater mysteries await," said Lupin, glancing at the clock over the mantelpiece. "And I dare say we'll find out soon enough. Now come on, all of you, it's time we ate something before Sirius decides to drown us all. You three still have an extra day, but he and I have to catch the early train back to Hogwarts tomorrow to set up."

"What about Doors?" Harry asked, as they filed into the kitchen.

"Harry, you're forgetting: As far as the rest of the wizarding world is concerned, Lorna here is dead." Lupin grinned suddenly, mild but very knowing grin that made Ron and Hermione glance at one another and gulp. "Oh, I can't wait to see the look on everyone's faces when she turns up very much alive on Monday."

Harry grinned as well--the thought had crossed his mind, and suddenly, he couldn't wait for the start of term. In the span of one day his whole life had been flipped upside down yet again, leaving him somewhat disoriented but otherwise all right. And, he considered, as Sirius came splatting into the kitchen, that was not at all a bad thing.

The Surprise

"Mmm."

"Harry."

"Mmmm."

"HARRY!"

"AGH!"

Harry tumbled from his cot, landing with a dull thud and a nasty crunch on the floor of Ron's room, Hermione still yelling in his ear.

"All right, all right, I'm up," he mumbled blearily, rubbing his eyes. Hermione stood back, apparently satisfied, and left the room shouting something about socks to Ginny.

Once reasonably certain she wasn't coming back, Harry let his head flop to the floor, groaning. It seemed he'd only just gotten to sleep, but according to the wheezing clock on Ron's wall, it was already a quarter to six.

"Good morning to you, too," he muttered, feeling blindly for his glasses. Faint, very grey light was shining through Ron's window, the sky outside still dotted with stars and not a sound to be heard for miles.

"RON!"

Harry winced; Mrs. Weasley's bellow carried through the house like a foghorn. A muffled thump from the closet was followed shortly by Ron, covered in dust and looking distinctly disgruntled. He poked his head, still bearing an admirable collection of lint, out the door and yelled, "What?"

"Make sure Harry's up, you've still got to eat breakfast!"

Ron groaned, his shoulders slumping in their maroon pajamas. "Mum, we've still got an hour and a half before we even have to leave!"

"Oh, no we don't! Now hurry it up, both of you!"

Ron sighed and slid down the doorjamb, yawning. "You heard her, Harry," he said. "She's gone starkers, but there you are."

Harry made an indistinct gagging noise, but rose to his feet just the same. After digging about for clothes and socks, he wandered sleepily down the creaking staircase and into the Weasleys' kitchen.

Ginny and Hermione were already seated at it, nursing down pieces of toast, and so, to Harry's displeasure, was Percy. He had apparently gotten over his cold, for he was treating both girls to a deadly dull lecture about "the office" that likely would have put Professor Binns to sleep.

"Morning, all," Harry sad, but way of interruption, before settling down between Hermione and Ron's empty plate and reaching for the sausages.

Percy set down his tea and coughed. "Good morning, Harry," he said, in a oddly formal sort of voice. "I trust you slept well?"

"Mmm," Harry said, closing his eyes as he downed a long draught of hot cider--far from waking him up, as he'd hoped, it made him sleepier than ever, and his head drooped dangerously near the porridge pot before he snapped out of it.

It was swiftly turning into a gray, irritable sort of day. Somber clouds rolled in, obscuring the sunrise and forcing Mrs. Weasley to order a taxi once more. Fred and George popped their heads out the door to see what was causing all the racket, but trooped right back to bed when they caught sight of the clock over the mantelpiece.

Once all their trunks had been stowed (Doors's nearly exploded when the cabbie tried to wedge it in), Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Doors, and Mrs. Weasley all crammed into the taxi, getting covered in orange hair from Crookshanks and growing thoroughly cheesed off in the process. Ginny, who was jammed in like a sardine between Harry and Hermione, kept jostling them both with the sharp edges of her book (1000 Medical Miracles), and Pigwidgeon was making such a racket that Ron pulled him out of his cage and stuffed a sock in his beak.

All in all, it wasn't a happy group that wandered into King's Cross, in the dim morning light well before anyone else had arrived. The guard cast them a curious glance as Mrs. Weasley bustled to get them carts. He stared particularly at Ron, for it wasn't every day one saw an owl the size of a pigeon with a sock over its head.

Mrs. Weasley pried Ginny's nose out of her book.

"All right," she said. "We're going to take this one at a time at first, so we don't give that old Muggle a heart attack. Ron, you've got Pigwidgeon, you go first."

Ron pushed his cart forward until it touched the wall, and leaned unconcernedly against it. He disappeared quite suddenly, and Mrs. Weasley made them wait another five minutes before letting Ginny through.

Harry and Doors went through together, chatting easily until Platform Nine and Three-Quarters materialized around them.

Harry had never seen it so deserted. Unlike the Muggle platforms, it wasn't littered with paper and bits of refuse, but it did have an odd assortment of benches and a Gringotts cash machine. The Hogwarts Express, as big and scarlet as ever, stood beside it, puffing gently into the dawn.

"Everybody on!" called Doors, shoving the door of the last compartment open with a creak. "Ginny, honey, you can read to your heart's content once we're all aboard, but we need your help now." Without waiting for Ginny to respond, she heaved Harry's trunk off the cart and nearly dropped it on the girl's toes. Within ten minutes, all their belongings were stashed in their traditional compartment, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were bundled up in all their Hogwarts robes and cloaks, fighting off sleep.

Mrs. Weasley bustled in, checking trunks and other last-minute arrangements. She hugged each of them in turn, and deposited a neatly-wrapped sandwich into each pair of hands.

"You be good, now," she warned Harry and Ron. "Don't think you have to go making up for the twins' absence this year. Hopefully you'll even manage to learn something now."

"Oh, I doubt it." Doors had appeared behind Mrs. Weasley, her arms crossed and a grin on her face. "After all, if things go correctly, half the Hogwarts alumni will be returning, in which case nobody will be learning much of anything."

Mrs. Weasley jumped, then rolled her eyes; she'd only found out the day before about Doors's returned existence, and to say it had been a shock would be to state the case as mildly as may be. "Well, I at least hope they behave themselves, for Hogwarts' sake if nothing else. We wouldn't want the Daily Prophet digging up unpleasant things to feed that revolting Skeeter woman." She glanced at her watch. "Oh, dear, the cabman's waiting. Have a good term, all of you." She planted a kiss on each of the childrens' foreheads, hugged Doors, and hurried out to brave the Muggle world to get home.

Ron yawned. "Well, g'night,' he said, collapsing onto an empty seat. He was snoring before he hit the fabric.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Ron wasn't the only one who needed to sleep--Harry's eyelids felt like lead, and it wasn't long before he too lay curled up in a corner, falling into bacon-induced dreams.

It was the movement of the train that woke him. He sat up, squinting at the glaring light that flooded the compartment. A glance out the window showed him the sun was breaking through in places, landing on neat green fields dotted with sheep. He realized with a start that the train must have been going for at least an hour already, and he'd slept right through the noise of boarding and departure.

He wasn't the only one--Ron was still sprawled over one whole length of seats, Ginny was curled up on the luggage rack, and Doors lay snoozing in the sunlight across the back of Hermione's seat. Hermione herself was deeply immersed in a spellbook the size of a paving slab, one of the ones that used to decorate the window at Flourish and Blotts, with Crookshanks curled contentedly in her lap.

She glanced up. "About time you woke up, we've been on our way for hours. The food cart's come and gone about three times already. I finally told the witch you'd all died."

"Food cart?" All Harry's sleepiness vanished at once, as he realized just how hungry he was. He scrabbled through his trunk for some gold, knocking Pigwidgeon's cage over in the process. Whatever Doors had done to him hadn't worn off yet, however, for he stayed as fast asleep as his owner.

"You want anything?" he asked Hermione, as he fought his way to the door. She shook her head.

"All right." After tripping over Ginny's forgotten medical book, Harry finally managed to wrench the door open and stumble into the hallway--

--where he ran smack into Malfoy.

"Really, Potter, do watch where you're going," he said, surveying Harry with cold grey eyes. He had grown considerably over the summer, and now stood a good half head taller than Harry.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, easing the compartment door shut. Something was different about Malfoy, something besides his height--and then Harry realized he didn't have Crabbe and Goyle with him.

"Where're the boulders?" he asked.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and he snorted with disgust. "Crabbe's got a girlfriend," he snarled, his lip curling just the way his father's always did. "He and Goyle have been think up ways to get rid of me all summer."

Harry choked. "Crabbe?" he said, too stunned to be nasty. "Who on Earth would like him?"

Malfoy's expression grew even more murderous; having Harry Potter laugh at him definitely wasn't helping his already short temper. "Millicent Bulstrode," he snapped, glowering as Harry snickered. "And keep your mouth shut about it, Potter, if you know what's good for you."

"Or what, Millicent'll come after me?" Harry snorted, unable to resist. The other boy glared and made to push past him, but at that moment the compartment door slid open and Hermione stuck her head out. "What's that about Millicent Bulstrode?"

