Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

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"And now Ladies and Gentlemen," Albus Dumbledore, Warlock extraordinaire and headmaster of Hogwarts, school for the magically gifted, raised his voice. "One last announcement before we head out to meet our students." His usually twinkly eyes seemed even brighter today, and there was an edge of laughter to his otherwise solemn mien.

"It concerns one of our more ... prominent ... pupils. Mr. Harry Potter ..."

"Bah, I should have known it would be about the Gryffindor Golden Boy," a cold voice interrupted him with disdain. The potions master raised his eyebrow in challenge and continued with a bored expression. "So what has your little wonder-boy done this time?"

"Yes, yes, Severus, I know you do not approve of him, and think him an arrogant attention seeker," Albus' eyes were twinkling merrily in anticipation.

"Therefore, it might come as some slight surprise to you to learn that Mr. Potter appears to partially share your sentiment. As a result he has, with my help and full support of course, recently changed his name. Or as he put it to me, 'he was fed up with being Harry Bloody Potter all the time', and thus he wished to be known henceforth as Mr. … Harold Evans."

'Yes, Severus," Albus all but purred, as the suddenly utterly dumbfounded face of Severus Snape was indeed priceless to behold. The rest of the staffroom bore almost equally shocked expressions.

"He told me that he was really tired of his old name, as it has become to mean too many things he considers himself not to be. And while he did not wish to renounce his father as such, he would still prefer to be known and addressed by his mother's maiden name from now on," he continued his explanation calmly, all the while inwardly all but bouncing in glee.

"As a consequence, he has this summer undergone a magically binding name change, fully divesting himself of the Potter heritage. He is therefore no longer required by either law or magic to respond in any way or form to the name of 'Potter', as he is in effect legally no longer a member of that family."

The headmaster beamed happily as babble broke out all over the room. However, he kept most of his attention on Severus Snape, old enemy and indeed oft-time tormentor of the late Harry Potter. Or to be more precise, enemy of the boy's father. Severus had never forgiven James Potter for tormenting him and aiding in his separation from Lily Evans. Who had been the only real friend ever of the dour and bitter potions master, as Albus knew only too well.

And the man had been unable to see past the boy's looks and name to actually consider Harry himself. Whose character was in fact rather different from his father's. And while Severus had loved Harry's mother dearly, he had always failed to recognise her strong influence in the boy. But now Severus Snape was looking even paler then usual, and there was a pained look on his face. He was also staying uncharacteristically silent.

Harry had presented him with a lot of reasons for wanting to change his name, but Albus rather suspected that one had been absent. However, he was secretly rather sure of this other, unvoiced one: that Harry didn't want Severus Snape to continue hating him for his father's name and looks. And yes, dear Severus was in for some more surprises there. The old wizard smiled contentedly to himself as he made his unhurried way out of the staff-room, knowing full well that he was leaving confusion behind him.

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Several hours earlier, Harry had been feeling rather nervous. How would his friends and all the others at Hogwarts react to the changes that the last summer had made in him? Of course he was still really the same person, but the glasses were gone, and he wore his dark hair long and held back neatly at the nape. It had also acquired a decided auburn tint thanks to a nifty hairdressing charm. He still had to wear some of it in his face to cover the scar, though. He simply could not bear to have that visible all the time. But the hairdresser had done an amazingly good job and the result was quite stylish. Having most of his hair pulled back also affected the general shape of his face. Taken together with his now very obvious startling bright green eyes, the total effect made him resemble his mother a lot more than before.

Add to that a rather more graceful and upright posture, as well as a new wardrobe, and the picture he presented was astonishingly different. This summer had truly been the best of his life. Not only had there been interesting lessons in a variety of subjects, but not being constantly overworked allowed him to actually prepare well for the upcoming school year. He had never felt so confident about himself before - which clashed horribly with the bad case of nerves he was currently suffering from. How could one possibly feel both ways at the same time?

He settled more comfortably into the back seat of his uncle's car - Uncle Vernon had been studiously ignoring him during the drive so far - and let his mind drift back to the start of this amazing summer.

Harry remembered his moment of epiphany quite clearly. He had been weeding the flowerbeds, and had felt terribly bothered and upset. He had absolutely hated being Harry Bloody Potter in that moment. He had been taking this out rather forcefully on the weeds, pulling them out and throwing them almost spitefully into a bucket. And then he had found it. Under the bushes behind the flowerbed there had been an old shed snakeskin, by the looks of it from some harmless grass snake.

And then inspiration had suddenly struck. He would always be himself ... but he was _not_ the name. That was just a description. A designation. Just a skin waiting to be shed because it no longer fit him. Because the name was not _him_. Really not him, as everyone seemed to have their own idea what the name meant. It was the stupid name that was constantly giving him trouble. Okay, it did not cause all of his problems, but definitely a lot of them. And he remembered grinning almost manically as he thought: 'yes ... yes ... the name has to ... go!'

Later, after cooking dinner and doing the dishes afterwards, he had escaped to his room and penned a note to his headmaster:

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Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I have come to a realisation today. I really do NOT like being Harry Potter.

But as much as I often simply wish I was not me, I cannot ever escape being me. I'm aware that this sounds a bit stupid. But I know that I can't change who I am. However, what I can change, and would really like to, is my name. It seems to me that it represents a lot of what I feel is wrong with me. Harry Potter is the Boy-who-lived. Harry Potter is a magical freak. Harry Potter is constantly in the papers. Harry Potter is who everyone either adores or hates, just for being Harry Bloody Potter. But Harry Potter is a myth and a fantasy. I have never really lived the life of Harry Potter. To everyone who likes me, I'm merely Harry. To all the people who hate me, I'm 'Potter' or 'Mr. Potter'.

I don't want to hurt my dad by getting rid of his name, but well, I can't anymore really, can I? It's not as if he will ever know. And if he is still around in some way, and does love me, I hope he would realise that his name has unfortunately come to mean a lot of bad things to me. And that he would not grudge me a (possibly) happier life without it. After all no matter what, I will still be his son. I will always be his son. But I don't want to be 'Potter' anymore.

So I have been thinking, and I wonder if it is possible for me to change my name to my mother's maiden name? I think I would quite like to be Harold "Harry" Evans. It's even (pun intended) a much more even name, which might help me become more even-tempered. I might feel less cross all the time, if people keep reminding me that I should be Evans instead. Yes, I know, this last bit was probably very silly but still ...

Anyway I hope this finds you well, and I would very much like to have your advice and help in achieving this, my heartfelt wish.

Yours,

sincerely,

Harold "Harry Potter" Evans (hopefully)

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Yes, it had felt good. And perfectly right. It was the thing to do, and it felt like a huge stone had been lifted from him. He would not have thought a name could feel like a millstone round one's neck, but it really was a shackle. A constraint he desperately longed to cast aside. And he felt his heart lift with hope as he watched Hedwig lift away on silent wings after he gave her the message to deliver to the headmaster.

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He also remembered the following day when he had received his answer. Hedwig had winged in and he gave her an owl-treat as he relieved her of the scroll, letting her settle on her cage. His heart had been beating rather fast, which made him realise again just how important this matter was. He had clutched the scroll tightly for a moment, dreading a negative answer, that the headmaster would have good reasons to deny him his wish. Because he really wanted to shed 'Harry Potter'. Exactly like the snake sheds her skin and is reborn ... still exactly the same, and at the same time ... all new. He suddenly smiled and opened the scroll.

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Dear Harry,

I must admit your letter took me very much by surprise. My first impulse was, I have to say, to question your reasons for such a drastic step. But upon further thought upon your situation, I must sadly agree that the constant expectations which the wizarding world has of you add a considerable burden to your already difficult life. And if the solution you have proposed can ease this load, I should do what I can to help rather than hinder you.

There are, however, consequences which you need to take into consideration before taking this step, and they depend on how you wish to achieve this. Because to the best of my knowledge, there are two possible ways for changing one's name.

One is to change your name the Muggle way, which would merely affect certain official documents, and that mostly on the Muggle side of things. Consequently the outcome would be largely cosmetic, as this has few ramifications in the magical world.

The other way would be a magically binding name change, which would likely have considerably more drastic effects. I cannot fully advise you about all of them at the moment, as I first need to look into that matter in detail myself.

But one of them is that you would probably end up rejecting your Potter heritage, including part of your inheritance. As I mentioned, I do not know yet if this would really be the case, but I fear it is likely. I will need to consult with the experts at Gringotts, as well as some contacts at the ministry. The benefits of such a magical change, however, would be that you would definitely not be constrained anymore to answer to 'Mr. Potter'.

But most of all you must realise, dear Harry, that if you should take this severe step, there would be no going back. Once you have shed the Potter name, you cannot ever take it up again. So while I do agree that this could be a good thing for you, I need you to be absolutely sure of it. Therefore I would like you to write down all your thoughts about the matter, and the reasons why you wish to bear a different name. Because you will need to be truly certain of your decision, if you really want to go through with this.

But be assured that if you and I come to the conclusion that yes, this is your true wish, and also the best for you, then I shall do all that is in my power to help you achieve it.

