~*~Please note that there are gremlins in the works and this fic may suffer from poor formatting. This problem is being dealt with at present – please be patient or try:

www. Schnoogle.com under 'alfirin kirinki'

Thanks, alfirin.~*~

When the Darkness Broke In

When Emerald Earth and smoke-grey Fire

With flamed Air and Rain conspire

So then shall the Power be raised

To end the Terror of the Second Phase.

Encompass'd by the single mass

And borne unto divided class

A dozen plus their sum hence squar'd

Shall unite to destroy a blacken'd heir.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter ~ I

Is This the Start of it All?

"I am not naturally evil…" Morrissey

Harry sat on his bed and looked around the dorm. It seemed so empty without the other boys there, but they wouldn't be long, he knew that. It was getting dark outside and the carriages would arrive in less than an hour. The feast would begin and along with it his fifth year at Hogwarts. Harry had just spent his first summer with Sirius and it had been easily the best summer of his life. He had been sent back to the Dursleys at the end of the previous year on Dumbledore's orders and he had gloomily settled back into the routine of avoiding them and trying to resist the urge to turn Dudley into a maggot. He had been back for three and a half weeks with no sign that anything had changed when the doorbell rang at eight o'clock one Saturday morning. "Go on boy – what are you waiting for?" Uncle Vernon snapped as Harry hesitated, about to put a turkey platter of fried breakfast onto the table in front of Dudley (his diet having long been abandoned). He had slowly made his way out into the hall, gazing uncertainly at the dark oak door ahead of him. Surely the Dark Lord wouldn't knock, would he?

The bell rang again as he reached his hand out to the latch and he jumped slightly, but took a deep breath and turned it anyway. When the door opened, in front of him stood a shortish man approaching his late thirties, with greying sandy hair and pale green-grey eyes. He had an ageless but troubled face that broke into a wide, friendly smile the moment he saw the boy at the door.

"P-Professor Lupin!"

"Hello, Harry…" Lupin said warmly, brushing the untidy fair hair out of his eyes quickly.

"What are you doing here? I mean – I'm not… but – "

"Not much time to talk, now Harry, we need to get your things and get to the cottage," Lupin told him calmly, before a look of mild disquiet crossed his face and Harry heard Uncle Vernon's laboured breathing next to his right ear.

"What in God's name…?" he began furiously, clearly not at all impressed that whoever was at the door was actually there to see Harry. When he realised that the person in question not only had the audacity to want to talk to his nephew on his doorstep, but that he looked as though he'd slept in his rather shabby clothes, he had almost boiled over.

"Vernon. How lovely to see you," Lupin said coolly, "I've come to get Harry."

Uncle Vernon looked at him, his jowly face turning a deep red with shock and rage. "How dare you?" he hissed, "How… dare you?! I have absolutely no idea who you are and you turn up on my doorstep demanding to take my nephew and…and… Who are you, you impertinent yob?"

"Remus Lupin. We met once before – many years ago; I was a close friend of your brother and sister-in-law. I've come to take Harry off your hands. Now."

The look of quiet determination on Lupin's face was so intense that Uncle Vernon's moustache merely twitched nervously and he seethed "Boy – go and get your things." Harry stared between them in bewilderment but didn't need to be told twice. He bolted up the stairs and began throwing all his possessions into his school trunk. It took an incredibly short time as he had only unpacked a few bits, reluctant to accept that this – this dull detached house in Surrey, where he was treated like a slave – was what he ought to call home. Five minutes later he was dragging the dark wooden box down the stairs, his firebolt under his arm and Hedwig in her cage in one hand.

"Are you okay with that, Harry?" Lupin asked, about to step into the hallway to help, but Uncle Vernon's ample frame immediately stepped into the way to block him.

"Fine. Lets go!" Harry said eagerly, making extra effort to bang the corner of his trunk hard against the pine banisters that they had just had put in. On the doorstep Harry turned and said. "Well, see ya, then, Uncle Vernon." Uncle Vernon made a sickened growling deep in his throat and slammed the door shut, before pressing his round, fat face up against the glass panel to see what they were doing.

"Such a nice chap," Remus muttered dryly. "Alright, Harry, one hand on the trunk one hand on my wand," he instructed, staring up and down the street to check no one was watching, but very few people in Privet Drive were awake at that time on a Saturday morning. "I'll take Hedwig – here…" and with a blinding flash, Harry experienced disapparation for the first time in his life.

They had appeared with a pop outside a little white cottage with large, red and yellow roses growing up a trellis on the front. The paint was peeling slightly and the thatched roof looked slightly green in places, as though it would soon need replacing. Immediately, the front door was thrown open and Sirius leapt out and flung himself on Harry. "You got him!" he said, beaming at Lupin, who shrugged and muttered:

"Of course I did… Dursley wasn't exactly putting up much of a fight…"

"What's going on??" Harry asked, almost dizzy with deliriousness and confusion, "What's happ – Professor Dumbledore??"

A tall, white-bearded old man had emerged from Lupin's cottage and stood behind Sirius, with a serious expression on his kindly face. "Hello, Harry." Dumbledore said softly, "Come, Sirius – we must return inside." Sirius stopped hugging Harry and led him into the cottage, Lupin closing the door quietly behind them.

"What's going on?" Harry asked again, settling onto a large, floral-patterned sofa with Sirius beside him while Dumbledore stood near the window and Professor Lupin disappeared into the next room to make tea.

"I'm free!" Sirius cried, clasping Harry's wrist, "They caught Wormtail and managed to get a witnessed confession out of him before Fudge got anywhere near him! We think he's gone mad – he's locked up in St.Mungo's – says Voldemort's coming for him…"

"I would suspect," Dumbledore cut in, "that he is not far from the truth. Voldemort will not give up easily. There is no question that he has returned – he is not at full power yet, but he is certainly working towards it. The Dursleys' was no longer safe for you Harry. You will stay here for the remainder of the summer where the wards are more powerful and you have many watchful eyes about you."