The effect this simple sentence had on Malfoy was drastic; his expression immediately softened, and he darted back around Harry so fast he fairly flew.

"M-Millicent?" he said, sweeping something of a clumsy bow. "Nothing, nothing. Er, how are you, Hermione? Been well over the summer?"

A steady flush was rising in Malfoy's pale face, and Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Fine," she said warily, clearly expecting to be cursed or the like.

Malfoy swallowed, glanced from Hermione to Harry and back again, and plunged on. "Er--Hermione, would you, er, like to, um...." The redness in his face had reached the intensity of a fire siren, and Harry was willing to bet it would have fried an egg if given the chance.

Hermione was staring at him as though he'd lost his mind, while Harry rolled his eyes. Fred and George had put a lovesickness curse on Malfoy in his fourth year--or at least, everyone thought they had--and apparently it still hadn't worn off. Hermione, ever oblivious, though he was slowly losing his marbles, and looking at him now, Harry couldn't blame her.

"Um, yeah, well, what I was trying to say is--"

Malfoy stopped. His eyes widened and all the color drained from his face, which looked as though he'd just been thrown into ice-cold water. Harry watched him in puzzlement for a moment, until he realized--

"AAAAGGGGGHHHHH!"

Malfoy let out a bloodcurdling scream, that was quickly stifled as Harry, Hermione, and a very bleary-looking Ron all dove at him at once, tackling him to the ground and clamping their hands over his mouth.

"Are you insane?" hissed Hermione, who was effectively pinning him to the carpet. This was not lost on Malfoy, who was blushing beet-red under his panic, but it wasn't enough to keep him from struggling like mad.

"Knock it off!" Hermione snapped, smacking him. She glanced at Ron and Harry, who were holding Malfoy's feet and struggling to get his wand before he did. She jerked her head at the open compartment, where Doors stood, arms crossed, peering out the doorway at them with a smirk on her face.

"That happens a lot around me, doesn't it?" she asked, her eyes twinkling. No sooner had she spoken than Malfoy relaxed--or at least ceased struggling--and settled for staring at her, horrorstruck.

"Mthelpftheth?" he said, his eyes round and a lock of silver-blonde hair falling over his forehead, giving him something of a crazed look.

Doors shook her head. "Draco, honey, come on in here and let me explain. Come on, you three, let him up, he's not gonna bolt."

Reluctantly, the trio let him stand, though Malfoy didn't really look as though he'd mind it if Hermione kept him where he was. Ron and Harry, both gagging, led him into the compartment, and Doors locked them all in. It was a very final sort of sound.

"All right, Draco," she said, in a rather pained voice. "I know I'm not exactly looking my best, but am I really that terrifying?"

Malfoy simply choked, mouthing like a fish out of water and looking as though someone had kicked him in the stomach. He stared at the small professor for a moment, before, to everyone's great surprise, rolling his eyes back into his head and passing out cold.

Doors sighed. "Yeah, I thought so." Motioning Harry to help her, she hauled the unconscious Slytherin up onto Ron's vacated bed, where he let out a strangled whimper but refused to wake. Doors herself collapsed next to him, her head in her hands. "Good Lord, I suppose I'm only going to be in for more of that when I get to Hogwarts," she moaned, but the corners of her mouth were twitching.

"Well, we were sort of counting on it," said Ron, sitting as far as possible from Malfoy and picking up Pigwidgeon's toppled cage. Harry and Hermione joined him, ignoring Ginny, who was still asleep. Hermione picked up her book again, as unconcernedly as though nothing had happened, but her cheeks were faintly pink from exertion.

Doors tried and failed to scowl at Ron, and instead opted for snatching Crookshanks and tickling Ginny's bare feet with his tail. Harry simply shook his head and stared out the window, at a landscape that was growing ever wilder as the train hurtled onward.

How long he did this, he had no idea, but before he knew it, the daylight was fading and the chill of evening had settled on the train. The conductor's voice piped through their compartment, announcing that they would shortly be arriving in Hogsmeade station.

Harry looked around with a start; he hadn't been are time could fly so fast, until he realized he must have fallen asleep again. He glanced around--Malfoy was still unconscious, but from the look of him he'd woken up and struggled at some point. Ginny and Hermione were reading, and Doors and Ron were playing Exploding Snap in the corner.

Ginny and Hermione looked up and stowed their books, and Harry stood and stretched. The chugging clatter of the train was slowing, and the four children made one last check of their trunks.

"What're we going to do with him?" asked Ron, looking down at Malfoy as though he were some sort of sea slug. The pale boy's hair was unusually disheveled, and even unconscious he had a look of vague terror on his face.

"Oh, they always check the train for stragglers," Doors said lightly, brushing back a strand of Malfoy's hair. "Poor Draco, I think I gave him quite a shock."

"Yeah, well, good," said Ron, heading out the door and down the corridor. "Slimy git, he deserves it."

Hermione, clutching Crookshanks in her arms, sniffed..

"You know, you really are rather hard on him," she said, slowing to a halt as they reached the press of people clambering to get off. "I mean, it's fairly obvious he's losing it, and--"

"Oh, Hermione, he's not losing it," Ron snapped. "He's just--"

Ron's words were cut off by a loud slam. Apparently Malfoy had regained his senses, for he tore out of the compartment as though the devil were at his heels. He bowled past Harry and Doors, who had remained in the deserted section of the corridor to avoid the curious crowds, his face white and eyes wide. He ran smack into the mess in the next car, where he promptly began making a fearful racket.

The two glanced at one another, eyebrows raised, and around the corner they heard Hermione sniff again. "You were saying?"

Harry stifled a snort of laughter, and Doors rolled her eyes heavenward. "Oh, really now--" she started, the corners of her mouth twitching. "I hardly see how--"

"Professor Snape!"

Malfoy had evidently made it through the chaos in record time, for he was barreling along the platform outside their windows, bellowing at the top of his lungs. "Professor Snape! Help!"

Doors stopped laughing at once. "Uh-oh," she muttered, going suddenly pale. "That's no good." The small Herbology professor turned and started pelting down the corridor, tripping over her long robes.

"Doors!" Harry caught her by the arm, halting her in her tracks. "Are you mad? You can't just go running down a crowded train, you'll cause a panic!"

Doors sighed. "Really, this is all more trouble than it's worth, I swear," she said, rubbing her eyes. "Go on, Harry, I'll meet you up there." Despite her gloomy expression, there was laughter in her voice, and Harry could tell she was going to enjoy the anarchy her presence would cause as much as he would.

After a mad scramble through the crowd, he finally managed to find Ron and Hermione, still bickering over Malfoy's sanity as they clambered into one of the horseless carriages. They were followed in by Neville, who, Harry noticed with displeasure, had also grown taller than he had. Ron and Hermione shut up at once.

The ride to Hogwarts was fairly uneventful, but Harry couldn't suppress the horde of mad butterflies that tumbled through his stomach every time he thought of the surprise that waited for his classmates. He didn't know just how Doors was planning to get to the school without being noticed, but he wasn't worried--she was, after all, Doors. He wondered what sort of welcome Lupin and Sirius had prepared for her, and if they had even bothered to tell Dumbledore.

The night wasn't exactly a warm one, and it was a thoroughly chilled group of students who disembarked on the shores of the lake. The first years, terrified as ever, shivered their way into the rowboats, and the rest of the crowd collected themselves and continued on foot.

It was with a sigh of utmost relief that Harry and company arrived in the entrance hall--this had to be their coldest arrival yet, with the sky above like frozen black velvet, dotted with chips of ice. Warmth flooded from the open doors, engulfing them all like a lovely blanket and keenly reminding Harry just how hungry he was.

"Mmmm....Heaven," Ron said, his eyes closed and sniffing the air. "Smell that, Harry? It's the smell of home, that is."

Harry rolled his eyes, but before he or Hermione could retort, all three of them were squashed together as the last of the students crammed into the hall. A smattering of black-robed students had trailed up the marble staircase, peering out over the forest of pointed hats in search of their friends. Professor McGonagall, as severe and square-spectacled as always, was directing the throng into the Great Hall, where the familiar four long tables stood laid out with golden plates.

"Food!" cried Ron, nearly bowling Neville over in his rush for the Gryffindor table--the fact that the plates were all empty didn't dissuade him in the slightest.

Harry shook his head, tugging at his collar and drawing a hand over his sweaty forehead. The heat of so many people packed like sardines was unbearable, and seemed all the more so after their chill walk from the carriages. The torches flickered as the crowd moved reluctantly, seemingly more interested in swapping rumors than sitting down.

"See?" gasped Ernie MacMillan, who was having his ribs crushed by a gaggle of second years. "I told you so. McGonagall doesn't exactly look like a blushing bride-to-be, now does she?"

"Well, maybe Mandy's right," said his friend Hannah, who was being shoved about near him. "Maybe it is Professor Black, but I can't think that he'd manage a social life without Harry knowing about it...."

Mandy Brocklehurst, who had been avoiding Harry's eyes since she entered the hall, suddenly burst into snickers.