Yours,

sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

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Harry couldn't help but smile as he put the scroll down onto his rickety desk, carefully smoothing out the parchment. The headmaster's reply was … promising. And while he already knew what he wanted, it would still be a really good idea to also know exactly _why_ he wanted it. So there could be no doubts and second thoughts later on. And he would have all his arguments collected together, in case anybody else questioned him about his decision later. But his mind was made up. Now to convince Dumbledore that he had really thought it through … and to go along with it. He drew out a piece of paper and slowly started to compose his answer ….

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	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

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Dear Professor Dumbledore,

please find enclosed my thoughts on 'Why I hate being Harry Potter'.

I must confess that this matter fills me with a lot of anxiety. I constantly keep thinking (and even dreaming) about it. I feel as if I'm stuck in a skin that is too small for me. I found a shed snake-skin the other day, and it was what made me start thinking about this. Because a snake can shed its skin and be all new and shiny, while still being exactly the same in any way that counts. And my name feels like an old skin which is constricting me as I'm growing out of it. I feel the overwhelming urge to rid myself of it. But what I want to change, is not so much myself, but how others see me. And a large part of that is my name. Far too many people have ideas of what I must be like from just hearing my name. And so I feel that shedding that name might make them actually look at me, instead of who they think I am.

So yes, I'd really like to go for the full magical name change.

Yours,

Sincerely,

Harold "Harry Bloody Potter" Evans (still hopefully)

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Dear Harry,

thank you very much for your very thought-provoking writings on 'Why I hate being Harry Potter'. Though I feel the title does not really do it credit, as your reasoning is amazingly mature for one of your age. I must admit, however, that some parts of it left me feeling rather disturbed. I think we will need to discuss these matters in more depth soon. I also found your snake-skin metaphor very enlightening and profound. It is good to know that you fully realise, that while you may shed your name, you yourself will essentially remain the same.

I have by now been able to consult with the authorities I mentioned in my last missive. Since you want to break as much from your old name as possible, you would indeed need to undergo a magically binding ritual ceremony. It is similar to an adoption, only in reverse, and not surprisingly it is not often performed. But just as I had thought, there are some rather severe consequences. Not insofar as most of your inheritance is concerned, as the larger part of that does not require you to bear the Potter name. So you would still remain quite wealthy.

You would, however, loose the parts which are tied directly to the Potter line, as you would essentially be leaving the family. The ritual would also magically sever you from your remaining distant relatives on your father's side. Since quite a few of them were actually connected with Tom Riddle, I assume you would not overly grieve on that front. But you would undeniably disconnect yourself from your father and his forebears, and there would be no going back afterwards. The family name of Potter would become obsolete, and the assets belonging to the Potter line would fall into the hands of the ministry, as there are no other close relatives remaining.

Also, as she is your current guardian, we will require the agreement of your aunt for this venture. So if you still wish to go through with this, despite all the consequences, it might be helpful if you could prepare her for a visit on my part to arrange the necessary paperwork.

Yours,

sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

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Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I've thought (it's all I do these days really) upon the matter (some more), and yes, I want to go through with this. I do feel a bit bad about doing this to my father, but as he's no longer with me to actually be hurt by it, I hope he would not grudge me this chance at becoming my own person. As for any other ancestors of mine – well, I'm sorry to have say that I don't know anything about any of them. I've always been told that the Potters were an old pureblood family, but I don't even know the names of my grandparents. So well, it will hardly be a hardship to loose them, if you know what I mean.

As for severing ties to the rest of the pureblood families - good riddance to most of them. And as for my inheritance, if as you say, most of it will remain mine that's fine. It's a real shame that the ministry will get its greedy fingers on the rest of it, but what can't be helped, can't be helped. Please do not tell me how much or what it would be, as I can't miss what I don't know about.

I've got to admit that I don't know how to talk about this with my aunt. She doesn't know about the 'I'm quite wealthy bit' either, as I've never informed her of it. If this surprises you, then there may be other things that may surprise you as well. At least I hope that you don't know about them. I think I'd much prefer it, if you didn't. Given what you wrote about 'feeling disturbed', I think you didn't, really. But if you had known all along, well. I don't know how I'd feel about that, if you had. Known, that is. And now I've got something new to worry about.

Anxiously awaiting your reply and hopefully a visit soon,

yours,

sincerely,

Harold Evans (please!)

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Dear Harry,

as a consequence of my visit with you and your ... relatives, I have come to the realisation that I have done you a most grave injustice. I now know that your childhood with your aunt's family has been far from ideal. I also know that you question my decision to keep you with them, who did not love you and have mistreated you. Let me start by explaining why I sent you to them in the first place. You know, of course, the argument of the blood wards to keep you safe from ... let us once again call him Tom Riddle. I am aware that you consider that argument lacking, as apparently he was gone and could do you no further harm.

But while he himself was indeed gone, his influence was not. Not only were many of his servants still at large to try to do you direct harm (hence the wards), but his influence can be felt in the ministry to this very day. Sadly, not even Hogwarts is entirely free of it. I am sure I need only mention Mr. Malfoy senior to make you understand this point. The other reason for my decision, however, was that had I not placed you with your Muggle relatives, there would literally have been a bidding war amongst the pureblood families to adopt you. As the Potter family has plenty of distant relatives amongst many of those families, many of them could have applied for your custody.

And I do not think I need to point out to you that many of them were in Tom Riddle's camp, and unfortunately some of those were the most likely candidates. I know it will shock you to learn that you are in fact related (distantly, I assure you, but nevertheless) to Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange through the Black family. I simply could not risk you falling into such hands.

But where I quite simply failed you, utterly, was in not making sure that your relatives treated you better. Please understand that in wizarding society any magical child is considered such a precious gift, that the very notion of mistreatment was inconceivable to me. I simply never considered that they might be less than pleased with your presence in their lives. But this is an explanation, not an excuse. I fear nothing can really excuse my short-sightedness and carelessness. For that I can only offer my humblest apologies, and hope that you will eventually find it in yourself to forgive me.

But inasmuch as I still can at this point, I wish to try and make amends. There are limitations to what may be done, as I can currently still not remove you altogether from the Dursleys. I will, however, definitely make sure that they treat you well from now on, and I cannot but view your current desire as very beneficial to your future well being. Therefore I will do whatever is in my power to help you become Harold Evans as soon as possible.

Another way in which I might be able to aid you in distancing yourself further from old perceptions, is helping you change your outward appearance. One important aspect of that would be your glasses. Wizardly opticians have in the last years made great advances in eye treatments and magical contact lenses similar, but superior to those developed by Muggles. That would likely greatly affect your appearance, as your eyes are, indeed, one of the features that you have inherited from your mother. It would also have the added benefit that you could not lose your glasses anymore, or have them break at an inopportune moment.

Another possibility is your hairstyle. That unruly mop of yours (quoting several mutual acquaintances here) is one of the characteristics where you currently strongly resemble your father, who used to have the same problem with his hair. So you might consider a visit to a good hairdresser. And finally, much as I know that teenagers usually hate being reminded of this fact, there is your posture. Like most of your peers you tend to, forgive me, slouch. While a lot of this is due to growing and having to adjust to constant changes in your body, it is a tendency you can train yourself out of.

Again forgive me please, as I know that the following subjects are often tender points in those of your age. But if you wish, I could also arrange for lessons in dancing and social graces (which sadly have been neglected due to your upbringing in the Muggle world). There are, indeed, a number of subjects which could help you fit in better with the wizarding world. I would certainly be happy to arrange for tuition in anything you find yourself interested in.

You might also consider taking up some kind of martial arts training or gymnastics of some sort. Since you keep finding yourself constantly (much to my further dismay) in dangerous situations, everything that can give you an edge would be helpful indeed. For a wizard, the first resort should always be magic, but having a backup never hurts. And avoidance and a good balance is also a more important aspect of magic duelling than most people realise.

Please let me know if you wish to take up any of my suggestions, or have additional ideas of your own, and I shall see to it that matters are arranged. Please also ready yourself to be picked up early next Tuesday for a visit to Gringotts and the ministry. And finally, I can once again only offer you my deepest apologies and regrets.

Yours,

sincerely and ashamedly,

Albus Dumbledore

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Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Thank you very much for your explanations about the circumstances of my upbringing. Much as the subject remains painful for me, actually knowing that there were good reasons for it makes me feel a bit better. And much as I hated my life here, I shudder at the thought of having been at the mercy of people like the Malfoys. I know that you wanted to do what was right for me and if it didn't work out that well after all ... well, I will not hold it against you. I've been plenty guilty of not thinking things through and putting others at risk myself.

I'm looking forward very much to next Tuesday. I'm convinced that it will bring me some closure to finally leave Harry Potter behind. It was Harry Potter who had such a rotten childhood. I think Harold Evans will be a much happier person. I'd also like him to be a different person in other ways, so I want to take you up on your offers. I know I won't miss my glasses one bit, and if something can be done about this hair of mine, that would be great.

As for tuitions, I'd like to leave that up to you. I now suddenly find myself with a lot of free time on my hands, since my relatives no longer force me to do chores. As a result I'm starting to feel actually rather bored. I know that most people would expect me to go and play, but I don't really know how to go about that, I must admit. I've never been a 'normal' child, and I don't know how I'd go back to being one all of a sudden.