"Where is 'here', anyway?" Harry asked, staring around the cosy sitting room, and straining to see out of the windows to see if he recognised any landmarks, completely bewildered by what he as hearing.

"This is my cottage, Harry," Lupin said, returning to the room with a tray of tea and a plate of bread. He placed it on a small wooden table in front of the sofa and with a little flick of his wand the bread turned into a pile of buttered toast. "It's not much, admittedly, but it's the safest place for you outside Hogwarts. For the moment at least."

"It's great, Professor!" Harry told him, already in love with the low wooden beams and redbrick fireplace, currently holding an artfully positioned pile of unlit logs.

"I'm not your professor anymore, Harry. And as you're going to be living here you should definitely be calling me Remus…"

"Call him Moony!" Sirius laughed. Remus shot him an unamused look. "Don't complain, Moo – I can think of things much worse that I could suggest he calls you!"

Remus rolled his eyes and turned to his new guest, "Ignore him, Harry – he's just being a pain in the neck. He's been a nightmare since he heard he was free. Like a hyperactive puppy." He turned back to Sirius and pointed his wand at him warningly, although he was smiling fondly. "Behave, or I won't throw you a single stick for the rest of the month." Sirius gave a small mock whine and hung his head.

"Alright," Harry laughed, enjoying the playful exchange. He looked around the room again. "But… I don't understand – I mean what's been happening in the past three weeks for everything to have changed?"

"It's a long and complicated story, and it has taken more than three weeks for the events to unfold, but I am sure Remus and your godfather will tell you all about it as best they can. In the meantime we need to be sure that you will follow our wishes with utmost respect, Harry. We have had word that Voldemort is planning on consuming yet more power. We do not know, yet, what this may mean, but we are all firm in the belief that this will involve you."

"What's new?" Harry muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Complacency will do you no good, Harry, you must appreciate the danger you are in," Dumbledore told him gravely, "You must not go anywhere without either Sirius or Remus or the Weasleys – you may trust no one else, for, as we have already learned, we cannot trust even those we think we know well. The cottage is to be moved soon, to the periphery of the school grounds. You will have every ward possible there to protect you, but you must still exercise caution – he has reached you before and, if this is indeed his intention, he will do again."

It had been the second week in August that Harry had taken a trip to Diagon Alley with both Sirius and Remus. He had gone to pick up a book he'd ordered (Life Without the Wand – an essay on the art of wandless-magic), and a few other things that he had missed out on when he and Remus had met the Weasleys and Hermione there at the beginning of July, while they popped into the shop next door. They had felt that little harm could come to him if they were so close by, and had taken a rare risk with his safety. He had been standing at the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, waiting for them, admiring the new Light-Year2020 and wondering if maybe it was worthwhile going to buy some more wax for his maintenance kit, when something reflecting in the window caught his eye. A figure dressed in black jeans and a thin, black, long-sleeve top was standing watching him from beside the window of Flourish and Blotts. Oh great. What a way to ruin a perfectly good mood. He turned, slowly, preparing a list of defensive put-downs in his head, knowing he'd have forgotten them all by the time he opened his mouth.

About eight feet away, on the other side of the narrow cobbled street, Draco Malfoy stood, a cigarette in one hand and a vaguely appraising look on his face. I didn't know he smokes… They stared at each other guardedly for a moment before Malfoy leant away from the window, revealing a display of Wendolina Woolfe's latest novel. He stepped through the stream of passers by and moved to stand looking in to the window of Q.Q.S. boredly. "Personally, I preferred the 1900 series…" he drawled, taking a drag on the cigarette. Harry winced inwardly, Malfoy smoking Muggle (Muggle!) cigarettes was really odd to observe. The blonde boy turned to him with a half-smirk on his face. "I see your godfather's finally free… took them long enough, didn't it?"

Harry couldn't really tell how Malfoy meant that to sound, but judging from his previous experience it was the beginning of an attempt to piss him off and Harry really wasn't it the mood. "Oh get stuffed, Malfoy, you prat…" he muttered, and turned to walk away – the broom wax could wait. But as he turned a thin but strong set of fingers clasped his arm. "Don't walk away when I'm talking to you."

Surprised, Harry turned back to look at him. "Why the hell not? Whenever you talk to me it's to upset me – why should I stand around and listen when I don't have to? You've already started on Sirius and I'm just not in the mood. Go and find someone else to annoy…" he tried to yank his hand away but failed. Clearly Malfoy was stronger than his slight frame suggested.

"I was making an observation, Potter, not attempting to piss you off – if I wanted to do that I would have pointed out that you've put on weight. And waited until someone was listening to do so." He gave a smug little grin and took another drag on his cigarette. Harry waited to have a cloud of smoke blown in his face, but to his surprise Malfoy actually made the effort to turn away as he exhaled. "Had a good summer, have you?"

Harry nearly laughed. Malfoy? Small talk? No. "Alright, what's the joke? Crabbe lurking in the shadows ready to lamp me with a plank of wood so you can drag me off to your father, is he? You do know Sirius and Remus are only in Wilbur Jones's, don't you?"

Malfoy's features twitched slightly. "You don't seriously believe I spend my summers with that pair of goons, do you, Potter? I get away from the imbecilic pair of apes at the first opportunity!" he told him indignantly, adding, "I'd rather have no company than bad company."

"Well in that case you won't mind getting off my arm and letting me get on with it, will you, Malfoy?" Harry snapped, starting to get a little annoyed and exceptionally bemused by Malfoy's behaviour. Either B&H weren't the only thing he'd been smoking, or he was up to something and thought he was being subtle.