Harry shook his head and started to wade through the crowds to the Great Hall, but was forced to duck aside as he realized both his shoelaces were untied, and trying to run through a stampede in that condition would be an extremely stupid thing to do. He took shelter behind a large statue of a furtive-looking wizard identified as Aelfwald the Schlepper, tripping over his robes and stumbling through a large quantity of cobwebs.

Quick though he tied them, by the time both his shoes were secure and he was no longer in danger of having they (and his feet) ripped off, the entrance hall had all but emptied. Several panicky and lost-looking second years bolted past him, frantically adjusting their hats.

Harry picked up his wand and started after them, but the sound of two voices made him halt in his tracks, cursing. He darted behind the statue again, extremely anxious that he not be seen--it would lead to some very interesting questions if he was.

Snape and Malfoy were coming down the marble staircase, the latter almost gibbering as he tried to get his story out.

"--S-She's on the train, her and Potter and all them, and they put a curse on me, I only just got away--"

Snape's cold voice, soft and somehow more malevolent than ever, cut him off. He sounded dangerously annoyed.

"Malfoy, you foolish boy, they've obviously cursed you, but not as you think," he snapped. "Professor Doors--" Harry heard the bitter sneer in his voice as he spat her name; Doors had always been rather a sore point with Snape "--couldn't have been on that train, Malfoy, think logically. She's dead, thank the Lord, and Potter and his friends obviously decided to play a little game with you--"

Malfoy wasn't listening; he'd gone even paler, and was mouthing like a fish out of water. Snape apparently noticed this, for he sighed and took the boy by the shoulders.

"Draco," he said, trying and failing to adopt a paternal tone, "I realize you were somewhat--" a sneer "--fond of Professor Doors, but she's gone now, and I only hope you won't let any unsettled emotions ruin your studies."

He gently guided Malfoy across the entrance hall, clearly wanting to get him settled without further incident. Malfoy was looking worse off than ever, however, and Harry had to stifle a snort at the look on his face. Somehow he knew (or hoped) the Fates wouldn't let Snape off so easily, and sure enough, he and Malfoy had taken no more than three steps before the snort Harry so wanted to give voice to sounded--from across the hall.

Malfoy jumped and whirled around, and cast one terrified look at the entryway beyond before fainting dead away, hitting ground with a dull thud. Harry clapped his hand over his mouth as Snape too started to turn, but at that moment Lupin came skidding out into the entrance hall.

"Severus, there you are," he said, adjusting his collar. "Dumbledore sent me to find you, the Sorting's nearly started and you need to--I say, what's the matter with him?" He had evidently caught sight of the prostrate Malfoy, who was sprawled in a most undignified manner at Snape's feet.

Snape was looking livid, as though the combination of his fainting pupil and sudden appearance of one of his arch nemeses was more than he wanted to deal with at the moment. He shot Lupin a frigid glare and snapped, "Potter and the Wonder Squad have him convinced Lorna Doors rode here on the Hogwarts Express, and he's worked himself into a fit over it. The little brats probably cursed him."

From behind his statue, Harry could see that Lupin was wearing a very interesting expression indeed--it looked as though he'd only just fought back a snicker. Snape didn't see it; he had glanced down at Malfoy, and by the time his eyes returned to Lupin, the other professor had composed himself.

"Really?" he said, still looking highly amused. "Seems a bit out of character for them, wouldn't you say? Certainly the boy's afraid of something, but do you really think Harry would so desecrate his aunt's memory, just to scare a Slytherin?"

Lupin was too evil--Snape had no response to this, though not for lack of trying; Harry could see his mind working furiously behind the cold black eyes. Someone else, however, evidently did have a retort.

"Well, I should hope not," snorted a voice--an unmistakable, all-too-familiar voice that issued from roughly the same area as the earlier snort that had fixed Malfoy's wagon.

Snape froze. All the color drained from his face, leaving it as pasty and pale as leftover oatmeal. His eyes went rounder than fifty-pence pieces, and slowly--as though he knew just what was behind him, but dreaded it all the same--slowly he turned, wearing a look of such horror that it was all Harry could do to keep from doubling over with laughter. He stood still, waiting for the inevitable--

"AAAAAAAEEEEEEERRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

Snape let out an even more bloodcurdling scream than Malfoy's, spun around, and bolted back up the staircase, so shaken that Harry doubted he could have looked more horrified if he'd caught Voldemort in the shower. He ran smack through the Bloody Baron at the top of the stairs, cast one last glance down at the entrance hall, and pelted for dear life.

Lupin sighed. "Lovely," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Lorna, I suggest you hide until this whole mess is cleared up and Dumbledore's made the announcements. According to Minerva, he's got a real doozy lined up, and it's best if the children don't have you hanging over their heads when he breaks the news."

Doors grinned impishly, apparently much pleased with herself, and hopped up the staircase, disappearing into the shadows while whistling snatches of 'It's a Hard Knock Life'.

Lupin turned to Harry, who was still behind the statue, his face looking worn in the dim torchlight. "And Harry, I don't think it would be very wise for you to be found near an unconscious Draco Malfoy. It might lead to some unpleasant assumptions."

Harry laughed, but before he could think of a way to sneak unnoticed into the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall came storming out.

"Really, what IS going on out here?" she demanded, straightening her hat. "The children are--"

She stopped. "Oh, dear," she muttered, gazing at Malfoy. "What's happened to him?" She shook her head, apparently not wanting to know. "Never mind. Get Poppy down here to attend to him; Albus still has to make his announcements."

Lupin set off down the corridors, while McGonagall swept back into the Great Hall. Harry darted in after her, keeping low behind the Gryffindor table until he spotted Ron and Hermione.

"Where've you been?" demanded Ron, as McGonagall resettled herself at the staff table. "And what was all that racket about?"

Harry fiddled with the clasps of his cloak. "Snape ran into dear Doorsie in the entrance hall," he muttered, watching as Lupin hurried back in.

Both Ron and Hermione choked, Hermione looking scandalized and Ron, delighted.

"Oh, NO," said the latter, but before he could continue Dumbledore rose, and smiled at the crowd.

"Good evening," he said, his half-moon glasses flashing over the crowd. "I have a few announcements, before we set to."

"Where's Snape?" someone called from the Slytherin table.

It might have just been Harry, but he would swear Dumbledore was fighting laughter.

"He'll be down shortly," he said. "In the meantime, it is my duty and great pleasure--" Here Harry was sure of it, their Headmaster was definitely at odds with encroaching glee "--to inform you all that one of your former professors will shortly be celebrating his nuptials at Hogwarts."

"His what?" demanded--or, rather, grunted--Crabbe, somewhat loudly.

"His wedding, stupid," Millicent hissed back, just as loudly.

Professor Sinistra coughed into her handkerchief.

Dumbledore continued beaming at them. "Yes, that's right, Miss Bulstrode, his wedding. Our former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart, has been recently engaged and requested that the wedding be held at Hogwarts. The staff and I were more than happy to comply, and hope it brings no inconvenience to any of our pupils."

Though Harry had known that was coming, the rest of the Hall had not, and at the words 'Gilderoy Lockhart' a series of furious whispers broke out across the room. Hannah Abbott, who seemed so talented at doing so, passed out cold. Tension spread like stinging ropes across the tables, as students either gawked with disbelief or fought impending illness.

"You've GOT to be kidding," Seamus Finnigan said, looking pallid under his freckles.

"I assure you, Mr. Finnigan, I am not," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling.

"Who's the unlucky broad?" somebody, who sounded as though he were going to be sick, called.

Professor Sinistra coughed harder.

"Ah, well, most of you will not know the bride, as she is of Muggle descent," said Dumbledore, who was so obviously enjoying himself Harry thought his expression ought to be outlawed. "In fact, she is a Muggle. Her name--"

"Oh, this oughta be good," muttered Dean. Harry coughed as he took a last swig off Ron's bottle of pumpkin juice.

"--is Miss Marjorie Dursley."

"PTHELTHELLTHTTTHH!!!!"

Harry's pumpkin juice was violently expelled across the table, splattering all over Lavender Brown and leaving great orange drips on the white tablecloth. In the silence ensuing Dumbledore's pronunciation the noise was especially loud, and nearly all the Hall craned around to look at Harry, wondering what on earth was up with him now.

"W-What?" he demanded, as stunned as though someone had delivered an unexpected and very hard punch to his stomach. "You're JOKING."

"As I just assured Mr. Finnigan, I most certainly am not," Dumbledore smiled. "And I trust you will make them both feel welcome, on this joyous occasion."

He went on to something else, but Harry wasn't listening--he felt rather as though someone had just doused him with a large bucket of ice water. He stared off into space for a long moment, his mind whirling horribly, until he became aware of Ron tugging at his sleeve.

"Harry?" he said, looking worried. "You all right?"

Harry shook his head, his voice mysteriously absent.

Gilderoy Lockhart and Aunt MARGE? Of all the things that could have happened to him.....Aunt Marge at Hogwarts, what a nightmare that would be, with her barking at him across the Great Hall and making goo-goo eyes at Lockhart....