So if you could arrange lessons that you feel would do me good, please go ahead Professor, as I think you know better than me what I need. Some sort of sports or martial arts would certainly be nice, though. I'd also like to get something to read, since I spend a lot of time alone and I've always rather enjoyed reading. Oh, and if I could get my schoolbooks for next year soon please. Although this makes me feel awfully like Hermione. My relatives are now perfectly polite to me, but they remain distant and really uncomfortable in my presence so I've been avoiding them. Which brings me back to the 'too much time on my hands and I'm feeling bored'. Was this too much of a brick to be a hint?

Yours,

sincerely,

Harold Evans (soon)

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Dear Mr. Harold Evans aka Harry,

congratulations on your hopefully shiny new life! May it be better by far than the old one.

I know that the ritual itself was rather hard on you, but I hope that you will find the consequences to your liking. I must say I certainly found your new looks quite strikingly different already. I am sorry we had to hustle you around utilizing that cloak of your father's (one inheritance at least which will always remain with you, dear Harry), but I think you preferred it to walking around as Harry Potter. And once we had been through with the hairdresser and optician and the wardrobe shopping, no one seemed to pay you any attention at all. I hope that was to your satisfaction.

As we talked about on Tuesday, I have arranged for a number of tuition sessions for you. However, we need to avoid drawing attention to your home. So in order for you to meet with your tutors, your lessons will either take place directly at the home of Mrs. Figg, or at a secure location provided by me which you can reach by flooing from her place. Please find enclosed a schedule of your activities for the next week.

You will also have to consider if you wish for your friends to learn about your changes before the start of the next year. It would be easy enough to arrange visits to the Burrow. But I do not know if you want to risk any information leaking out beforehand. I have so far been successful at keeping this matter from spreading. Fortunately my friends at the ministry are adept at 'misfiling' the relevant documents, so it will be a while before anybody stumbles across them. And Gringotts is, of course, the soul of discretion itself.

Undoubtedly the press will have a field day once this becomes public knowledge. But while this is unavoidable once school starts again, you may wish for anonymity until then. If you want to keep this from your friends but still go visit with them, we should be able to do something short-term with concealment charms. This is a bit risky, as they can be seen through by anyone perceptive enough to notice the charms. Bill Weasley would certainly be able to do so, seeing as he is an accomplished curse breaker. I also would not put it beyond the twins, old troublemakers that the two of them are.

Yours,

sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

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Dear Professor Dumbledore,

thank you very much for your well wishes. I do indeed already feel almost like a new person. To be able to walk around Diagon Alley without anyone paying me any attention was an amazing experience. It probably won't last once people realise that I look different, but I shall always treasure the memory. And hopefully, Harold Evans will be less exciting than Harry Potter. You never know.

One thing which is rather strange (though not unexpected, I guess) is Aunt Petunia's behaviour. The whole family is, of course, puzzled that they can't call me 'Potter' or 'Potty' (my cousin's highly imaginative invention) anymore. Uncle Vernon always mostly called me 'boy', so not much has changed there. But Aunt Petunia ... well, let's say she appears to be struggling with herself. It seems I was quite right that this could affect how she reacts to me. She keeps giving me really odd looks, and once she even started smiling fondly (!) at me. This feels rather strange, but I guess I shouldn't complain if she actually starts liking me.

I'd prefer to keep the whole thing secret until the start of term. I've written to my friends to let them know that, thanks to your intervention, my family is now actually treating me decently. I also told them that you've arranged for activities which keep me rather busy, so they know that I'm feeling all right this summer. Mrs. Weasley has, however, invited me to the Burrow for my birthday. I think I'd actually like to go there, as I've never had a proper birthday party in my life. So if you could please arrange for the visit and those charms you mentioned, and well, if Bill is there I can always take him aside and explain. He works for Gringotts after all, so he should know how to be discrete, shouldn't he?

What I don't know is if I should let Ron and Hermione know. I've hinted a bit, but I feel reluctant to let them know the full extent of it. I certainly can't let them know about the name change. I don't think they could keep it a secret at this point. As for my looks, maybe we could do a sort of in between with the charms? Like leave the Harry Potter hair (TM), but get rid of the glasses. That way they can start getting used to it. And they'll see the new clothes anyway.

Yours,

sincerely,

Harold Evans (Yeah!)

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Dear Harry,

I am glad to hear that your aunt seems to be coming around. Given that you still have to stay with your relatives for a while, anything that will improve her conduct towards you is surely a bonus. And please remember, that should they make any move towards offering further harm to you, to inform me directly. And I include harm done to your spirit and feelings in this. You have already suffered enough under their mistreatment in the past, and I will not allow any further hurt to come to you.

I have arranged for your birthday visit to the Burrow, and shall be meeting you half an hour beforehand at Mrs. Figg's to put the charm on you. You will then be flooing from her place to the home of the Weasley's.

I believe it is wise of you to keep your friends and the Weasley family in the dark for now. Gossip has unfortunately a habit of spreading, and it might mean that the press could hear of this earlier than is absolutely necessary. And I believe you would prefer to enjoy the rest of your holidays without their no doubt fanciful conjectures. It is an unfortunate fact that the truth does not sell newspapers nearly as well as scandal and gossip. Maybe we should start requiring wizard's oaths of truthfulness from our journalists when they start working? I suspect that would cause a significant decrease in their number, though.

In any case I shall see you on your birthday.

Yours,

sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

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AN: I believe this will be the only chapter to consist solely of letters. In case you are wondering why I did not post Harry's: 'Why I hate being Harry Potter' essay, that just fit in much better at a later point. Thanks for the reviews, and just to make it clear: Harry is not trying to hide that he is Harry Potter, he just changes his last name. And then we shall all sit back with a big bowl of popcorn to watch as various people who have all been rather hung up on that NAME and Harry being his father's son deal with the situation. Insert mad author's cackling at this point.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

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"Hey mate, you look great this year!" Ron exclaimed as he grabbed Harry and draped his arm over his friend in a one-armed hug. "They sure are feeding you better, too!"

Hermione meanwhile hugged the other half of him, but then frowned. "What happened to your glasses, Harry?"

Harry smiled back at both them happily. "Dumbledore had me taken to an optician and they gave me these permanent magical contact lenses. They are really great, you don't have to take them out all the time like the Muggle ones," he explained to Hermione. "And they should actually slowly improve my vision, too. So if I'm lucky, I'll not need them anymore in a few years. A bit like braces for teeth." He winked at her.

Hermione rolled her eyes at that and poked him. "Enough with the dentistry jokes. So how are you really doing this year?"

"Amazing, really. I'll tell you more about it later, though. There have been a lot of changes, but some are better kept quiet for now," he finished in a low tone. "And right now I think there are some more people I have to say hello too."

"Oh, of course. Meet us outside afterwards, will you?"

"Sure thing," Harry said, grinning at them before he went to greet Mrs. Weasley, who was busy in the kitchen. A lovely smell of baking cake filled the room.

"Harry!"

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," he got out before he was engulfed in a hug. Merlin, that woman always was very enthusiastic. Which was nice, but sometimes he wondered if she had no concept of personal space at all. Then again, with a family of their size living in that house, everyone would be used to living in each other's pockets.

He managed to free himself politely. "Thank you very much for having me over," he told her, smiling brightly.

"Of course, dear. I just wish we could see you more often. But Dumbledore keeps insisting that you have to stay with those horrible relatives of yours ..." she shook her head in disapproval.

"Oh, well, he has his reasons," Harry said hurriedly. "And they haven't been so bad this year, really."

"No, really," he reassured her, when she started to disagree. "Professor Dumbledore came and had a … word with them. Or rather a _lot_ of words."

His grin was probably slightly evil. But the memory of his dear relatives with their proverbial tails between their legs as they scurried away after Dumbledore was through with them was a really good one. They'd been treating Harry like raw eggs ever since. No doubt their good behaviour would eventually wear off. However, the headmaster had promised Harry that he would be paying them regular visits from now on to keep them in line. Yes, life was much better now that his relatives lived in fear of Dumbledore.

"Hmm. Well, as long as they treat you decently enough now ..."

Harry nodded firmly. "They are okay."

"Good, then. Anyway, don't let me keep you inside on this glorious day. Everyone else is outside. I just need to keep an eye on the cake," she burbled happily, winking at him.

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," he said quickly and made his escape.

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oOoOoOoOo

Outside he found Mr. Weasley seated comfortably at a big table that had been set up under an awning. It was going to be a hot day for once, and the man was contentedly sipping at a cooled bottle of Butterbeer. He smiled when Harry came up to him.

"Hello, Harry. Happy Birthday!"

"Thanks, Mr. Weasley," Harry replied, looking around for the others.

"I believe everybody else is down at the Quidditch pitch. They will be waiting for you, so hurry up."

The man beamed as Harry's face lit up. "Off you go!"

Harry hadn't brought his broom, but the Weasleys always had extras. And if they were old broom, well it was a friendly game. It wouldn't really do to show everyone up anyway. And indeed, everyone was just waiting for him to get started.

Soon afterwards he was in the air, dodging a Bludger as he tried to race Ginny. The younger girl was really good. He hoped she would try out for the Gryffindor team this year. Clearly all the practise she got with her brothers had honed her natural talent. And as he executed a tight spin, he realised once again how much he loved flying. Really, it was the greatest thing about being a wizard. And moments like this made it all worthwhile.