The blonde boy's features flickered again and he dropped his grip on Harry's arm. Harry began to turn away again as Malfoy took a last drag of the cigarette and tossed the butt onto the cobbled path. "Potter, can I come with you?" That was just too much for Harry and he burst out laughing.

"Um, Malfoy - it seems to have slipped your mind that we hate each other!" This time there was no mistaking the flinch his words brought about in Malfoy. He turned his steely grey eyes back to the Light-Year2020 in the window and murmured what sounded like "Life's too short…"

"Well, you've learnt that a bit late, haven't you?" Harry muttered back.

"I didn't have a choice…" Malfoy told him bitterly. The tone of his voice was not one Harry had heard from him before, and he stood and gazed at him apprehensively.

"Malfoy, I don't know what you're doing but keep me out of it," he told him, half confused, half irritated. Here they were in the middle of Diagon Alley on a Saturday afternoon and Malfoy had suddenly decided to make friends and become bitter and angst ridden on him! Frankly, at that moment in time he wanted the old, hateful Malfoy back. At least he could just throw a couple of nasty retorts at him and walk off without feeling guilty when he was like that, but Harry's abruptness was disguising a growing (and somewhat disturbing) sense of pity. "If you want some friends maybe you should try finding a Hufflepuff or something…"

Malfoy looked at him as if he'd just suggested he should go and rent someone. "Fine. I tried. It seems that I forgot The Boy Who Lived is above basic conversation. Well it's your loss. See you at school," he said eventually, sounding very slightly like Harry wasn't the one he was trying to convince. He turned to walk away and Harry just gazed after him completely unsettled by the whole episode. He went straight into W. Jones's to find his guardians and forgot about the broom wax altogether. Later, he had tried to decide whether it was worth telling Ron and Hermione. He'd decided not to for now, and to at least wait until they got back to school, because at the moment he had bigger fish to fry where they were concerned.

By the time he heard the carriages pulling up on a distant side of the castle Harry had fully unpacked and he eagerly bounded down the stairs to meet the other Gryffindors in the main hall. Hermione ran up to him and flung her arms around his neck, beaming broadly. "Oh Harry it's so good to see you!" she cried as if she hadn't seen him for months, when really it had only been a few weeks. Harry looked at Ron questioningly and hugged her back. "Er… yeah, I missed you too, Herm…" he told her as Ron shrugged at him, "Shall we go in and sit down, then?"

"She was even worse when I met her at King's Cross…" Ron murmured as Hermione turned to say something to Ginny. "She kissed me on the cheek!"

They joined everyone in the Great Hall and took places at the Gryffindor table. As soon as she had sat opposite him Hermione gasped and pointed at his robes in horror "Harry! Where is it?" she demanded aghast.

"Where's what?"

"Your Junior Prefect badge!"

"Oh. That." Harry muttered grimacing. That damn Prefect Thing. He hadn't wanted to be a prefect at all – all the extra attention and responsibility would be less than pleasant and he had just been made captain of the Quidditch team and the last thing he needed in his O.W.Ls year was even more responsibility. Let alone the fact that he knew Ron would have killed for the job… His Quidditch skills had improved considerably with the years of practise and Harry had decided over the summer that he would be fully justified in giving him a position on the team this year, but he wasn't captain or Junior Prefect – both of which he had desperately wanted to be. Not that you'd get him to admit it, of course…

"Yes, Harry, that," Hermione said, clearly not at all impressed that he wasn't displaying his new role with pride. She, of course, was the other Junior Prefect (each house's first choice for Head Boy or Girl in their final year), and Harry had endured an entire summer of being teased that he should marry her and it would be an almost perfect re-creation of his parents' history. In the end he had got so annoyed that he had shouted at Remus and upset him a bit, which had led to a reluctant confession and a major heart-to-heart. Remus had more or less become Harry's substitute mum by that time. He had hardly seen the Weasleys that summer, and dear old Molly had had to pass the baton on to the former professor. Sirius was great, he did the parental thing quite well, but he wasn't quite as organised as Remus and his vaguely more homely character had a reassuringly calming effect on everything that happened at the cottage. And he was a better cook, too…

"Hermione, it's probably upstairs or something, but… well… you know I'm not very happy about this anyway…" he glanced at Ron for support. "I don't even know how they justified making us prefects anyway – we've broken almost as many rules as Fred and George have between them – each!"

"They made Ferret Boy a Prefect. I think that says it all, really…" Ron said as he watched Malfoy sit down at the Slytherin table over Harry's shoulder. Harry tried not to wince. Yes, Malfoy was a prefect, too. That meant they'd be in stupid school meetings together for the next year and have to share all of the Prefects' privilege facilities. If there was anything good about that Harry couldn't see it. Unless that was his reason for trying to call a truce…

Before any one could say anything further, Dumbledore had stood up at the teachers' table and the room had fallen silent. The first years were being led in and the Sorting was about to commence when Harry suddenly realised for the first time that there was an empty seat at the top table. He knew immediately that it must have been the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's seat, and he wondered who they may have fooled into taking it this time. Or maybe they haven't got anyone, and we'll have Snape! He thought in horror. But Dumbledore surely wouldn't let that happen… would he? There was little explanation later when Dumbledore addressed the assembled pupils. He simply told them that the new DADA professor would arrive the next morning and that he hoped that whatever they heard about him they would trust his judgement as their Headmaster and respect his authority as well as the new teacher's feelings.

"It's not Lupin, is it, Harry?" Ron whispered from across the table when Dumbledore had spoken.