Harry gagged, his appetite suddenly vanishing. Picturing the school full of Lockhart's relations was enough to put anyone off their dinner, and it left him feeling so horrified he thought he might just pull a Malfoy and drop dead--until a thought struck him, a thought that was at once very nasty and very hilarious: The Dursleys.

Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley.....knowing Aunt Marge, she'd drag them all to Hogwarts by their ears if she had to, to celebrate her long-overdue marriage to one of her family's worst horrors. His aunt and uncle's opinion of wizardkind wasn't likely to be improved by Lockhart, who had to be the most annoying person on the face of the planet. Harry could feel his eyes glazing over at the possibilities.....Dudley meeting Malfoy....Aunt Petunia, faced with the freezing scorn of Professor McGonagall....and as for Uncle Vernon, if Snape didn't poison him, Harry would eat his hat....

His thoughts must have read on his face, for Hermione nudged him sharply in the ribs. "Harry," she warned, sounding so disturbingly like McGonagall that Ron winced. "Don't you even think about it...."

Harry started to protest, but Ron cut him off. "Hermione, honestly. Even if Harry behaves himself, you really think Fred and George are going to? You heard what Professor Doors and my mum were talking about on the train--this wedding's going to be huge, they always make a big deal out of it when a professor gets married. All the old students show up--"

Hermione paled. "You mean to tell me," she said, looking torn between horror and a mad desire to laugh, "You mean to tell me that all the old Hogwarts alumni will be showing up for this? ALL of them?"

Ron nodded, looking more wicked than ever Fred and George could.

"Oh...Oh, God," she whispered, as the full implications of this dawned on her. Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, she burst into a fit of giggles so strong she had to stuff her fist in mouth to muffle them.

"Oh, we're in for it now," she choked.

Harry shook his head, a strange, wonderfully mischievous joy bubbling inside him as wild, half-formed plots and plans chased themselves through his head, each more crazy and asinine than the last.....He would be here, with the Messrs., the Weasleys, a school full of wedding guests, and Dudley. It was going to be heaven.

He gradually realized that the noise of the Hall had died down, and Dumbledore was speaking once more.

"Now, that's not the only news I have for you," he said, his glasses flashing as he peered around at all of them. His tone grew somewhat serious. "I trust all of you remember Professor Doors, our late Herbology teacher who passed away near the end of last term."

It was as if he'd doused them all with a spray of ice; the high spirits vanished quicker than the flick of a switch. A hall full of sad, still very wounded faces turned to him, wondering what he was thinking, bringing up something like that at a time like this.

"Her death left a hole in many of our hearts, a hole that even now has yet to heal. Many of you have been wondering why no new Herbology teacher sits at this staff table. I will now tell you.

"Professor Doors is not dead."

Silence.

"That's not funny," someone shouted from the Slytherin end. He sounded angry. "That's really not funny, you sick old--"

"Oh, shut your cake-hole, Baddock, it is so."

Harry hadn't thought it possible for a thousand people to turn in unison, but the students in the Hall certainly came close. All but he, Ron, and Hermione whirled round, gasping, to find themselves faced with the wispy-haired, weatherworn visage of their small Herbology teacher, who was at that moment grinning from ear to pointy ear.

"Now where's a camera when you need one?" she said, surveying the students' shocked faces. "Really, if ever there was a Kodak moment....."

Silence.

"Ga...ga....." choked Colin Creevey, trembling.

"Oh, don't you dare," Doors warned, uncrossing her arms. "Don't you even think about it. I've had so many people screaming in my face the last few days, it makes last year look like a bloody tea party."

It was her voice more than her words that did it, but as soon as she had said this the tension in the Hall dissolved, and Harry found himself snickering along with everyone else. Up at the staff table he saw McGonagall with her head in her hands, indulging in a rare smile, while Professor Flitwick chortled squeakily. Lupin and Sirius, who had been fighting laughter long before anyone else, were both chuckling.

"Well, as much as I know many of you are about to explode with questions," Dumbledore said, gathering the students' attention once more. "I must remind you that the feast is growing cold in the kitchens, and the house-elves will be most put out if we don't do it the justice I'm certain it deserves. Lorna, if you'd kindly join us, we can get on with it."

Doors wandered up to the staff table amid a torrent of whispers, all of which ceased as the food suddenly appeared on their plates.

"Now that's what I call a feast," said Ron, drooling. "Dunno why we take so long to get to it every year."

Nobody was very keen to tell him, as they were all too busy shoveling down all the delicious foods they could reach, still trying to talk and consequently spraying crumbs over everything. Harry noted with some amusement that the quality of table manners among the new students seemed to drop with every passing year--if Aunt Petunia could see them all, she'd probably die....

Harry snorted into his mashed potatoes. Oh, it was going to be a long, long wait until December, that was for certain. Mind reeling once more with possibilities, he ate mechanically as glorious visions danced before his eyes--exploding wedding cakes, Aunt Marge on fire, Peeves in a tux; it was wonderful, and how on earth he was going to last the months until Christmas, he didn't know.

Snape didn't turn up all evening, to Harry's disappointment; he'd rather been wanting to see what the frightened Potions master would do in a hall full of students and his now-resurrected arch nemesis. What with the understandable distraction of an excellent feast and an overload of bizarre information to process, nobody else seemed to miss him.

At long last the gluttony ended, leaving a Hall full of contentedly overstuffed humans and several extremely envious ghosts. Nearly Headless Nick, who had grown so indignant at Ron's unabashed shoveling that his head fell off in a rage, glided smack through a line of first years in his hurry to evacuate the Hall. Harry himself managed to rise to his feet only with great difficulty, and the movement caused his stomach to send up several disgruntled growls of protest.

"Whatever they're putting in that food, it ought to be outlawed," muttered Dean Thomas, rubbing his stomach and wincing in a placid sort of way. "We all keep on eating like that, we'll be as fat as Harry's cousin by Halloween."

"Aunt Marge would like that," Harry murmured to Ron as they left the Hall. He put on a high, sickeningly screechy voice. "'I do like to see a healthy-sized child'."

Ron, too full to snicker, merely shook his head. "If that's healthy, I'm happy to be emaciated," he said, stretching lazily. "I'm beat. I hope Dobby didn't take it into his head to give us all bedwarmers, though, or we'll have our feet burned off by morning."

Harry yawned; at that moment he was too tired to care whether or not his feet were there when he woke up. He had no idea what time it was, but the castle was filled with that cold stillness that only comes very late at night or very early in the morning, and he knew his eyes were going to feel like lead tomorrow.

Seamus stretched and shook his head. "Wonder how we're going to live till December," he said sleepily, running his hands through his sandy hair.

"More like how we're going to live through December," Hermione muttered, shivering. She alone looked halfway awake (though only halfway), but it was enough for her to spot Peeves, lurking at the head of the staircase with his arms full of onions. One of the Gryffindor prefects, who bore such an astounding resemblance to Percy it was almost frightening, darted up the steps and shooed him off, and got the full benefit of the disgruntled poltergeist's stinky shower.

"Yep, it's official, everyone," Ron mumbled, as they scrabbled through the portrait hole (the password was 'Mimblewimble'). He and Harry bade Hermione a weary good-night, somehow made it up the stairs to their dormitory, and both collapsed onto their beds without even bothering to take their shoes off.

The Waiting

Surprisingly (and perhaps mercifully), the first two weeks of term passed in a blur, in which nobody seemed quite asleep or awake. The delayed shock of Dumbledore's announcement set in with a vengeance, and the teachers could often be heard remarking that they'd never had it so easy, so pronounced was the lethargy with which their pupils went about everything. Only Doors and Sirius had anything to complain about--Sirius because his Animagi classes required a lot of energy on the part of the students, and Doors because she found it boring as hell.

Even Peeves seemed to feel the effects of the school-wide stunning, for his pranks were not at all up to their usual standard--he even resorted to planting Muggle-made rubber vomit on Filch's desk. Harry muttered to Ron that day that it was a good thing the twins weren't here to see him stoop so low, or it would have killed them.

Snape was rather slow to recover from his initial (and quite widely-known) shock, but recover he did, with the almost impossible result that Potions class became worse than ever. Had not the whole school been too dazed to retaliate, Snape would have found himself inundated with pranks from the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes order form, but luckily for him everyone was too preoccupied to even think of it. He avoided the upper part of the castle as much as possible, emerging from his dungeon only for very hurried meals in the Great Hall. Dumbledore, in a characteristic fit of wisdom, had seated he and the Marauders at opposite ends of the staff table, but anyone paying attention could see that arrangement wasn't going to work for long.

And so the two weeks passed, with such little incident they might as well have all been attending a Muggle school. That period of grace came to a sudden and very joyous end on the third Monday of September, when the school seemed to band together as one and snap out of it. And then came the horrible delights of anticipation.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione happened to be halfway through Charms when the intangible stupor broke, where they had been halfheartedly learning Apparition Charms ("They'll come in handy for your test next year!").

"Wow," muttered Ron, staring half dreamily as Trevor the toad winked to life in front of him. "How lovely...."