He was still smiling madly a while later when they walked back to the house. The twins had stayed behind to put away the brooms. Their matching wicked smiles had also promised the likelihood of some prank being planned. Charley was walking beside him, regaling everyone with an amusing anecdote involving a hungry dragonet and the head warder of the preserve where he worked. Apparently there had been a slight … misunderstanding between the two, which ended with the warden sporting a reverse Mohawk hairstyle thanks to a burn right down the middle of his head. The way Charley told the story was hilarious.

Ginny was on his other side. Somehow she had ended up clinging to Harry's arm. He had a slightly uneasy feeling about her. He wondered if she was really all right after what had happened to her last year. She also seemed to be the one most affected by his lack of glasses. All the others had taken it in stride, and even complimented him. But Ginny kept giving him odd looks. He found her staring at him several times, followed by her blushing and looking away again.

Ah, well. Girls, really who understood them. He looked over his shoulder to check on Ron and Hermione, who were walking right behind him. They looked to be arguing. Again. Sometimes he despaired of his friends. Hermione was mostly all right. She was quite sensible really, just terribly into books of course, and a bit too much in love with authority at times. But Ron was often still quite immature. And Harry was a bit concerned how his friend would take the revelation that Harry had done away with his famous name.

That Harry was no longer … Harry Potter.

Because Ron longed for recognition. Wanted badly to stand out from the crowd. So how would he react to Harry having rejected a name which embodied fame? Ron had never quite understood that Harry hated the attention. Wanted to be just … normal. He didn't get it that his friend would have swapped places with him without hesitation. If it meant he had parents, and a happy childhood. Fame could go hang. Money was nice, but ultimately worthless. Because there were things neither fame nor money could buy you.

So the thought of Ron finding out made his stomach clench. He just had a bad feeling about it. And it would be compounded by Harry having kept it from them for over a month. Which would annoy Hermione, but she'd get over it. But Ron would feel insulted by this lack of trust. Yet trusting in Ron's discretion, or worse, his acting ability … was setting yourself up for a fall. So once Ron found out there would likely be yelling. And pouting. And maybe a falling out, too.

He noticed that Charley had finished his story and was looking at him with some concern.

"Everything alright, Harry?" he asked softly. "You look rather upset all of a sudden."

"Oh, sorry. Just thinking of something," Harry replied lamely.

"Well, don't do that on your birthday, mate," Charley said, winking at him.

"I'll try."

"You do that," Charley said with an encouraging smile. Which widened even more as he looked past Harry.

"Hey, Bill," he shouted. "We weren't sure you were going to make it."

Harry spun around to face the eldest of the Weasley brood. Bill was coming towards them with a big smile on his face, which faded into puzzlement as he got a closer look at Harry. Ups. One question answered. He clearly needed to talk with Bill fast.

"Hello, Bill," he said, stepping forward to meet the older wizard. "Say, I'd like to ask you something. Could I have a quick word with you?"

"Sure, Harry," the red-head replied, blinking slowly at Harry. "Right here, or did you want to talk in private?"

Harry quickly looked around, and found everybody looking at him. Right. Definitely _not_ here.

"Ehm," he started out, blushing a bit under their stares. "Maybe in private? It's a little bit embarrassing."

Because really, it would be quite embarrassing if they found out that he was keeping secrets from them.

"Well, come on then, we'll head up to my room for a moment," Bill said, giving him a strange look.

"Thanks," he replied earnestly. "See you in a bit, guys!"

And he quickly ran off after Bill, who was striding away towards the house.

.

oOoOoOoOo

Once inside the room Bill shared with Charley, the older wizard closed the door and then took out his wand to cast a couple of charms on it.

"There," he said, turning to face Harry with a rather serious expression on his face. "Privacy, as requested. Now mind telling me why you are wearing a glamour to hide your quite fetching new hairstyle?"

"Ehm," Harry began again. "Dumbledore put that on me," he went on to explain, feeling flustered.

"See, we don't want everybody to know about it yet. If someone saw me like this … well, we want to keep it out of the papers for now. Because there is other stuff, and if they started digging around ..."

"What other stuff?" Bill asked, taking a seat on his bed and waving Harry over to sit on Charley's. Harry perched himself nervously on the edge of the mattress.

"I'll tell you, because Dumbledore thinks you can be trusted to keep silent about it," he started. "But you really need to promise not to tell anyone. Not even your family for now. Especially not your family, in fact. And it will all come out in a month anyway."

The red-head gave Harry a long, measuring look, but agreed.

"All right. As long as it's not illegal or harmful, I most sincerely promise not to inform anybody about what I will learn during this conversation," Bill said evenly.

"Oh, it's perfectly legal. Very much so," he sighed. And permanent. "Harmful … well, some people might have hurt feelings when they learn of it."

"My family, you mean?" Bill asked shrewdly.

Harry gave a sad nod. "Yeah, quite possibly. See, a week or so ago I got my name changed."

"Just your … name?"

"Well, not quite just my name. I sort of may have caused the Potter family to become extinct," Harry admitted, with a guilty expression.

"Oh. That was you? I actually heard the goblins talk about that ceremony, though of course they didn't say who it was. But since it hardly ever happens, it caused quite a stir," Bill said, looking rather flummoxed.

"Yeah," Harry replied, looking around the room to avoid Bill's eyes.

"So … if I may ask, why? Why do it?"

"It's kind of a long story, Bill. But in short, I just really didn't want to be Harry Potter anymore. And I got Dumbledore to agree with me, so you can be sure I got to think it through very thoroughly first."

"So what's your name now?" the older wizard asked, still sounding a bit bewildered.

"Harold Evans. I basically just took my mum's maiden name," Harry said, shrugging. "And yeah, I know about the consequences of ditching the Potter."

"Well, as long as you are sure?"

Bill clearly wasn't sure about it. And he was probably the most level-headed of the whole family, except for maybe Mr. Weasley.

"See, even you can't quite understand it," Harry pointed out a bit sadly. "So imagine how the rest of your family will react when they learn of it?"

"Ugh, yeah, I see what you mean about that," Bill said, his eyes widening almost comically. "Somewhere between horribly shocked and going spare. Though the twins will think it a grand prank, no doubt about that."

"Yeah," Harry laughed. "Those two will. But the rest?" He was abruptly serious again. "And I just want _one_ summer without all the hassle. Dumbledore took care of my relatives for me, so they now live in mortal fear of offending him."

"Hah, that I'd have loved to see," Bill exclaimed. "He should have done that ages ago! When I think that my brothers had to break you out of your room because they'd dared to lock you in ..." he growled, looking quite feral.

"Yeah, he was splendid. So now they're okay, and I'm having a really great summer so far. And I just don't want to deal with the fallout yet. Once we go to school Dumbledore's going to announce it anyway, but until then … I just want one summer of freedom!"

Bill's gaze was disconcertingly sharp. "Is this why you did it? Because you felt you needed to be free of your old name? I think I can sort of understand why you'd hate it, actually," he continued, putting his head sideways in thought.

"You're always under pressure, aren't you? And people have such weird ideas about Harry Potter, the great hero. Yes, I think I see now ..." he trailed off, and his eyes were sympathetic.

"Thanks, Bill," Harry said earnestly, feeling relieved. "For being able to understand. That really means a lot to me. Because it's been horrible, and no-one seems to get it that I _don't_ want to be famous. That one of my biggest dreams is to be just … normal."

"Oh, Harry," Bill sighed. "This hasn't been easy for you, has it? And with all that has happened at Hogwarts, too. I hear plenty of stories," he explained, gesturing expansively. "More than some. As you said, Dumbledore trusts me and I sometimes do freelance work for him. Security and such, you know? So I know more than most about what's going on."

"In fact I've got a job from him coming up which involves you in a way," he added, eyeing the younger wizard. "He wants me to put warding runes in the Chamber of Secrets. Right now the thing is rather a big security hole for the school that he wants closed. Am I right in thinking that I'll need your help getting into it?"

"Oh," Harry said, surprised. "Yeah, you would. So … warding runes. Sounds interesting."

"Oh, yes, runes are. Very much so. There is no end to the stuff you can do with them!" Bill exclaimed enthusiastically. A few minutes of examples and explanations later it was clear that he really loved the subject.

"Maybe I should have taken Ancient Runes as an elective instead of Divination," Harry mused, impressed by Bill's obvious enthusiasm.

"Divination, huh? Do I detect the influence of my lazy little brother in that selection?" The older red-head didn't sound very happy about that.

"You don't think much of Divination, then?"

"Well, it's fine if you have talent as a seer. But I've never understood why they even offer it at Hogwarts. There are damn few real seers about, and those usually get one-on-one training anyway. So teaching it in a class is rather pointless. Besides Trelawney is a bit of a fraud on top," he concluded with a roll of his eyes that spoke volumes.

"But you know, you can still change the elective? Especially if you have Dumbledore helping you now," he said with a speculative look at Harry.

"Hmm. I might at that. Ron will be annoyed at me for ditching him, but I'm afraid he'll be quite upset with me in any case," he sighed, looking sadly at the floor.

"Harry," Bill said, reaching across to put a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "My little brother is a nice enough guy. But you shouldn't let him decide your life for you. And taking a useless subject at school just to please him … well, don't do it. Not unless you actually find the subject interesting."

Harry blinked at him. "So, I shouldn't try to please my friends?"