"No, he'd have told me…"

"I expect this one's a vampire or something…"

"Arriving in the morning?" Hermione asked, helping herself to a large quantity in potatoes from the freshly arrived pile between them.

"Er… maybe not, then…" Ron shrugged, taking the serving spoon from her as she finished with it. Harry could have sworn she blushed as their hands knocked together, which seemed a little odd, but he was too busy piling his plate with chicken and mushroom pie to really care. He'd also just caught sight of the Ravenclaw keeper, Gavin Cross, who had also just been made house captain. He was a tallish boy with dark brown eyes and chin-length black hair. Harry didn't know him that well as he was in the year above, but he always grinned at Harry when he saw him in the corridor and for that reason had stuck in his consciousness somewhat.

By the time they'd finished eating (and Hermione had 'christened' her new found authority by scolding the twins for playing conkers with levitating roast potatoes) they were all more or less ready to head to bed, but they had first years to shepherd up to the Tower and make sure they were all organised for the next morning and the start of lessons. A few of the first years were clearly in awe of Harry and he wondered if they'd be quite so in awe of him if they knew what he had to tell his best friends later that night. He thought not.

It was quarter to eleven by the time Harry and Hermione had finished helping the first years into their dorms and got them settled, and when he asked them both if they would come to the Gryffindor prefects' office with him for a bit Ron grumbled slightly about wanting to get to bed. But the three of them eventually made their way to the little room in the very top of the Tower and settled into chairs around the large round table. After much stumbling, Harry managed to explain that he had something to tell them. Hermione fixed him with an intent gaze and Ron tried to look more interested than tired, failing miserably.

"Well, over the summer I had a chat with Remus and… well…" he began haltingly, "The thing is, I told him something about myself that I'd never told anyone before – Sirius doesn't even know yet – and he said I should tell you both what I told him…"

"And what's that, then..?" Ron yawned loudly.

Harry fiddled awkwardly with his hands and an uncoiled paperclip that he had picked up from the table, feeling too embarrassed to say straight away. What if they didn't want to speak to him afterwards? What if they thought he was weird and didn't want to be his friends anymore?? Helplessly, he cleared his throat and began to tell them the story of how he had come to tell Remus his secret. "Well, about a week after I saw you two Remus was teasing me because Hermione and I might be Head Boy and Girl. He said it was just like my mum and dad – he and Sirius have been saying it all summer, really – and that we're probably destined to get married, too." Hermione gave a tiny cough and looked at Ron out of the corner of her eye. "I got a bit annoyed about it because I know it won't happen like that and – no offence Herm, but you're my bestfriends, you and him – " he gestured to Ron and continued quietly, "and I just…well… I don't fancy either of you at all, okay, but if I did… it wouldn't be you."

Ron's eyes snapped up and he and Hermione looked at each other in bewilderment. "Wh-what was that?"

Harry winced. Please don't let them freak out… "I mean to say that… I don't um… I don't actually like girls… that much…"

"Oh Harry!" Hermione cried, leaping to her feet and dashing around to the other side of the table to hug him, "I've thought so for such a long time – I wondered when you'd say something!"

Harry gaped at her in alarm. "You…knew…?"

"I didn't!" Ron told him, apparently now fully awake. "Why didn't you say something, 'Mione?"

"It was just an idea I had, I didn't know if I was right, Ron!" she told him, looking as though she was about to explode with excitement. "I just knew – even though you pretended to have a crush on Cho and everything – I knew!"

"Well, well done Hermione, but… I mean… I can't believe you're…y'know, Harry…" the red-haired boy opposite told him in disbelief.

"I know… I didn't really want to admit it, either, but…" he looked at them both anxiously, "you don't mind, do you? It won't change anything, will it?"

"OF COURSE NOT!" Hermione cried, hugging him again. "I think it's wonderful – it's so good that you aren't afraid of what you are – especially being The Boy Who Lived, and everything – it'll be all over the Daily Prophet, won't it, when people find out?"

Harry and Ron both looked at her in alarm. "'Mione, I don't really think Harry wants everyone to know, just yet, do you, Harry?"

"Not particularly…" Harry admitted.

"Oh but Harry, it would be such a perfect opportunity to use your fame for something!" she exclaimed looking mildly disappointed, "If The Boy Who Lived is gay other people won't be so ashamed of being – don't you see?"

"I don't really think that now is the time for me to worry about that, Herm. Exam year and all that… at least let me leave school first!"

"Yeah, I mean, think of how the stress'll affect his work and everything…" Ron added, giving him a wink behind her back, knowing that school work would be the one thing she would find reason enough to keep it a secret. Hermione sat back down reluctantly. "Well I suppose a year or two won't matter. But I still think this is a blessing in disguise, Harry…"

"Er… yeah," Harry agreed vaguely, having absolutely no intention of telling the world what he had just told his best friends. This was one instance in which he was going to be completely selfish. He shuddered at the thought of Malfoy finding out, then remembered that Malfoy suddenly seemed to want to be bosom buddies. I don't suppose he'd want to if he knew this… He opened his mouth to tell them what had happened that day in Diagon Alley but Ron was already standing up, yawning, and he decided he could wait another day to talk about that. Extinguishing the lamps all around the walls they headed off down the separate staircases to bed.

At breakfast the next morning a lot of whispers were going around about the newly appointed DADA teacher. He still hadn't put in an appearance and everyone was extremely curious. On the Hufflepuff table someone was declaring confidently that it was another werewolf – maybe even Lupin again – but that argument had already fizzled out on the Gryffindor table when Harry revealed that he had lived with their former teacher over the summer and he hadn't said a word about it. In fact, Remus was working for the Ministry of Magic, these days, having been recruited into the Public Awareness of Magical Afflictions Department, and Harry was sure he wouldn't leave so soon.