"What?" grunted Harry, who had most unfortunately had a pile of books appear on top of his head and fall to the floor with a crash.

"I was just thinking...." Ron murmured, his eyes unfocused as he gazed out the window. "I wonder what sort of wedding dress your Aunt Marge will be wearing?"

Harry and Hermione both gawked at him for a moment, before the former collapsed in a fit of laughter. The thought of Aunt Marge in a wedding dress hadn't even occurred to him, but now that Harry pictured it, he was fairly breaking his ribs with glee.

"Where did THAT come from?" he asked, shooing Trevor off the table.

"Dunno," said Ron, as Hermione zapped a book out of sight and back again across the room. "Just sort of.....occurred to me. Say, you think the Dursleys will actually show up at this thing?"

Harry shrugged, casting about for his missing herbal. "Depends," he said, snatching at the book as it appeared on a table to his left. "Depends on how badly Marge wants to drag them here, and how badly they want to stay away." He stuffed the book in his bag and glanced at the clock; they had about five minutes before the bell. Rubbing his head, he looked about for Hermione, who was trying to undo some disastrous blunder of Neville's.

"Wonder what Malfoy would do if he saw your cousin Dudley?" Ron said, half dreamily. Hermione, who quickly gave up on Neville, sniffed.

"Well, honestly, I just know this whole thing's going to be an absolute mess, and how any of us can be expected to make up our O.W.L.s with the school in such a state, I don't--"

Harry and Ron groaned, but fortunately Hermione was cut off by the bell before she could wreck their spirits any further. The three spilled out into the hallway, which was flooded with cheery autumn sunshine.

"Lovely day, isn't it?" sighed Ron, as they fought their way to the staircase leading to the Potions dungeon. "Wish we could actually enjoy it....Hannah Abbott told me Hagrid's got a fresh Pegasus hatching out by the forest."

"Better hope they don't get out into the vegetable beds like the Brownies," Hermione grinned. "Doors might turn him into one himself."

Harry snorted. Professor Doors had gotten hold of some weird and rare vegetable for them to play with, and some of Hagrid's charges had gotten loose and raised hell with them. Doors had been so mad she'd given him a week-long case of Twitchy Ears, and gotten Fang drunk.

His mirth at this was short-lived, however--in no time at all they were faced with the door to the Potions classroom, and the thoroughly terrifying hell that lay beyond it. Both Harry and Ron glanced at Hermione before they went in, and Ron silently mouthed, "Watch Malfoy."

The three were met with a blast of cold, as though the stone walls were sweating ice. Their breath rose in frosty clouds, and Harry shivered as he drew near their table and glanced at the Slytherin end of the room. Sure enough, there was Malfoy, his face slightly flushed as he watched the Gryffindors enter. Goyle was clattering around near the sinks, and Crabbe, as usual, was nowhere to be seen. Harry looked at Ron and rolled his eyes.

Hermione alone seemed not to notice the mooning Malfoy, and briskly set about arranging their cauldrons and ingredients. She had just finished color-coding her jars of powdered herbs when Harry realized they'd been here a whole five minutes and Snape still hadn't yelled at them. He looked around the room, confused--

"Oh, no way," he muttered.

Most of the class stood assembled and ready around the dungeon, but Snape was nowhere to be seen. Snape was never late for class--Harry thought it rather made his day to sneer at everyone as they came in--and the only time he'd ever shown up after the rest of them had been during that whole Starling fiasco of the previous year. That he should do so now did not bode well.

Apparently several other people had caught on to this as well, for some worried muttering had broken out around the room. A few of the Slytherins looked downright alarmed, but their fears were laid to rest a moment later, when the door slammed open and Snape strode in. He stormed up to his desk, robes swishing, and turned to face them all.

Harry wasn't the only one who recoiled as the Potions master passed--Snape had seemed more menacing than ever lately, for in addition to his usual ill-temper he had acquired an air of slight.....unbalance, that made anybody near him unconsciously think of straight jackets. The Gryffindors were by no means the only ones who thought he might snap and strangle them all--several Slytherins had been spending a lot more of their spare time in the library than even Hermione could manage.

"Good afternoon," Snape said, his voice so soft Harry could scarcely hear him; his eyes, glinting unpleasantly through a curtain of black hair, had an almost manic gleam in their cold depths. Harry shivered.

"Today we will be working on something new," he whispered, his eyes darting over the silent students. "Something you won't find in your textbooks. This potion is one of the most highly dangerous concoctions you will ever brew, and I warn you now that anyone who fails to follow my instructions, TO THE LETTER, will wish they were never born."

Silence. Neville gulped.

"I also must inform you that I sincerely doubt any one of you is ready to prepare such a work of artistry as this potion, but the Headmaster seems to believe otherwise. Even if, by some miracle, you should manage to do it right, I know none of you has the maturity to use it correctly."

The class glanced at one another, both interested and apprehensive. Hermione sniffed indignantly, clearly miffed at Snape's lack of faith in them.

"So, what're we making?" demanded Blaise Zabini, voicing the common question.

Snape's expression was so forbidding that Harry felt a momentary pity for Blaise. He took a moment before answering, apparently working up a proper sneer. "A--" slight shudder "--love potion."

Silence, broken by a loud sputtering from the Slytherin side. Closer inspection revealed its source to be Malfoy, who had gone redder than a sunset and looked as though he'd rather like to sink through the floor.

Ron kicked Harry and grinned--if anybody ought to know about the effects of a love potion, it was Malfoy.

Harry coughed, and an awkward moment passed in relative silence, while the Gryffindors, most of whom knew full well about Fred and George's activities, snickered into their sleeves.

"Moving right along," Snape hissed through clenched teeth. "I must explain this concoction, before I dare let you people loose with it.

"As many of you know, love potions are banned at Hogwarts, and that ban has not been lifted. What we are brewing is a highly diluted form of one of the oldest and most complex love spells in known wizardry, which will act, in the words of the Headmaster, as a 'cheer-inducing' drink."

"Sort of like wizard Prozac, eh?" muttered Dean. Hermione and Harry chuckled.

"Anyone attempting to make or even research the original recipe will have to answer to me," Snape continued, sounding so venomous that Neville trembled visibly. "Were it not for the Headmaster's--unique--sense of humor, I wouldn't let any of you near this potion, but as it is--" and here he shot them all a frigid glare "--get it right or pay the price."

He swept around the room and began handing out papers, leaving the class to murmur among themselves.

"Trust Dumbledore to help the fun along," muttered Ron, scanning the list of ingredients.

Hermione looked up from her crushed dittany. "What d'you mean by that?" she asked, adding a cupful to her cauldron.

"Well, think about it." Ron dumped a spoonful of rosemary into his own cauldron and turned to her. "Teaching us the recipe to an over-potent love potion just before a wacko wedding? He knows half the school will go look up the real thing, it's too good not to, and by the time we've all got it figured out right, half the guests will be here and Mrs. Norris will be mooning over a squirrel."

Harry laughed, and even Hermione had to smile. Snape glared at them from across the dungeon.

"Cheerful potion, huh?" Harry murmured, more to himself than anyone. "If anybody could use one, it's him."

"I heard that, Potter," Snape said lazily, shooting Harry a withering stare and flipping open his grade book. "That'll be fi--"

Harry winced, but before Snape could decimate Gryffindor's points, the dungeon door opened and in strode Sirius.

"Oh, hello, all," he said, stopping short on sight of the class. "Didn't mean to intrude, but Severus, how many times do I have to ask you for essence of Coreopsis before you finally cough it up?"

Harry hadn't thought it possible for Snape to look more murderous, but at Sirius's more-than-timely entrance his face had taken on a look of such fury that Neville gave a squeak and dove under his table.

"How many times must I tell you, Black, that I haven't got any?" he hissed, through a jaw clenched so tight it was a wonder he didn't crack a tooth. "Go ask that little tree-hugging friend of yours for some, it's her department more than mine."

The class looked at Sirius, waiting for his response, when the door opened yet again and Doors stuck her head in.

"And how many times do I have to tell you, Snape? Dumbledore made me ship all that garbage into the ingredients closet, which you in your infinite paranoia refuse to give anyone the key to." She turned to Sirius, who still hadn't opened his mouth to shoot a retort Snape's way. "And Sirius, I just thought I'd inform you that your class has invaded my greenhouses and almost trampled all the Candelibren Mushrooms. Get 'em outta there."

The class snickered, but Sirius paled visibly. Candelibren Mushrooms were some of Doors's more interesting pets, which belched fire at irregular intervals and had more than once set the gardens alight.

"The Candelibren Mushrooms?" he asked, sounding as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. "Lorna, you left them alone out there with those things? They'll get burned alive!"

"Aw, no they won't," Doors said, her eyes dancing. "I left Hagrid with them."

This completing Sirius's horror nicely, he dashed from the dungeon with a mumbled, "Oh, NO." The students watched him go, half amused and half afraid.

"Well, that was amusing," said Doors, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Pity it had to be a lie." She flashed a grin at Harry, and, after a moment's rummaging in the numerous pockets of her earth-covered robes, produced a lumpy paper package tied with string.