"If they really are your friends, then they'll understand that you need to be your own person, and make your own way. And Ron needs to learn to be his own person, too. I know he dreams of being recognised, but right now what I see is him latching onto you. And that isn't good for either of you."

"Oh. Well, he's been a great friend, but sometimes ..."

"Sometimes he's still very immature," Bill stated bluntly. "That's the downside of being one of the youngest in such a big family. There's always someone to help you out. You don't have much pressure to learn to stand on your own feet. And well, our mum does mother us too much sometimes," he rolled his eyes again. "She has a hard time letting go, if you know what I mean."

Harry could see his point. He'd never had anyone to depend upon. Had always been on his own, really. In a way he had latched onto Ron as much as the other had, only for different reasons. Because he'd been desperate for friendship. But trying to change himself, or hold himself back, just to please a friend … was probably a really bad idea.

"Right. I think I see what you mean. And you are right. I'll ask Dumbledore to change the elective for me," he said in sudden decision. "And Ron, well, maybe when he has to deal with learning about all this, he'll get to grow up a bit, too. I still want to be his friend," he said, looking earnestly at Bill who nodded encouragingly.

"But I'll stop trying to do stuff just to please him. I'll try to find things instead that are good for both of us to do together," he continued. "And I'll be there if he needs help. But if I really want to be free, I have to be free in this, too."

Bill looked at him with sympathy. "It'll be all right," he offered. "He'll come around. But he needs to grow up and learn for himself, and you can't do it for him. If you try, you are not really helping him. Much better he goes through a little bit of disappointment and hurt now, than a lot later. Because everyone needs to learn that lesson at some point."

"Yeah, you are right. Thanks, Bill," Harry told him. "Thanks again for understanding, and for all the advice. There aren't really many people I can go to for advice, you know," he added, suddenly feeling shy. "And well, I don't want to bother Dumbledore with stuff like that."

"Harry, I'd be proud to call you my little brother, too," the red-head replied with a fond smile. "So if you need any advice or help, or just feel like having a good chat, don't hesitate to contact me."

"I will," Harry promised simply, really meaning it.

"Good! And … right now I believe there shall be cake. We can use that as a distraction," he gave Harry a conspiratorial wink. "And if anyone asks us what we were talking about, we'll say it's a surprise. No-one can argue with a surprise!" he declared theatrically, getting up and striking a pose.

"Now onwards! For cake, chocolate pudding and err," his gaze fell on a poster stuck to the wall. "Quidditch! That's always a good reason for … everything!" he exclaimed, dragging a giggling Harry out of the room with him.

And there was, indeed, cake.

.

oOoOoOoOo

Dear Harry,

I write to you to explain about a matter you may have heard of from your friends and the Weasley family. Your godfather, Sirius Black, has escaped from Azkaban. He was sentenced there for his betrayal of your family to Voldemort, and the subsequent murder of a dozen Muggles as well as of Peter Pettigrew, another friend of your father's. He is likely dangerous, and thanks to his prolonged stay in Azkaban, his sanity is also questionable. Unfortunately it may be that he poses a danger to you, wanting to finish what Voldemort failed to do.

I do not honestly believe he knows where you live, but just to be on the safe side, try to limit the time you stay outside. Please always carry your wand and the emergency portkey I gave you on your person. Most of all, please make no detours when going to and fro Mrs. Figg's. You will, of course, be perfectly safe from hostile wizards while at your relatives, and Mrs. Figg's house has also been protected. However, I do not think you need to worry unduly, and Black will likely be caught again before too long. Still, a degree of precaution has never hurt anyone, and you seem to have the unfortunate tendency to attract trouble, dear Harry. So better safe than sorry.

I hope you had a good birthday party at the Weasley's. I heard that Bill was present. I trust that he did not give you any trouble?

Let me know if you wish for any further visits to the Burrow. I also believe the Weasleys have a planned shopping trip to Diagon Alley. Given the momentary general nervousness, I do not know if it is entirely wise for you to attend. Since you already have everything you need for the next year, you would not need to visit Diagon again. But I will leave the decision up to you. If you wish to go, however, I must insist on organising a security detail for your protection. Please let me know your intentions, and if you need anything else.

I will also come by sometime next week for a check up on your relatives. It would not do for them to 'forget' about treating you well. I believe your schedule for the rest of the holidays is also pretty set, but tell me if you want anything changed about it.

And finally the Weasleys have contacted me to ask if you could stay with them for a week before school starts. Again, I will leave that up to you. Just let me know so I can have matters arranged.

Yours,

sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry stared at Dumbledore's latest letter glumly. He had a godfather? Who had betrayed his parents, and was a murderer? And who might be out for Harry's blood? Well, nothing new there, then. Apparently he couldn't even manage to be normal in regards to his godfather. His just had to be a secret Death Eater and mass-murderer. And now the man had escaped from prison. Which was supposedly impossible. But what was ever normal for Harry … Evans.

Really, it had been too much to hope that a simple change of name would stop weird stuff happening to him. Weird and dangerous, he reminded himself. On the other hand, his changed appearance might throw his godfather off, if the man managed to find him after all. Because everyone always talked about how much he looked like his father. And now he didn't really anymore.

Still, there was no point in worrying about it. If he was safe, he was safe, and if not … he could just try his best if it happened. And not think about how in his life, 'if' had an unholy tendency to turn into 'when' instead. Meanwhile he had a reply to write to the headmaster ...

.

oOoOoOoOo

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I did have a very nice birthday party with the Weasleys. And one of the best things about it was the talk I had with Bill.

I told him about the name change, which he'd actually heard of, though my name wasn't mentioned. It seems the goblins were gossiping about the ceremony, though. Anyway, I managed to get him to understand why I went through with it, which felt great. I'm afraid not many people will really understand it. He also gave me some good advice about how I should handle Ron. Because Ron will likely not take this very well at all.

Bill also offered to be a big brother for me, and to come to him for advice and help if I needed it. I really like him. He was also not happy about my choice of elective for the coming year, and I've come to see his point. Do you think I could still change from Divination to Ancient Runes? Bill was really enthusiastic about the subject, and I'm afraid he's managed to infect me. As well as put me off Divination. In any case, I believe Runes will be more useful for my future. So if it's still possible at all, I'd like to change my elective. Maybe we can talk about it during your next visit?

I think I'll leave off going to Diagon Alley again. The thought of trailing security guards is rather off-putting. And well, it was quite hard to keep the Weasleys from asking me too many questions. I think they suspect something is up, and are trying to nose it out of me. Much as I like them, this makes me feel a bit stressed. So let's just leave the trip. However, if you do get my elective changed, I'd need you to get me the books for Runes, please. I think I'd also rather stay here for the rest of the holidays, instead of visiting the Burrow again. I just don't feel up to constantly dodging questions. Plus I'd like to continue my tutoring sessions for as long as I can. I think they are really doing me good, and I'm rather enjoying them.

Maybe you could tell them that security concerns don't allow for further visits? That should satisfy them. And it also brings me to the other thing you wrote about. I didn't even know that I have a godfather! So to learn all these horrible things about him was rather a shock. I hope you are right about me not being in danger. Because the way my live has been so far, they probably should rename 'Murphy's law' to 'Potter's law'. Only of course it's no longer 'Potter'. But it seems like even as Evans, weird stuff keeps following me around.

In any case I'll try to stay in protected places as much as I can. Which is a lot easier now, since my cousin is no longer chasing me all over the place.

Looking forward to your visit,

yours,

sincerely,

Harold Evans (still very happy about it)

.

oOoOoOoOo

Sirius Black felt confused. He was pretty sure he had the right address. And he thought he'd recognised the woman living here as Petunia, Lily's sister. Of course he'd only met her once, at the Potter's wedding, so he wasn't quite sure.

But if so, where was his godson? So far he had only seen that horribly fat kid, who seemed to be the son of probably-Petunia and her husband, the human walrus. Baby-walrus was out and about a fair bit, always hanging around with his gang of friends. They weren't the nicest kids. He'd seen them throw stones at the cats of the old lady who lived over in the next lane.

Not that he cared much for cats himself, especially not those cats. They kept hissing at him when he got too close to their territory. And they refused to be intimidated by his snarls and barks, or cowed by his size. But well, that was cats for you. Still, kids that threw rocks at cats might get the idea to throw stones at him, too.

So he had growled at them. Unlike the cats, baby-walrus and his friends had been properly terrified.

He sniffed in disdain. What a cowardly bunch. He slunk into the neighbour's rhododendron again, lying down flat to soak up the coolness of the shaded ground. He'd nose around for another day or so. If he still hadn't seen Harry by then, he'd have to assume he had the wrong place after all. Or that Harry wasn't staying with Petunia.

He was close to dozing off in the summer-heat when he heard the door at Number 4, followed by footsteps hurrying in his direction. He perked up his ears and sniffed. That was a new scent, at least. As he peeked out from under the concealing shrubbery, he saw a boy rapidly approaching his position. He stared, his tongue hanging out.

Because could _this_ … be Harry? In that picture in the Prophet he'd looked just like James. It had been part of a human interest story about the Boy-who-Lived. The reporter had clearly gotten hold of a privately taken picture. Harry had been laughing together with his friends, in what looked like the Gryffindor common room. With his arm draped over his friend's shoulder. The friend who had a rat sitting on his other arm. A very familiar rat. Even the memory caused him to snarl silently in rage. Because that rat should have been … dead.