"You said he loved teaching, though, Harry," Hermione had reminded him, "wouldn't he give up his job at the Ministry if he could have the teaching job back?"

"I expect so, but I'm telling you: it's not Moony," he insisted through a mouthful of toast. "I've no idea who it is."

"It's a banshee, that's what it is!" Dean told him from three seats down, a mixture of excitement and terror on his face.

"COOL!" Colin Creevey beamed fumbling for his camera, "Do you think she'll let me have a picture?!"

"Banshees are ghosts – it won't come out."

"Some ghosts come out on film," Dennis corrected him, stuffing his face full of scrambled eggs enthusiastically, "Ivn't wat wite, Cowin?"

"Yeah, sometimes – I saw these great ones in this book once –"

"Banshees are all women – how many times do I have to explain that? Dumbledore said "He" – it's not a banshee!" Seamus told them in exasperation.

"Ron thinks it's a vampire, don't you, Ron?" Ginny grinned from beside Neville.

"No I don't," Ron replied hotly, "I was joking."

"Rubbish!"

Suddenly the room fell silent. An almost inaudible gasp rang across the hall. At the teachers' table a tall, thin figure dressed entirely in black had suddenly appeared. His hair wasn't quite short, and looked at though it hadn't been combed that morning. If anything it looked like it had been deliberately messed up. The assembled students gazed at him in a combination of alarm, awe and suspicion. He stared back out at them with round, piercing, blue eyes, then winked as he caught sight of Harry and the others. Harry stared back in disbelief, and gave an almost reflexive wave.

"Fucking hell!" Ron gasped from beside him.

"Oi, Harry – isn't that your godfather?" someone asked in a loud whisper from the Ravenclaw table.

"Yeah…" he told them all in amazement, "That's Sirius!"

Sirius didn't sit down with the few teachers at the top table. Instead he made his way past the students to where Harry was sitting, grinning at them widely. "Hello." He said, apparently enjoying the looks of shock on their faces. "Shift up then, Harry – let me sit down for a minute." Still completely stunned, Harry obliged, and Sirius sat between him and one of the third years who gazed intently at his breakfast, but stopped eating. "Thanks. So – guess who you've got first lesson…"

"No way!" Ron exclaimed from the opposite side of the table.

"Yep," Sirius told him with a mildly smug wink, "me." He took a piece of toast from Harry's plate, completely ignoring the large pile in front of him, and started munching away, looking around at them all intently, as if trying to memorise their faces.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me??" Harry demanded, snatching a piece of toast up from the pile and putting it back on his plate as a replacement.

"Wanted to see your face," he admitted with another grin, "I wasn't disappointed." Harry tutted and continued eating. A number of people at the table had abandoned their breakfast and were merely staring at them. "Settling back in okay?" he asked swallowing the last piece of the toast, which he had devoured in three bites.

"Yeah… fine." Harry nodded with a shrug. It hadn't quite sunk in that Sirius – his godfather, Sirius – was going to be teaching them that year. And to make things even stranger (and a little more worrying) he would be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. The position was cursed, everyone knew that! Well, Sirius can handle himself, I suppose… Harry thought. Dumbledore wouldn't let anything happen, anyway…

Sirius checked the time and stood up. "Well, best be off to prepare the lesson… See you in half an hour, then…" he turned to walk away, then turned back and took the replacement slice of toast out of Harry's hand just as he picked it up. Then he winked again and walked away, leaving an exasperated Harry still sat with one hand raised almost to his mouth.

"Git." He muttered under his breath.

"Was he wearing leather trousers?" Seamus asked in disbelief as Sirius swung out of the door at the end of the Great Hall.

"Yeah…" Ron nodded, "I've never seen him wear anything else…"

Next to Dean, Lavender was whispering to Pavarti and when they saw Harry looking at them they stopped and pretended to concentrate on their breakfasts, but glancing at each other out of the corner of their eyes they began to giggle. Oh great – last thing I need is those two having crushes on him…

When they arrived at the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Sirius greeted them at the door. He leant against the door frame, with his arms folded and the same broad grin across his young-looking features. "Come on – in you go." He told them as they traipsed in and closed the door behind Neville, catching his arm as he stumbled. He made his way to the front of the class room, rubbing his hands together, looking as if he was greatly anticipating the moment the lesson began in earnest. But suddenly, he stopped at Malfoy's desk. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting together, gawping at him stupidly, and Malfoy was sitting on his own, looking bored and extremely closed. A copy of Spotlight: Looking into the Dark (Revised Edition) lay before him on his desk and Sirius picked it up, studying the cover vaguely. "Lesson one:" Sirius said loudly, "these can go away."

Hermione blinked and gave a tiny disbelieving laugh. "But Si- um… But Professor Black, we have to learn what's in these – we'll fail our exams if we don't…"

"I set the classes, Hermione, and I set them according to what will be useful for you in the current climate. Dumbledore's wishes. Exams, believe it or not, teach you sod all." There were a few gasps from around the classroom, which Sirius ignored and continued with his explanation. "In an exam you're under pressure, but not the sort of pressure that would help you in a dangerous situation. A lot of people I knew when I was your age were brilliant, brilliant wizards – they could master anything you set them in a book, like our Hermione, here, and Malfoy, from what I've heard-" Malfoy's gaze flickered towards Sirius for a second, then returned to the drawing pin he was gouging lines in the desk with, "but when it came to exams, they just went to pieces. None of you will face an exam in this lesson – not this year." There was a murmur of delight about the classroom. "But you will be tested. You won't know when, you won't know how, and you won't fail. Trust me, on that.