"Oh, my, that was ever so professional," Snape sneered, crossing his arms. "Honestly, are we running a school or a circus?"

"I vote circus," muttered Seamus. The Gryffindors snorted.

"Nah, more of a crazy house," Doors said cheerfully, producing more odd parcels from the depths of her pockets. Harry was very forcefully reminded of the only other time he'd ever seen her down here, two years ago when she had saved Malfoy from potential decapitation at the hands of Snape. She even had a smear of dirt on her nose, and it was a full two minutes before she had emptied her pockets all over Neville's table.

"What's going on now, I wonder?" muttered Ron, shoving his cauldron off the fire as it started to boil.

"Merry Christmas, everyone," Doors said, shaking the dirt on her robes all over the floor. "You're gonna be needing all that for your--er--potion." She gave Neville a nudge with her foot that brought him out from under the table. "Snape, that junk Sirius wanted ought to be on the top left shelf in the corner, if you haven't reorganized yet." She blew a wisp of frazzled hair out of her face, her odd eyes twinkling with an unusually mischievous light.

Snape seemed to be fighting for self-control. "Thank you, Lorna," he said icily, sounding about as grateful as a stray duck on a skeet range. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a class to teach."

Doors grinned and cocked her head to one side, observing the way the students nearest Snape flinched at his every move. "Erm, right," she said. She turned and added in a whisper to the students, "Don't worry, his birthday party will be ruined, once again, by his explosive flatulence."

Such a bizarre tone did she say this in that before they could help it, the whole class had burst into gales of laughter. Snape, who hadn't heard a word the Herbology professor had said, flushed the color of an old brick and finally lost it completely.

"OUT!" he bellowed, pointing a long, pale finger at the door. "I WILL NOT HAVE YOU DISRUPTING MY CLASS ANY FURTHER!"

Doors looked at him, apparently scandalized. "Really, you've done a more than passable job of that yourself," she said, her eyes widening and an almost-convincing look of innocence flitting across her face. Her voice lowered in a conspiratorial whisper as she added, "Don't worry, Snape, you're still the true Lord of the Dance, no matter what those idiots at work say." And with that she spun around and marched from the classroom, leaving Harry and company speechless with suppressed hilarity.

"Some things never change," Harry sighed, as the class set to digging about in the pile of goodies Doors had left them.

"Some things are better left they way they are," Hermione retorted.

****

Despite this more than welcome Potions diversion, school progressed as usual, with the slight difference that the days seemed to crawl along at a speed comparable to that of Ron's old broomstick. Harry knew it wasn't possible for time to stop completely, but it certainly seemed to come close.

Now that the school had woken up to the fact that the greatest chance for anarchy Hogwarts had ever seen was looming quite close in their future, a sudden and roaring joke business sprang up in a matter of days. From what Harry could see, over half the merchandise looked like it came from a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes order form, and he knew for certain that Fred and George were raking it in when they sent Ron a solid gold owl collar. It made Pigwidgeon drop like a stone, so Ron sold it and raided Honeyduke's.

The gag-plotting provided a temporary distraction, but anyone could see a more permanent solution to the schoolwide unrest would be needed, and soon. Hagrid confided to Harry that Dumbledore had called about three faculty meetings over it, but the only result was a lot of bickering between Snape and Sirius, and Filch's suggestion that all students be shackled until December.

At least Harry had the imminent start of the Quidditch season to keep him occupied--so many players had graduated that Katie Bell, before passing on her captainship to Harry, had helped him scout out all the potential talent in the whole of Gryffindor house over the summer. Surprisingly, Denis Creevey proved to be an astonishingly good flier, and Harry had recruited him as a Chaser. As for the rest of them, only two people had been known to Harry beforehand--Ron and Natalie McDonald, a third-year who had once lent him an extra Dungbomb. He'd never seen his team play, but he knew Katie wouldn't let him have anyone who wasn't up to strut.

And so another fortnight snailed by. Filch was kept so busy catching pupils trying to sneak out to Hogsmeade that Peeves got away with murder--literally--and wound up being chased over half the castle by an extremely irate Hagrid, taking wild swings at the poltergeist with a dead stoat. It took his Brownie population weeks to recover, and Peeves was so traumatized that he hid in McGonagall's broom closet and refused to come out for the better part of four days. Harry and his motley team flattened Hufflepuff in their first Quidditch match, much to Malfoy's chagrin--for Malfoy was now captain of the Slytherin team, and was having such a hard time dividing his attention between it and Hermione, it was a wonder he hadn't lost it.

Potions class had quickly become something of a favorite--not because Snape suddenly cracked and became a good teacher, but because the long process of brewing their "cheerfulness" concoctions (Snape still wouldn't tell them just what it was called, for fear they'd go find the recipe for the real thing) was an absolute riot. Harry privately felt Snape had good reason for not wanting them anywhere near it, as he and everyone else learned very quickly just how unstable the potion was when Neville knocked his cauldron over and nearly blew up the entire dungeon. Even Hermione was treading with caution around it, and what little of her time wasn't devoted to studying for the O.W.L.s was spent researching various love spells and their effects when altered.

"She's batty," Ron said to Harry one day, as Hermione staggered into the common room with her arms so full of books she was nearly falling over. "All this hanging over her head, and she's studying for the O.W.L.s? I haven't heard any teachers mention them, have you?"

Harry shook his head, tongue between his teeth as he studied the chess board in front of him. Ron's bishops had him hemmed in good, and his tiny knight kept swiping his lance at them in frustration.

"And as for all that love potion nonsense, if she doesn't quit it Malfoy'll hear about it, and Lord only knows what he'll do then," Ron continued, seeming to take Harry's silence for a response.

"Well, at least Halloween's coming up," Harry said, as Ron's bishops launched a double attack on his knight and threw him off the board. He was sure that wasn't legal, but somehow Ron's chess set always seemed to win on its own. "That ought to be interesting enough to distract everyone, at least for a little while."

It wasn't.

The Long December

The castle, always somewhat drafty in the winter, grew so cold that Dumbledore had to recruit extra house-elves to go around and find all the cracks, which the staff spent an entire Saturday patching up. The improvement was nothing short of remarkable, though they still had to keep roaring fires going day and night to keep the place warm. Every day, without fail, the ceiling of the Great Hall was covered with leaden clouds, so dark that the torches had to be left lit all day.

Quidditch season was cancelled early, on account of the numerous blizzards that started blasting through in the middle of November. Harry and his team were especially bitter over this, as their odd and highly unorthodox training sessions had made them good enough to flatten all the other teams in about five minutes. Ron took this especially hard, and went around snarling for days after Dumbledore's announcement.

"Stupid weather," he muttered, glaring out the frosted window in the Gryffindor common room. "Now what am I supposed to do with all my time?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Hermione, who was pouring over some book Harry would bet weighed half as much as she did. "How about your homework, for a change?"

"Ha-very-ha," Ron snapped, not turning around. "Wish Fred and George were still here. This place isn't half as interesting without them."

At that moment, a sudden explosion burst from the fireplace, sending clouds of purple smoke billowing across the room and bouncing sparks off the walls. Half the students looked up, startled, to see Natalie McDonald and Denis Creevey, both looking extremely guilty and holding a box emblazoned with the WWW mark of Wealsey's Wizard Wheezes.

"Oops," muttered Denis.

"Well, at least we know it works," Natalie whispered.

"You were saying?" laughed Harry, turning back to his Charms homework. "Cheer up, Ron, we can always go out and practice once the weather clears up."

"Yeah, and have our noses frozen off," said Ron, refusing to be placated. "Maybe I'll go help Doors clean out the greenhouses."

Yet another effect this unusual winter had was to force their only outdoor classes, Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology, inside the castle. Harry still wasn't sure just which one had been more of a zoo to move, between Hagrid's manic Pegusi and the Venomous Tentacula, which put up so much of a fight at being transplanted that they wound up having to take half the wall in Greenhouse Three along with it. Hagrid's monsters were currently occupying most of the fourth floor, while Doors had started having classes in the room across from her apartments. The whole castle smelled of herbs and fertilizer, something which Snape complained about almost daily (never mind that fact that his classroom stunk far worse the whole year round.)

"I wouldn't," Hermione put in absently, scribbling something on a roll of parchment. "She's down there with Lupin and Sirius, and we all know what that means."

Harry suppressed a groan. "Oh, I hope they don't mess with the ceiling in the Great Hall again," he said. "It's weird enough having it look like it's going to snow on us, we really didn't need to experience the real thing." The three Marauders, as bored and restless as any of the students, had somehow enchanted the ceiling so it dumped a whole load of snow on everyone halfway through breakfast the week before, and nearly started a fist fight between Snape and Sirius. McGonagall, in an extremely uncharacteristic fit of anger, had clouted them both around the head and actually threatened them with detention, before remembering she couldn't give detention to a teacher.

"I dunno," snorted Ron, cheering at the thought. "It was kind of funny to see Snape fall on his ass after throwing that punch at Sirius. Wonder what his problem is, anyway?"