Footsteps passing him brought him back to the present. This boy looked … different. Yes, there was a certain resemblance in the facial features. But the hair wasn't at all like James', and he wore no glasses. The eyes were Lily's, though. In fact, the boy looked quite a bit like her. So, was this his godson after all? Even if he somehow failed to resemble James very much?

He'd been staring too long, and the boy had now hurried past him. It was a moment's quick decision to abandon the rhododendron and race after him. He managed to catch up with the boy just at the border of cat-territory. All of Sirius' instincts wanted him to jump up at the slight boy, wagging his tail happily. But he didn't want to knock him down. Really, the boy looked like a high wind would bowl him over. So he just stopped in front of him, yapping enthusiastically.

Only to see the boy back off, eyes widened in fright. This wasn't how it was meant to go. Harry … if it was Harry, he was still not really sure ... should not be afraid of him. And he should also not whirl around and bolt straight into cat-territory, dashing up to the door of cat-lady and fleeing inside without a single look back.

He let his ears drop. That could have gone better. And he was positive that the damn cats were sniggering at him, too.

He glowered back at them. He would not stay where he wasn't welcome. Anyway, he had a rat to hunt.

.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry leaned against Mrs. Figg's front-door, still panting from his mad dash. That had been a close call. Ever since meeting Ripper for the first time, he held no great love for dogs. Especially not big, black, feral looking dogs chasing after him. He shivered. To suddenly come face to face with that monstrosity had frightened him. It made him remember the time when Ripper had chased him up a tree, and his relatives had left him stuck up there for ages.

So, no, he didn't really like dogs at all.

.

oOoOoOoOo

AN: I'd just finished this chapter, when I realised I'd totally forgotten about the whole 'trip to Egypt' thing. Which was, however, the reason for Sirius' breaking out of Azkaban. Also canon Harry didn't meet Bill until his fourth year. But I really wanted Bill as a 'big brother figure' and confidante for Harry. So simple solution: my version of Bill still works for Gringotts, but in England. Therefore the family didn't go to Egypt to visit with him. I'm sure they can find something else to spend the money on (mutters darkly to herself). And I hope I came up with a fitting substitute for how Sirius saw Scabbers in a picture.

Thanks for the reviews, and yes, assorted people will have their problems with Harry's decision. :)

oOoOoOoOo


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

oOoOoOoOo

And now the moment of truth had arrived.

His glorious summer of freedom was finally over, and so Harold Evans had to go and face the rest of the world, or at least those parts of it going to Hogwarts on the train. Since he hadn't wanted to stay over at the Burrow for the last days of the holidays, it had instead been arranged for his uncle to drive him to the Station, where he'd meet up with the Weasleys. He really didn't want to get on the train all by himself, though.

Of course they'd already seen him without his glasses, but the hair was what really made the big difference. And the butterflies in his stomach were definitely getting out of hand as he made his way across to where loud voices and an abundance of red hair created the usual happy chaos. Time to put on a brave smile. As he stepped closer to them, one of the twins turned around and gave a start of surprise.

"Harry?"

Now all the others looked around for him.

"What where?"

Puzzled looks gave way to surprise.

"What happened to your hair, mate?"

And Ron really did do shocked looks well.

"Are you finally going to join," Fred (possibly)

"the family?" and George (maybe) at least seemed very happy to see him.

He smiled a bit uncertainly at Mrs. Weasley, who looked very surprised as well.

"Actually, I wanted to look more like my mother. All that: 'he looks just like his father' has gotten a bit old by now," he explained, trying to turn it into a light joke.

"You sure look,"

"very handsome now," the terrible duo said approvingly.

"Well, Mr. Harry Potter," he flinched at Mrs. Weasley's words. She sounded slightly flustered. "You really have turned a new leaf this summer."

She smiled at him, apparently unaware of his reaction. "And you'll certainly stand out less with our crowd now," she added, winking at him.

He noticed Ginny staring at him wide-eyed and almost dazed. When he looked back at her, somewhat taken aback by her strong reaction, she flushed unbecomingly and turned away quickly to fuss over her trunk. Okay … that was … strange.

But that was hurdle number one taken. He was pretty sure they wouldn't mind having Harold Evans instead of Harry Potter, although Ron at least would likely not take that bit of news well.

He sighed. This was going to be one bloody long day. And a total blast. But he was all Evans now. Time to remember that, he thought as he stepped through the wall onto the platform.

.

oOoOoOoOo

Ron and Harry had soon found themselves an empty compartment on the train. The twins had helped them stow their luggage before bouncing off happily to look for Lee Jordan. Ginny fortunately joined a group of her year-mates. She was starting to make Harry feel uneasy. Now Ron was running an excited monologue about the latest Quidditch games, and was too caught up in that to notice that Harry's responses were limited to occasional grunts and encouraging nods.

Because Harold Evans was still quite nervous. This momentary peace was just a short respite before things came to a head. However, it was almost amusing how hardly anyone seemed to recognize him. Certainly plenty of people had poked their heads in while hunting for their friends, and left without any comment. Finally Hermione showed up to join them. She did a double-take upon seeing his hair.

"Huh," was all she said, however. "Hello, guys."

"So how have you boys been? I haven't seen you since Harry's birthday party," she added, smiling brightly.

"Fine, thanks Hermione," Harry replied, smiling back at her. "It's really been the best summer of my life so far."

"You sure look good," she commented as she settled across from him and Ron.

"I'd have hardly recognized you," she added idly, but her gaze was disconcertingly sharp.

Harry just smiled some more. "That was sort of the idea," he murmured softly, looking directly into her eyes. Ron fortunately seemed oblivious to the exchange. Instead he was poking at the covered basket that Hermione had set down on the seat next to her.

"What have you got in there?" he asked.

"Oh, let me show you," Hermione exclaimed. "I wanted to get myself an owl this year, but then I saw this one instead and instantly fell in love."

She opened the basket and scoped out what looked like an orange ball of fur. "Let me present Crookshanks," she said proudly. "He's part Kneazle, part cat, and really, really clever!"

As she proudly held the creature up, there was a sudden commotion in Ron's pocket. The red-head paled and clapped his hand there protectively.

"It's going to eat Scabbers!"

"No, he's not!"

"It's a cat! Cats eat rats!"

"It's my familiar! Familiars don't eat other familiars!"

"He so totally is going to do it. You keep that little monster away from my Scabbers!"

"He won't eat Scabbers!"

"He will! Keep him away!"

Harry clapped his hands to his ears as their argument quickly escalated in volume, looking back and forth between his two best friends.

"Guys?"

"I will not have that monster eat Scabbers!"

"He won't!"

"You just wait and see. He will, and then you'll be sorry you ever brought it!"

"Guys?!"

"My Crookshanks is NOT a monster!"

"He so is!"

"GUYS!"

They both suddenly turned to him, both babbling wildly, alternately defending and accusing the cat.

"Will you just shut up, PLEASE!" he finally shouted at them.

They stared at him, shocked, but at least they fell silent for a moment. He looked forbiddingly at both of them and drew a deep breath.

"Look, I'm sure Hermione will not let her cat eat your rat, Ron. You're being irrational. Just keep them in the dorms, and everything will be fine," he said firmly, giving them a stern glare. He could really do without the bickering and shouting. Though at least it seemed to have distracted Hermione from his new looks.

.

oOoOoOoOo

Stony silence now reigned in their compartment.

Which, admittedly, was a slight improvement over the shouting, but it still got on Harry's nerves. However, battle-lines had clearly been drawn over the matter. And likely there would be more skirmishes in the future, too.

Harry sighed inwardly. The upcoming revelation about his changed name might even be helpful there. Because it would make them forget their quarrel for a while. At least until the damn cat started chasing Ron's blasted rat around. Not that he actually cared about the rat, but he certainly didn't want to have Ron permanently upset about it.

He'd really been hoping for a more peaceful and, hah, even year at Hogwarts. Well, at least once the furore around his latest escapade died down. Something else was bound to happen to take the pressure off him. Though with his luck, it would just be something else targeting him and dragging him back into the centre of attention.

He stared morosely out of the window, watching the rain-drenched landscape recede.

He hoped the teachers, at least, would get over the uproar fast. And would get used to having Harold Evans in their class, who was a more attentive and studious pupil than Harry Potter had been. They'd likely appreciate that. Maybe even Snape. If the man managed to actually notice it.

In theory, he should be doing much better in potions this year. Because over the summer he'd been able to prepare for the coming school-year, which included reading the books ahead of time. Dumbledore had also gotten him some really helpful beginner's handbooks that any child raised by wizards would have been familiar with long before they entered Hogwarts. And those were also handed out to Muggle-born children when they got their introduction tour, so they could acquire the basic understanding of the subject before starting classes.

However, being _born_ to wizards, but _raised_ by Muggles, had made him fall through the cracks. Which meant he'd been struggling with many things that everybody else took for granted as basic knowledge.