"Second lesson of the day: I'm not a professor. I'm qualified by experience, not diploma. You can all call me Sirius." Lavender and Parvarti giggled excitably from the front row and Sirius shot them a bemused glance. "Everything alright, ladies?" he asked, moving over to them. They nodded vigorously, blushing and eyeing him with reverence. He gave them a wary look and moved to sit on the front of his desk. "Good. So, the rules: you will listen when I'm talking. Now, I don't want to sound like a droning old git who loves the sound of his own voice, but if you don't listen you might end up dead – or worse: humiliated – so it's in your own interest to pay attention at all times. Next one, is that you don't take the piss out of my lenience Mr. Goyle put that down and sit on your hands before I turn you into a toad-" he said in one breath, his wand in his hand without time for the bullish thug to draw breath and drop the dripping quill he had been planning to use to flick ink at Neville in the seat in front. "I will NOT tolerate bullying of any kind - neither in my lesson or to my knowledge anywhere, is that clear?" Goyle stared at him stupidly. "GOYLE, I SAID IS THAT CLEAR??" he bellowed suddenly, leaping to his feet, his round blue eyes dark and serious. The entire class flinched – even Harry. Goyle nodded and mumbled "Yes."

"Right. Now, you've seen me angry, lets try to avoid it, shall we?"

The rest of the class passed without incident. The fear he had struck into most of the students with his outburst rapidly dissipated when he began handing out points quicker than Snape would be able to take them and making them all laugh hysterically by cursing an owl he'd borrowed from the owlery fly backwards around the room three times and allowing Neville to fire curses at him just to prove that he could. The main thing they needed, he said, was confidence in their abilities; he reminded them very much of Professor Lupin.

Harry had found his gaze drawn to Malfoy, in the row diagonally opposite. The Slytherin had certainly changed over the summer. His hair was no longer slicked back, and he looked a lot less like his father. Instead, the silvery locks hung level with his cheekbones and he regularly flicked them out of his eyes, either by a tiny, almost imperceptible flick of his head, or by pushing a thin, pale hand through them. He had grown, too. He was still barely average height for his age, and still very thin, but he seemed older. His air of 'Look at me' seemed to have given way to an air of 'Go away'. He kept his head bowed almost the whole way through, concentrating on making notes. It was most unlike his usual self. Not even so much as a smirk touched his lips when Neville accidentally missed Sirius and hit Ron with a tickling hex. Ron had sat balled up on the floor for almost five minutes, even after the spell had been ended, simply laughing at the expression on Neville's face as he did it.

"Hey, Ron, Hermione, I think I need to tell you something…" Harry said as they left the classroom. They hesitated in the corridor ahead of him and turned back.

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked, her eyes following a number of other students as they passed them by, silently warning them to mind their own business.

"Um… well, it could be nothing, but I think it might be an idea to get out of people's way for a minute…". They made their way into a nearby store room and shut the door behind them.

"So what is it? We've only got ten minutes until lunch and I'm starving!" Ron told them. As if on cue his stomach rumbled loudly. "See?"

"Um… it's Malfoy…"

"Malfoy? What's the matter, he hasn't said a peep since we've been back…?" Hermione said, flicking her hair over her shoulder and adjusting her pile of books. She was still a little worried about Sirius's teaching methods, but had chosen to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"I know, but that's not all. A couple of weeks ago I saw him in Diagon Alley and he came up and started talking to me. He seemed… this sounds really stupid, I know, but he seemed to want to make friends…" Harry told them.

"What on Earth did Sirius have to say about it?" Hermione gasped.

"Sirius? Um… Sirius and Remus were in Jones's, they don't know about it… But it was really strange. I mean, he seemed quite genuine…"

"HARRY! How could you be so stupid? You shouldn't have left their sight for a second!" Hermione cried, almost dropping her books.

"They were only in the shop next door…"

"That's not the point! Malfoy managed to find you in that time, didn't he? Who knows who else could have done?!"

"'Mione, calm down…" Ron told her, nudging her with his elbow, "I'm more interested in Malfoy. He could've done as much damage as anyone – his father's loyalties are common knowledge, aren't they?"

"I know, but it's really weird – he seemed… I dunno… miserable maybe. And he seemed like he was making an effort not to be nasty…"

"Well he would, wouldn't he, if he was trying to work his way in?" Ron pointed out. "He's a good actor, Malfoy is, we know that already. Probably been told to try and make friends with you again or something. Don't let him, Harry. He's scum, isn't he?"

Harry nodded. "That's more or less what I thought, but I thought I should tell someone. I mean, I don't want to make a fuss and go about telling Dumbledore yet – for all we know Malfoy might have chosen Light!" he added grinning.

"The only light Malfoy would like is that of the fires of Hell."

"Well I think it's a bit strange that he doesn't seem to want much to do with Crabbe and Goyle anymore, but basically, yeah. Malfoy's a prat and I have no intention of being his new best buddy – whatever his reasoning," Harry agreed. "But I would like to know what he's up to."

"Well, can't think on an empty stomach, can we?" Ron said, clapping his hands in a gesture of 'Right, let's go!', and he moved towards the door. Harry followed, and Hermione gave a small frown at his back. That boy wasn't to leave her sight for the rest of the year.

It was three days before there were any new developments on the Malfoy front. Sirius's lessons were proving to be more and more exciting. He seemed to spend most of the time playing silly beggars and throwing about random curses to see if people were listening to what he was saying. Hermione was almost at the point of going to McGonnagal to beg for proper lessons, but Harry and Ron had managed to hold her off so far. Potions were typically hellish, and made that much worse for Harry due to the fact that he had the audacity to be the new D.A.D.A teacher's godson. Snape was feeling particularly vitriolic and gave him a detention for "Looking superior" in his very first lesson. He received the notification at dinner the same evening, and when he had turned up at the classroom on the Thursday night he had been surprised to see Malfoy setting up some equipment at the front of the room.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked warily as he stepped into the room.