"Who, Snape?" Hermione asked, still not looking up from her book.

"Naw, his evil twin," Ron retorted. "Yeah, Snape. He's been impossible lately, don't tell me you haven't noticed--" he put on a foul, simpering voice "--'All right, let's see how many of you can get this one wrong.' 'Oh, soooo close, Longbottom, but that will still be forty points from Gryffindor.' Honestly, without Quidditch, what's going to keep him from putting us into a negative score?"

Hermione sighed. "Well, the man did find out his girlfriend was Voldemort, for crying out loud. That's bound to make anyone go a little cracked."

"Yeah, not to mention that Lockhart's coming back," added Harry, grinning. "I know it's put me off my dinner a fair few times."

Even Ron had to laugh. "Listen to us; we're defending Snape, of all things. C'mon, Harry, let's go crash Doors's greenhouse and find out what those loonies are up to."

"Good luck," said Hermione, making no move to get up. "Just don't get lost on the way out there."

"Why aren't you coming along?" asked Ron.

"Oh, I've just got this feeling something worthwhile will happen today," Hermione said vaguely.

Ron rolled his eyes, and he and Harry scrambled up to their dormitory in search of cloaks and boots. Someone (probably Dobby) had placed a coal heater in the middle of the room, filled with some kind of enchanted peat that never went out. The two of them rummaged around in their trunks, throwing out all sorts of oddities before laying hold of what they wanted.

"You know, for once I'm glad Mum likes to knit," Ron said, pulling on a maroon stocking cap that clashed horribly with his hair.

"You're not the only one," said Harry, pulling out a thick crimson sweater with a large yellow G on the front. As soon as the cold front had moved in in November, Mrs. Weasley had sent he, Ron, and Ginny huge parcels full of warm things, to the envy of half their House. Harry had also bought a fur-lined cloak by owl-order, and some better shoes.

By the time he and Ron were clad against the cold, both looked more like walking yarn marshmallows then anything. Harry laughed out loud at Ron's hat, which had a big maroon pompon on the top, but shut up when Ron reminded him that his new boots had Rainbow Brite shoelaces in them (he'd had to borrow some off Natalie McDonald.)

"All right, all right, we're even," he said. "Now let's see if we can make it to the greenhouses without overbalancing and landing face-first in the snow."

He had good cause to worry--by the time he and Ron had made it to the front doors, both were sweating and half ready to call it quits right there. It was only the thought of what Doors's greenhouses must be looking like that propelled them onward, and out into the blast of bitter cold that hovered beyond the castle walls.

"Wow," breathed Ron, his eyes widening as they spilled out into the three feet of snow that had buried the grounds. The leaden sky was heavy with impending snowfall, and the faint breeze was icier than passing through a ghost. All was immensely, almost frighteningly silent, and so still it looked like a postcard.

"Nice, eh?" muttered Ron, his breath rising in frosty clouds. "Come on, we'd better get moving before our feet freeze to the ground."

Harry laughed, and the two of them started trampling their way through the drifts. Without the usual landmarks to guide them, they had no idea just where in all the blobs of white the greenhouses would be, and so simply floundered along until the cleared the top of a small rise and caught sight of a light in the dimness.

"Phew," he said, adjusting his muffler. "Somehow seems a lot farther in the snow, doesn't it?"

Ron nodded in agreement, but Harry could see he wasn't paying attention; his eyes were trained on the sky, and his head was cocked as if listening.

"What is it?" Harry asked, following his friend's gaze.

"I don't know," said Ron, still concentrating on something Harry was unaware of. "I thought I heard something, but....Wait, there it is!"

This time, Harry heard it clearly--sleigh bells, jangling faintly but very clearly in the distance. From the sound of them there had to be hundreds, but the oddest thing was that they seemed to be coming from the sky.

He and Ron glanced at one another, not sure what to make of this. The clouds were so thick they couldn't have seen a jumbo jet if it flew right over them, but it didn't stop them from looking.

"What the....." he muttered.

"Oh, listen, here comes Father Christmas."

Ron and Harry turned to see Lupin, Doors, and Sirius, who had come out of the greenhouse and were watching the sky expectantly. All three were bundled up against the chill, their faces flushed from the cold. Lupin had on the shabbiest overcoat Harry had ever seen, Sirius was all but buried in a large black furry thing that might possibly be a cloak, and Doors was wearing a long white rabbit-fur cape that looked as though she'd tried making it by hand (which, knowing her, she had.) Each was holding, wrapped in scarves and mufflers, a shivering Spineade Spudicus, none of which seemed to care one whit about noises in the sky.

Doors grinned at Harry. "You do still believe in Father Christmas, don't you, Harry? I would hope so, but even if not, you will in a minute."

Harry looked at her, utterly bewildered; did she know what was going on? No owls had been able to come or go for about a week now, so she couldn't have gotten word from anyone, but knowing Doors it wouldn't stop her from finding out.

He didn't have tome to wonder what she meant by that, though--the jangling grew infinitely louder, and suddenly through the clouds there dove one of the most bizarre-looking things Harry had ever seen.

It looked like a giant bobsled, hollyberry-red and so thickly covered in Christmas lights it was nearly blinding. It was drawn by a brace of puffing and extremely ill-tempered looking pigeons, and as it dipped lower Harry caught sight of the drivers--

"Fred! George!" he cried, as the glowing monstrosity touched down on the snow near the greenhouses. Ron's jaw dropped as all five of his brothers piled out of it, followed by a grinning Mr. Weasley and a rather green Mrs. Weasley.

"Surprise!" yelled Fred, cutting the braces and letting the pigeons fly full pelt for the Owlry.

"Thought you could all use a little entertainment," added George.

"Heavens, as if that infernal sled weren't bad enough," said Mrs. Weasley, clutching a handkerchief to her mouth.

"Here, Molly, let me," said Lupin. He waved his wand over her head and muttered something. Mrs. Weasley's expression cleared at once.

"Oh, that's better," she said, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Mum--what are you guys doing here?" asked Ron, retrieving his jaw. "Guests aren't due for another two weeks!"

"Somebody sure told you wrong," said Mr. Weasley, adjusting his glasses. "Though I must say, the twins could have set us down in a better spot. We'll have a fair walk up to the castle from here."

"Aw, they did fine, Dad," said one of his sons, a tall, ponytailed youth Harry identified as Bill. "Everybody else'll be landing up on the front lawn; at least down here we've got room to breathe."

Harry stopped short. "Everybody else?" he said, glancing at Ron.

Doors's eyes twinkled. "Oh, sure," she said. "It's like the World Cup, Harry; they've got to stagger the arrivals a bit so the Muggles won't notice."

Ron snorted. "As if a Muggle's not going to notice that thing," he said, jerking his head at the sleigh. "The decorations were Dad's idea, weren't they?"

Mrs. Weasley shot her husband an exasperated glare, but Doors laughed.

"Well, I think it looks wonderful," she said, surveying the brilliant object with squinted eyes. "Besides, you know those Muggles--one light in the sky and they're screaming UFO." She glanced up at the heavens, her breath rising up and covering her flyaway bangs in frost. "Well, it can't be long before everyone else gets here, so let's get all your things up to the castle before the stampede."

She, Sirius, and Lupin set to unpacking the sleigh, while the twins pulled Ron and Harry aside. Each was carrying a very suspicious-looking knapsack.

"Our contributions," they grinned, opening the sacks to reveal the most frightening assortment of pranks Harry had ever seen.

"We need to hide this and the rest of it in your dormitory," said Fred.

Harry was about to ask just what the 'rest of it' was, but at that moment the air was filled once more with the sound of sleigh bells--about then thousand of them. Harry's mouth fell open as a great spot of multicolored light appeared glowing through the clouds, spreading like heat on a woodstove.

"Holy....." he started, but his voice failed him as, one by one, almost five hundred sleighs, toboggans, and bobsleds came swooping down toward Hogwarts. They dipped down through the clouds all around him, drawn by anything from owls to raccoons, and every last one was decked out in Christmas decorations (though none was half so bright as the Weasleys'.)

"Hey, Harry, look at that!" cried Ron, pointing.

Harry turned, and nearly burst out laughing at the sight of an enormous green creation, covered in flashing shamrocks and sporting a Muggle disco ball. The freckled, sandy-haired woman driving it could only be Seamus Finnigan's mother, who, Harry remembered, had a Muggle husband. She zipped aggressively past a man who looked astoundingly like Pansy Parkinson, who shook his fist at her and earned himself a shamrock in the face.

By this time, half the windows in the castle were filled with gawking students, who obviously hadn't been expecting this any more than Ron and Harry. Several people recognizing their parents shouted and waved, while others searched the sky for some sign of 'their' sleigh. The leaden, twilit sky was filled with little flashing lights and the clangor of bells, and more kept appearing through the clouds.

"See, I told you so," said Bill, as the professors and the Weasleys started floating their luggage up to the castle. Harry had to admit he'd had a point when they crested the small ridge, and found themselves faced with a traffic jam that made Muggle highways look calm and simple. It was plain these witches and wizards weren't used to parking in a crowd, for already there had been several collisions, and Hagrid could be seen breaking up a potential duel.