The disaster was compounded by the fact that it had been _Hagrid_ who'd come for him to take him to Diagon Alley in his first year. Because while Hagrid was a dear, and really nice … he was also hopelessly clueless and unobservant. McGonagall or Flitwick, who normally handled the introductions for the Muggle-born, would likely have noticed his deficiencies, and taken steps to remedy them. Hagrid had done his best. It was a real pity that his best had simply failed to be good enough.

As it was, everybody seemed to have assumed that someone else had seen to him, or that he needed no help at all.

And Snape especially had taken Harry's ignorance for laziness and spoiled arrogance. Which had further escalated whatever problem the man had with him to begin with. Dumbledore had dropped a vague hint or two about that, but clearly hadn't wanted to discuss the potion master's secrets. Which was reassuring in a way, because he could hope that the headmaster would treat Harry's secrets the same. Ah, well. He'd just have to wait and see what reactions he'd get out of the git himself.

Around him, the silence continued to be deafening, broken only by the pages of Hermione's book turning. Ron still refused to look at her, and was staring out of the window like Harry. He also didn't look very happy. Splendid. That meant his friend would be in a bad mood for Harry's news to begin with. He sighed and shifted his gaze back to the window. Autumn seemed to have come early this year, and the landscape was depressingly shrouded in rain.

Anyway, the whole thing was just another instance of 'Potter's law'. Whenever something could go wrong for him, it inevitably would.

Which meant he'd have to take better care of things himself in the future, and never assume that others had all the relevant information. But as a scared, ignorant eleven year old, what chance had he really had?

And it wasn't even as if most of the adults who'd failed him had done so deliberately or out of spite.

Mostly they'd acted on incomplete information, or simply failed to consider the whole situation.

In the case of his lacking introduction to Hogwarts, no-one there had known that his aunt had hidden all knowledge of magic and his family background from Harry. And he, not wanting to be exposed as ignorant, when he was already so much in the centre of attention, hadn't told anyone either. The only ones who had at least partly known had been his friends, and they were just kids themselves. Hermione had done her best to catch him up with school-work. As for Ron helping him …

That was more difficult. Because a lot of what he knew about the wizarding world had come from either Hermione's book-gained knowledge, or Ron. And unfortunately too much of what he'd been told by his friend was, if not outright false, at least incomplete or misleading. A lot of this misinformation had been sorted out during summer, thanks to the helpful tutors Dumbledore had engaged for him. But to know that his friend, out of sheer ignorance or prejudice, had actually made some of Harry's problems worse …

No, he would no longer blindly accept Ron's values and ideas and go along with him out of a desperate desire to please his mate. And for their friendship to work, both sides would need to put equal effort in. So if Ron couldn't overcome his likely disappointment about Harry no longer being 'Potter' … he wouldn't bend over simply because he wanted to keep his friend. A decision easily made, because he couldn't bend on this in any case, even if he'd wanted to.

And he would not trust in what anyone told him blindly anymore. At the very least, he'd have to double-check his facts from now on. And keep an open mind regarding other possibilities. And not jump to conclusions, if he could help it.

Trust really was an issue for him.

He'd gotten himself into most of the messes during the last two years because he'd never learned to rely on adults. Or that you could ask for help. And might actually receive it. Provided you asked the right person. McGonagall hadn't been, with the Stone. And Lockhart had definitely not been right-person material, either.

So he needed to learn who would actually _listen_ to him. And be able to act reliably on what they were told. And neither see just a kid to be ignored, or be a total failure when it came to the actual helping part.

However, he had the headmaster now. Who clearly had been impressed by Harry this summer, and was now finally telling him things. And since he was obviously still feeling guilty about his mismanagement of Harry's life, he could be relied upon to want to be helpful. Not that he was likely to treat Harry like an adult, but it was still a marked improvement.

And Bill might be a real ally, too. Their talk had certainly been one of the highlights of this summer for Harry. Because Bill had _understood_. Having someone actually listen was a start, but them also understanding, and without having to go into endless explanations either …

Yes, Bill had excellent potential. And he'd sounded quite sincere in his offer to Harry, too. Well, he'd be able to tell more when the eldest Weasley came to ward the Chamber. He'd see then how Bill would treat him in a dangerous environment.

But aside from those two, he couldn't really see anyone else as a possible adult ally at the moment. Yes, some of them could be useful in certain situations, and had even proven their willingness to help. Like Hagrid. But trusting in Hagrid's discretion was impossible, which automatically excluded him from Harry's very short list of 'probably reliable adult, hopefully willing to listen to me'.

Which brought him back to the whole trust issue. Because 'probably reliable, hopefully willing to listen to me' somehow failed to line up with 'trusted'.

He'd never truly realised how little he trusted anyone, especially adults.

But then he'd also never spent so much time considering himself. And thinking about consequences.

He really needed to get into the habit of thinking things through carefully. Of planing, instead of blindly rushing in. Instinct would only get you so far. Or rather it was great when you were in the middle of a situation and had to think fast. Otherwise it was a rubbish idea to just go with gut-feelings. You should listen to those, of course. But switching on the brain for a second opinion was usually far preferable.

Gryffindor bravery was valuable. But so was Slytherin caution.

One allowed you to face things head-on. But the other would keep you from being blind-sided too easily, and make unpleasant surprises from behind less likely. So if he wanted to beat Potter's law, he needed to let his inner Slytherin out more to cover his back.

Because if you put both together …

He maybe stood a chance at succeeding.

This summer had taught him many things. Few of his lessons had been directly about magic. But all of what he'd learnt would be very useful for him. It had been a great summer, both enjoyable and productive.

But the summer had come to an end, and it was now time to face the consequences.

Even if the fallout turned out to be … spectacular.

.

oOoOoOoOo

He was eventually brought out of his thoughts by the arrival of the sweets trolley. And chocolate frogs and assorted candies finally managed to defuse the tense atmosphere in the compartment. Fortunately Ron was still quite unable to resist the lure of sugar.

Afterwards Harry managed to get a conversation started. He was, however, really careful to steer it away from any mention of _pets_ on the one hand, and _classes_ on the other. Because the 'I ditched Divination' cliff was also looming on the horizon. And he'd probably be better off to throw that at Ron while the red-head was still upset about Harry's name-change. Compared to that, the desertion would hopefully seem insignificant.

They were engaged in light banter when Harry felt the first stirrings of unease.

He'd felt much better now that his friends were talking again, and had all but forgotten about his depressive thoughts from earlier. But now it was as if a shadow was moving across the sun. And an increasingly cold feeling was stealing in. It was as if all happiness was slowly being sucked out of him.

He wiped his suddenly clammy hands on his trousers, and looked about with a rising sense of anxiety. Ron and Hermione fell silent, too. They seemed to share his apprehension, and there was fear in Hermione's eyes.

"Harry?" she whispered.

"Yeah," he croaked.

"You feel it, too, don't you?"

He nodded unhappily, trying without success to determine where the horrible feeling was coming from. Or what was causing it. Even Ron, who had been munching on yet another chocolate frog, was clearly affected now. His eyes were darting around, much like Harry's, and his freckles stood out in stark contrast to his pale face.

"I don't like this at all," Harry said. "Something is very wrong."

And the dreadful feeling kept getting worse. He shivered. Hermione appeared now almost paralysed with fear, and she was gasping for breath. Ron seemed frozen. Harry felt like a mouse trying to hide from a snake. It was slithering about out there, and if he made a wrong move he would be devoured.

The snake had already swallowed all his happiness. Now it would come and finish him off. Suck out everything good, until nothing was left but despair. He felt close to fainting as he helplessly watched the door to their compartment open silently. There was a dark figure there, shrouded in shadows.

And the figure was moving closer. Sliding towards him relentlessly. He dimly heard screaming through the blood pounding in his ears. A woman pleading. Pleading for his life. His. 'Not Harry', she begged. He knew it was his mother who was screaming. Dying from the horrible green light that filled his vision.

Filled his vision, until it turned black. He fainted.

.

oOoOoOoOo

"Harry?"

A frantic voice was all but shouting into his ear. He winced, and flinched away from it.

"Thank goodness! When I saw that thing coming after you I thought … " Hermione broke off, but the despair in her voice made her meaning clear without any need to finish the sentence.

"I'm fine," he said automatically. In truth, he felt anything but fine, but he'd never cared for being fussed over.

His heart still felt heavy, and depression seemed to paint everything in tones of grey. The happiness was all gone. And on his closed eyelids he could still see the memory replay itself. And hear the screams, faint now, but endlessly repeated.

"Mr. ehm," he heard an adult male voice begin to speak, rather uncertainly.

"Harry Potter," Hermione supplied helpfully. He'd have preferred it if she hadn't told, but then she was no good when it came to resisting the voice of authority. Even if this person didn't sound all that authoritative.

"Mr. Potter," the voice repeated, though it sounded strangely doubtful. And also surprised. "You need to eat some of this chocolate. It will help you deal with the ordeal of meeting the Dementor."

Chocolate?! How was chocolate meant to help? And what the heck was a Dementor?

He winced again as hands helped him sit up. His head started pounding like crazy the second he was vertical.

"Harry? Are you all right?"

Concern edged Hermione's voice, and a small female hand came up to gently touch his forehead.

"Head. Hurts," he managed to gasp out against the pain, keeping his eyes firmly closed.

"I have some pain-relief potions in my luggage," the male stranger announced. "Try and get him to eat the chocolate while I go fetch it, Miss Granger."