"Extra work," the blonde boy replied without glancing up.

"Extra work??" Harry repeated in surprise. Malfoy was already top in Potions (second only to Hermione) and was Snape's favourite pupil – what did he need extra marks for?

"Is there an echo in here?" He asked, looking up and giving Harry a slight smile. Harry didn't return in kind.

"I have detention."

"Yes, you do. Welcome."

"Sorry?"

"This, Potter, is your detention. I'm in charge for tonight."

"Where's Snape?"

"Busy. We don't need him. You're helping me."

Cautiously, Harry approached the bench. Surely Snape wouldn't let Malfoy anywhere near him if he had the slightest hint that he was in danger. He might not like Harry – in fact, Harry was sure beyond questionable doubt that he hated him – but he wouldn't put him at risk, he was confident in that. "What are we making?"

"A duplication serum. It will grow a clone of anything it touches, except for silver - hence the cauldron." Harry noted, for the first time, that the large pot beside the Slytherin was indeed made of pure silver.

"What for?"

"Because I said so."

"If this is how you're going to be all night I'm going to walk out of here and explain to McGonnagal that I want my detention rescheduled."

"Don't be so pathetic. You're the one sniping, not me," Malfoy replied levelly, crouching slightly to adjust the flow of a drip-tube into a conical flask. An almost opaque liquid the colour of rotting grass was flowing slowly and steadily around a maze of tubing and evaporation spheres, finally leaking out of one end into the cauldron where it turned a fiery orange and hissed with every drop.

"What do you need me for? It looks more or less finished already…" Harry asked leaning over to look into the cauldron. Malfoy fixed him with the appraising look he had given him in Diagon Alley and very purposefully answered: "Guinea pig."

Harry leapt back from the apparatus very sharply and backed away towards the door. "What?? No chance…" It took him a moment to realise that Malfoy was laughing. "What?? You're sick, Malfoy!"

"I'm teasing you, you fool."

"Oh." Harry felt himself blushing. How was he supposed to know what Malfoy was up to? Either possibility seemed highly likely. "Well… it wasn't funny. And stop looking at me like that!"

"Turning you on, is it?"

Harry's face drained of all colour just as quickly as it has flushed red. He can't know! He couldn't know…could he? "Excuse me?"

"Potter, just stop behaving like a blathering idiot, take your robes off and come and stand here. I know Hufflepuffs with more guts than that!" Malfoy snapped in exasperation. "You're supposed to be a Gryffindor! Start acting like one, you limp-wristed nonce."

"What did you call me?" Harry demanded, sounding slightly feeble and feeling suddenly very sick.

"I called you a limp wristed nonce; now, this is a big silver spoon. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Yes," Harry scowled, not at all pleased that he was expected to play monkey for Malfoy all evening. Even two hours with Snape would be better than this. "I'm not stupid."

"Whatever you say. What I want you to do is stir this. Just stir. That's all you have to do. Wouldn't want to confuse you, now, would I?"

"Why am I here if all you need is someone to stir it? You could have charmed the spoon and done it yourself!"

"I asked Snape for you to spend your detention here," Malfoy told him calmly, as he walked around the set-up and made notes on a piece of parchment.

"Er…what?"

"You really are thick, aren't you? I'd have expected more from the Boy Who Wouldn't Die." Malfoy put his paper and quill down and stared at Harry. "Look, Potter, I want to talk to you – I tried in London, but you wouldn't listen…"

"Are you remotely surprised? You are the nastiest, most vindictive person I have ever met, Malfoy. You terrorize half the student body and make my friends' lives hell and I don't want anything to do with you. Or your Master," Harry told him coldly. A look of such intensity crossed Malfoy's features for a fleeting second that Harry almost winced. His pure white hair and his milky complexion surrounding his cold chrome-like eyes almost gave the impression that he was blazing with blinding white light.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Potter," he almost hissed.

"I think I know exactly what I'm talking about," Harry replied. "You're a Malfoy: self-obsessed, power-hungry and innately evil. I don't want to know – whatever it is you have to say: It's too late. I don't hate many people, but you are one of them. You and your Master." He held the other boy in as steady a gaze as he could as he spoke, wanting the message to be driven firmly home. "Since my first day here you have been the biggest pain in the arse I've ever known. Worse than Dudley, and that's saying something. I despised you then and I despise you now. Everything you have ever done to my friends has been fully logged and filed under 'Reasons not to speak to The Minion'. You're wasting your time. And you can tell Voldemort that no plan involving you will work. I'm wise to it. Everyone is. Give up while you're still ahead." He was about to turn and walk out, to head straight to Sirius – or possibly Dumbledore – and tell them he suspected Malfoy was working for the Death Eaters when the blonde boy reached out and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. He gave a small gasp and stared back at him in alarm.

"You arrogant little prat, Potter. You really think you know everything, don't you? Snape's right, all you are is a jumped up little boy with a lot of good luck, dancing like a trained chimp in a media circus. Pathetic. If Voldemort wanted you he would get you, and next time there would be no escaping. Trust me on that." He flung Harry away from him with disgust and picked up his parchment again. Harry thought that was it, but to his surprise Malfoy kept on talking. "I have never done on anything on Voldemort's behalf. I'm just a kid, you idiot – he doesn't use kids because he doesn't think they can be trusted. He doesn't have half a clue how fucking wrong he is." To Harry's alarm, Malfoy reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He lit one behind his hand and stood silently for a minute, wreathing himself in smoke. Finally, he spoke again. "I'm not a part of this. I'm not trying to talk to you because he told me to. I only do things of my own accord. I want to make this up – I want this to stop – and it will. It will… You won't keep this up much longer."