"No, you cursed idiot, left! Your OTHER left!"

Harry whirled around, a sudden damper stomped on his high spirits--that voice could only belong to one person.

Lucius Malfoy sat atop an enormous, ornate, Slytherin-green bobsled, shouting furiously at his harassed-looking driver. His wife, a slender, aristocratic blonde woman, was turning up her nose at the commotion.

Lucius's temper was definitely not improved by Mrs. Finnigan, who went speeding by and sent a wave of snow over his sled, knocking the driver clear off and into the drifts.

"You stupid woman, look what you've done to my sleigh!" he thundered, quite forgetting his dignity. Mrs. Finnigan responded by backing her sled up and starting a terrific row with Mr. Malfoy, her thick Irish brogue ringing out over the din. Both their spouses looked downright alarmed, and it looked like Mr. Malfoy was about to pull out his wand and curse Mrs. Finnigan when Doors's voice rang out and cut them off short.

"Lucius! Shivon! Long time, no see!"

Both turned, their quarrel forgotten at once, and gawked at her for a full minute before Mrs. Finnigan hopped down and threw her arms around Doors's neck.

"Lorna! Faith, Seamus told me ye'd died, ye scoundrel! What d'ye mean by pullin' a joke like that?"

Doors caught Harry's eye and smirked in a way that said, "Here we go again."

Lucius had helped his wife out of the sleigh and sent her off with their butler. He was looking from Doors to Harry with an extremely odd expression on his face. Harry tensed, thinking he might decide to get curse-happy after all, when he did something so vastly out of character that Harry nearly choked--shoving Mrs. Finnigan aside, he caught Doors in a rib-crushing hug, looking as though Christmas had just come early.

"Don't you EVER scare me like that again!" he snarled, pulling away from her and shaking her shoulders. "Letting us all believe you'd died, really--"

He seemed to notice Harry's mouth hanging open wide enough to catch flies, for he laughed his usual cold laugh and said, "Don't gawk so, Potter; surely you knew there was scarcely a person in school Lorna didn't get along with. Only Gryffindor I didn't hate," he added, shooting Sirius and Lupin a sneer that was much more like his old self. "Remember that." He hurried to join his wife in the entrance hall, leaving Harry and Ron to continue gaping.

"Well, that was.....interesting," said Ron, as Mr. Finnigan hopped nervously off his sled and joined them. His face was so pale as he stared after Mr. Malfoy that Hermione, who had come out wrapped up in a bright red cloak, burst out laughing.

"You....you....you knew about this, didn't you?" Ron burst out, as Hermione doubled over and fairly howled. "When you said you had a feeling something worthwhile would happen today--why didn't you tell us? For crying out loud, how'd you even find out in the first place?"

Hermione wiped her streaming eyes, hiccoughing clouds into the frozen air. "I overheard Professor McGonagall at lunch the other day," she gasped, ducking as a stray owl flew overhead. "And--well--oh, you should have seen the looks on your faces!"

"Regular Kodak moment, eh, Hermione?" said Doors, adjusting her scraggy cloak. Ron stared blankly, but Harry snickered a bit. "Come on, you people, let's get inside before we all freeze to death." Doors grabbed Harry and Lupin's hands and swung them both through the snow, closely followed by Ron and Sirius. Hermione, still hiccoughing, made her way through the snow beside them, and (with no small difficulty) the little group fought a path back to the castle.

The chaos within the school was even greater than that outside. The entrance hall was far more crowded than it ever was at the start of term, with grown-ups milling about in confusion and children scrambling to find their parents.

"Good Lord," said Harry, fighting back a laugh as he spotted Neville's grandmother through the fray, whacking the Malfoy's butler with her handbag.

"Harry, you get the feeling we're in for it now?" asked Ron, as Mrs. Longbottom rounded on Mr. Malfoy and proceeded to give him what for, her vulture-topped hat flopping back and forth.

"Well, Lucius certainly is," snorted Sirius, as Mrs. Malfoy dragged her husband away from the fuming Mrs. Longbottom.

"Shouldn't you teachers be doing something about that?" asked Hermione, now recovered enough to speak properly.

Lupin chuckled. "Hermione, we went to school with most of these people," he said. "You think they're going to listen to us? No, it's going to take someone with authority....."

He trailed off, for no sooner had he said this than McGonagall appeared at the head of the marble staircase, a look of such sternness on her face Harry wouldn't have been surprised if she had turned to stone herself.

"Really now," she said, sounding for all the world as though she were admonishing a class, "How old are you all? Your children are able to get settled every year without incident, and I would certainly hope you'd be capable of doing the same."

And to Harry's amazement, the hall filled with fully-grown witches and wizards grew as subdued as a group of abashed first-years. He almost laughed at the hold McGonagall still had on them all, but at that moment Dumbledore appeared in the doorway to the Great Hall.

"Ah, memoirs of the good old days," he said, after surveying the scene for a moment. "Minerva, if you'll allow me to take over, I'd like to welcome our guests properly." His eyes twinkled merrily..

McGonagall looked somewhat embarrassed, but complied, and soon a whole throng of parents and students were trooping into the Great Hall.

Whatever forewarning the students might have lacked, the teachers had evidently been preparing for their visitors--alongside each of the four long House tables stood a second, decked out in its respective color and set for a banquet. The adults, getting the general idea, filed over to the spare tables and stood waiting for the staff.

Harry didn't think he'd ever seen an odder spectacle. Somehow the sight of all those parents, all those friends and enemies and comrades of all different ages, gathered (fairly) peacefully together in the place all had in common, struck him as a bizarre and singularly wonderful thing. No matter what they'd gone on to do in their later lives (and several of the people he could see had done some real doozies), all of them owed life, livelihood, and education to this one stone building in the middle of Scottish nowhere.

He shook his head. As fascinating as it was to watch Mrs. Finnigan chatting with Lavender Brown's mother like old friends (which, Harry reminded himself, they doubtless were), he soon found his eyes wandering. Mr. Malfoy and Draco were both smirking, while Crabbe and Goyle, whose parents looked like larger carbon copies of them, stared with dim greed at the empty plates.

The staff table was a good deal more animated even than usual, as McGonagall attempted to live down her little 'lapse' and the three Marauders held a discreet silverware fight behind one of the centerpieces. The table seemed somehow fuller than normal, but Harry couldn't place how--

"Oh, how corking," he muttered, elbowing Ron in the ribs. "Look who descended from the bat cave."

Professor Trelawney, wearing a red sequined dress and more jewelry than Harry would have thought possible, had seated herself near the far end of the table. She had sat next to Snape, who, Harry noticed, was eying her like something that had just crawled out of a storm drain.

"And this isn't even everybody?" gawked Ron, staring about the crowded hall.

"Not by half," said Hermione, straightening her cloak.

"Where are they all going to sleep?" Ron demanded weakly.

"Ron, you prat," said George, wedging in between he and Hermione. "Are we wizards or not? Dumbledore'll work something out."

The Hall was now largely settled, and silence fell as Dumbledore stood and raised his arms.

"Welcome," he said, beaming out at them all. "First off, I must apologize to the students for the lack of forewarning and shock I believe we've given them--you probably should have been in on this, but we staff members felt you could use the surprise.

"Now, you all know why we're gathered here, and why more of our alumni will be joining us shortly. We'll be celebrating a wedding at the end of this month--" Harry could see him suppressing a grin; this one was the money shot "--the wedding of former professor Gilderoy Lockhart to Miss Marjorie Dursley."

From the reaction in the Hall, the adults had been caught just as off-guard as the students had. Several witches (who had clearly once been Lockhart fans) gave little shrieks, and Harry heard Mr. Finnigan muttering to his wife, "Lockhart? Isn't he that idiot who erased his own memory?"

Dumbledore raised his hands once more. "If you'll allow me," he said, and the babble died down. "I wish to welcome you all back to Hogwarts, and advise you to tuck in on this feast before it gets stone cold. Sleeping arrangements have already been made, and your luggage is being settled as we speak."

He sat down, and the plates before them filled.

The feast went on for hours, well into the night and a bit of the next morning, as old friends caught up and banded together to embarrass their children. At one point Mrs. Finnigan remarked to Mrs. Brown, "Ye know, Seamus often writes of your daughter," followed by a knowing wink that made both Lavender and Seamus go eight shades of scarlet, and Hermione snort into her goulash.

At long last they trooped up to bed, collapsing in contented apathy to sleep until noon.

"Well, one thing's for sure," yawned Ron, crawling into his four-poster. "We keep having feasts like this, I'm going to need bigger dress robes."

A/N: Congratulations! You've made it thus far, so hopefully you're committed. I hope to get the next part up after this weekend (stress the word 'hope), but if the wedding proves harder to write than I'd thought, it might be a week or so. I'm going to ask you all right now NOT TO PRESSURE ME FOR THE NEXT PARTS. I mean it, guys, that just drives me nuts and gives me a writer's block the size of Mount Everest. All I ask of your reviews is mercy, though I'm not sure just how much good that will do.

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