"I 'won't keep this up much longer'?? You think that just because you've developed a problem with having no friends you can decide that I'll be your best mate instead and I'll just come running?? Even after the things you've just said? Well I won't. I will never forgive you and I will never be your friend. You can drop dead, Malfoy. Just drop dead." And with that, Harry turned and stormed from the classroom.

When he reached the Gryffindor common room he found Ron playing chess with Colin and Hermione studying her D.A.D.A. textbook obsessively. She looked up as he made his way over to them and immediately stated that she thought he had detention.

"I did. We need to talk. Now!" he said tensely, still fuming at what Malfoy had said.

"Wh'for?" Ron asked, his face rested on his fist as he moved his knight in to check Colin's king.

"Now, Ron," Harry repeated, tugging at his arm impatiently, "Sorry Colin. RON, COME ON!"

"Oh. So it's important, then?" Ron muttered dryly, "I'll be back, Col, don't move a thing – I will know…"

They made their way back up to the Prefects' Room in the top of the tower and settled down at the table, except Harry, who stood by a window, tapping his fingers on his arm. "What's the matter, Harry? You seem really stressed out…" Ron observed, picking up a pencil lying neglected on the table and starting to scribble random patterns on the wooden surface.

"Malfoy."

"What now?!"

"Ron! Stop doing that or I'll be forced to take points from Gryffindor."

"Tut. Misery guts."

"I went to my detention, Snape wasn't there, but Malfoy was. He was setting up some kind of potion and said that Snape had sent me to help him."

"Why?" Hermione asked curiously, "What potion was he making?"

"Oh some kind of duplication serum thing," Harry told her offhandedly, "he…well, this is the strange bit… he said he asked Snape to send me to him for my detention because he wanted to talk to me. He said he wanted to make friends…! I thought right…"

"The sneaky little twerp!" Ron cried in disbelief. "He's working for You Know Who, that's obvious enough, ain't it? He's trying to get on your good side to get you into some sort of trap, Harry!"

"Ron, I don't trust him either, but can we at least listen to what Harry has to say?"

"He's not working for Voldemort-"

"For Pete's sake, Harry, DON'T SAY THAT WORD!"

"-at least that's what he kept insisting. And – I doubt this is significant – but he's started smoking…"

"Smoking?" Ron echoed, "Where from? His ears or something? We'll have to look that up – it could mean he's lying or something – some kind of curse so that he can't lie without it happening."

" Er… I meant a cigarette, actually…"

"A cigarette?? As in the Muggle things?" Ron asked in disbelief. "But…"

"Malfoy wouldn't smoke a Muggle product, would he? I mean, it's completely against his whole ethos by default. Purely by being Muggle-made…" Hermione agreed.

"I know, but everything he's been doing lately has seemed out of character, hasn't it? He actually grabbed me by the collar in the Potions room – he'd never normally touch me, would he? He'd just throw a hex my way or something..." Harry shrugged. "It's weird. There is definitely something funny going on, but I dunno what."

"But why were you so angry when you came back up just now, Harry? This is all very odd, admittedly, but you seemed really ruffled…" Hermione asked, watching him intently. It was always difficult to annoy Harry very much, but he'd seemed quite wound up when he arrived back in the common room.

"Oh it's just something he said…" Harry shrugged, blushing slightly.

"Which was…?"

"He called me a… a 'limp-wristed nonce'…"

Silence. Harry shifted uncomfortably and leaned back against the wall.

"Well," Ron sighed finally, crossing his arms, "he's a bit of a fine one to talk, ain't he? Mincing around like some renaissance dandy half the time. That's the pot calling the kettle black, that is…"

"Ron, do shut up," Hermione tutted, giving him a derisive glance, "Did he sound like he meant it, Harry? As though he knew?"

"I dunno really…" he winced, pushing his fringe out of his face, "He said it really off-hand… I just don't understand what he's trying to do. He got really annoyed when I suggested he was working for Voldemort…"

"HARRY!"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry… But why else would he do it?" Harry moved and sat down at the table opposite his friends, "It's just so… weird…"

Hermione frowned and licked her lips thoughtfully. "Alright, lets just suppose for a moment – hypothetically, of course – that he's telling the truth: he's not doing this for Vo… Y.K.W… why else would he want to suddenly be your friend? I mean, there has to be some ulterior motive…"

"Wow, thanks, Herm…"

"Because it's Malfoy, you nitwit…"

"I know, I was joking. I just… I dunno. All I know is that Ferret Boy's being stranger than usual and he won't leave me alone."

"What if he genuinely wants to make a mends, Harry? What would you do?"

"Tell him where to poke it, eh, Tink?"

"RON!"

"No, he's right, I have already and I would again. Where did 'Tink' come from, anyway?"

"Faerie."

"Faerie?!"

"Yeah…" Ron grinned with a cheeky wink, "Y'know – faerie!"

"Oi!"

Hermione sighed and stood up. "If you say so. As far as I can tell, the only thing we can do for the moment is wait and see what else happens. And I think you should tell Sirius at least – it really would be best if a teacher knew, after all… just in case something happens."

"Well… maybe not just yet, eh? It could just be Malfoy being a twat…"

"Harry!"

"Well it could!"

"I still think you ought to tell Sirius at least," Hermione sighed anxiously.

"Alright – here's an idea, 'Mione – we'll tell Sirius if anything else important happens, yeah?"

"Yeah, Herm – Sirius has just started a new job, I couldn't put more pressure on him over nothing… I mean, over something this ambiguous…" Harry added, trying to sound as convincingly rational as possible. Finally Hermione gave a little huff and conceded.

"Alright. But the moment anything happens, we tell him – and no arguing!"