"Of course, sir," she replied dutifully.

"Who's that?" he managed to get out before a piece of chocolate was shoved into his mouth.

He somehow avoided choking on it and started chewing. Surprisingly, it actually seemed to lift the grey fog of despair that was covering everything. He willingly accepted another piece from her. Apparently chocolate _really_ was good against depression.

"I think he's the new DADA teacher," Hermione whispered into his ear. "He said his name was Professor Lupin."

Harry nodded slightly to show he'd heard her, and continued chewing his chocolate.

"You should have seen this," she added quietly, awe in her voice. "He came in just as this _thing_, I mean the Dementor, was bending over you, and cast the most brilliant spell! It made this bright cloud which _tore_ through it and made it disappear."

The hero-worship in her voice was painfully obvious. Hopefully this wasn't going to be a repeat of her Lockhart crush from last year. Though at least this one seemed to do all right on the 'actually useful' part.

After he'd downed the potion the man handed him when he returned a minute later, Harry was quite ready to firmly establish him in that category. Professor Lupin turned out to be a soft-spoken, fairly nondescript man in somewhat shabby clothing, with a gentle smile. He urged Harry to eat some more chocolate, and told his friends to come find him if Harry didn't get better before they arrived at Hogwarts. Then he took his leave, quietly slipping out of their compartment.

But not before shooting Harry one last puzzled look.

.

oOoOoOoOo

After a few more pieces of chocolate Harry finally felt better. And he remembered that he hadn't actually thanked his rescuer.

"The Professor is next door, isn't he?" he asked.

"Yeah," Ron said. "Good thing he was, too. Else that thing might have gotten you."

Harry scowled at him. "Yeah, thanks for the reminder, mate."

Ron flushed, but refused to back down. "Well, it's true," he said, jutting out his chin.

"I know," Harry sighed. "Why do these things always happen to me?" he muttered morosely and licked the last traces of chocolate from his fingers.

Hermione looked up from the pages of her defence book … apparently she was trying to find out if those Dementor-things were mentioned in it.

"You _are_ rather a magnet for trouble," she agreed. "Sometimes I wonder why I stick around you," she added with a soft smile that belied her words.

"Well, there has to be some reason you got sorted into Gryffindor," he teased her. "You must have a suppressed desire for dangerous adventures."

"Hmm," was all she said, but she was still smiling.

"Anyway, I'd better go and thank the Professor for his help," Harry said, getting up.

He was still a little unsteady on his feet, but it wasn't too bad really. When he thought that he'd be able to make it to the next-door compartment, he moved over. He hesitated for a long minute before entering, though. Something about the Professor's reaction to Harry had seemed … off. It was as if Harry hadn't been what he'd expected. He snorted. The man had probably just been surprised to find the Hero and Saviour of the wizarding world in a dead faint, unable to defend himself against … the thing.

He gave a soft knock, which was immediately answered by a quiet: "Come in."

He stuck his head in, and was met with a concerned look on the man's face as he looked up from his book.

"Mr. Potter," Professor Lupin said courteously. "I hope you are feeling better?"

"Yes, sir, I'm fine," he replied quickly. "I really wanted to thank you, Professor, for saving me. And for the chocolate," Harry added with a grateful smile.

The man answered his smile a bit uncertainly. "You are welcome, Mr. Potter. I was a good friend of your father's, you know. It's an honour to help his son."

Harry felt his smile freeze. Damnation. That was one thing he had _not_ considered. But how was he to know about any friends of his father's? It wasn't as if anyone ever thought to tell him these things. Just like he hadn't known about that godfather of his.

"Oh. I didn't know. In that case I hope you will forgive me."

He tried to avoid looking at the gentle eyes regarding him in puzzlement.

"Whatever for, Mr. Potter?"

"Oh, Professor Dumbledore will make an announcement tonight, I think. I hope you won't mind too much."

Before the man could make a reply or question him further, Harry quickly slipped out of the door and fled back to his compartment.

And he tried very hard not to think of it as running away …

.

oOoOoOoOo

AN: This chapter is a prime example of how these things seem to sometimes write themselves. I had just noted down: 'Meeting Remus on the train and the Dementor incident' for after the quarrel between Ron and Hermione, and was working out a way to bridge over to that. Preferably in a manner that would take up a couple of thousand words. Then the 'stony silence' sentence came to me. And after that Harry just took over with his slightly depressive musings about his rotten luck and trust and stuff. I hope you liked the description of the Dementor coming closer. I wrote that while on my way to the dentist.

p.s.: My dentist is actually very nice and really talented, and I totally like her. Still … drills!

p.p.s.: Oh, and Remus wasn't in their carriage because I simply couldn't envision him sleeping through a shouting match. Instead he can be in the next compartment, having a nice quiet read, and come to their help when he feels Mr. Dementor come for its visit.

Also thanks for the reviews! Oh, and I believe by that point magic contact lenses are not that unlikely, all it would take is one Muggle-born to adapt some spells to the 'normal' ones. And since Wizards are just as vain as the next Muggle, they'd probably be quite happy to use them.

oOoOoOoOo


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

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oOoOoOoOo

And now the main act was about to begin. His nerves were totally shot by now, and the horrible experience on the train had not helped at all. Though at least it had distracted Ron and Hermione from both their quarrel about the cat, and Harry's changed appearance. And they might also be more willing to go easy on him once they learned of the rest.

The rest. The great secret. Which was about to come into the open. His stomach clenched in apprehension. Hermione had argued with him that he should go see Madame Pomfrey instead of go to the feast. But he needed to be here when Dumbledore made his announcement. And really, after all the chocolate, he felt well enough. Whatever anxieties plagued him right now had other reasons entirely.

When he walked into the Great Hall he went largely unnoticed at first. But as he approached the Gryffindor table, flanked by his two friends, people started to actually look at him. And the widened eyes and whispers starting behind him showed clearly that they, too, thought he looked rather different. The difference that a few cosmetic changes could make was quite amazing. The other thing though … that would be much more significant. They'd probably talk about it for the next month.

After he settled at the table in the midst of whispering, Harry turned to look at the teacher's table. The headmaster had obviously been watching him and now gave him an encouraging wink and twinkle. Argh. Remember Evans, always Evans. Who was he looking at now though ... oh, the new Professor. And Dumbledore seemed a bit sad. Right. Good friend of my father's. Consequences, always consequences. He sighed and looked away.

And met an intense dark glare. Oh yes, that was the other problem. Snape. Who looked rather upset. And intense. Intensely upset. Incensed even. Dumbledore had intended to tell the teachers beforehand. So the git already knew. What he was going to make of it was another question. Potions was always such fun to look forward to. He realised he was staring back at Snape.

Harry noticed that the whispering had died down and Minerva McGonagall had stepped forward with the sorting hat. As he broke eye contact with Snape and looked at her instead, he found that she had been staring at him, too. Her stern face was unreadable. Well, she'd known both his parents, hadn't she? He sighed again. This evening was going to be one big headache, and it hadn't even started properly yet.

As the Sorting Hat began its song he wondered vaguely if he should have let Dumbledore resort him, too. Now _that_ would really have put the cat among the pigeons. Or rather the lion amongst the snakes. He amused himself with the thought of Snape's reaction to Harold Evans, Slytherin. He was certainly feeling less Gryffindor by the minute. And the moment of truth was rapidly approaching.

He sighed morosely. "You alright, mate?" Ron asked from his right as applause greeted a new Ravenclaw. "You look quite pale."

"Yeah. I'll be alright. Listen. You too, 'Mione. Dumbledore's going to say something soon. Please try not to be upset with me."

The two of them exchanged a look across him. Then they both looked at him suspiciously.

"What have you gone and done now, Harry?" Hermione whispered furiously as the Hat sorted a squeaking girl into Hufflepuff.

"Nothing bad. As such. Dumbledore knows anyway. It's just ... I didn't tell you about it. Pleaaase don't be mad at me for that," he pleaded and shrunk under their combined glare.

"Harry James Po.."

"Stop 'Mione, please."

"What, why? It's your name?"

"Partly. Very partly."

"What do you mean?"

The Slytherin table broke into shouts of approval.

"Just wait," he hissed at them. "And please wait with shouting at me until later."

"Oh, Harry. What have you been up to this summer?"

"You know, all the teachers have been looking at him strangely."

Brilliant observation Ron, really brilliant.

"Yeah, they know already."

"Know what?"

"Patience, young Padawan, patience."

Hermione giggled at that. Ron merely looked confused.

Well, the sorting was finished. Dumbledore was standing up. Time for the usual announcements.

Yep, forest still forbidden. Dementors around the school thanks to my demented godfather, joy. Knowing those ... things were out there was certainly a jolly thought. Maybe he really should join the Slytherins, at least his stomach surely was no Gryffindor tonight. And now for the grand finale.

"... and finally a notice regarding one of our pupils. From now on, your fellow student, Mr. Harry Potter, shall no longer answer to this name. Please address him as Harold Evans, as he legally had his name changed this summer. And now for the feast! Enjoy!"

The silence in which the headmaster settled back down into his chair was total. Absolutely everybody was staring at Harry. He peeked at the two flanking him. Hermione appeared stunned. Ron was doing flabbergasted chicken again. And this time the whispers were a storm. He vaguely wondered how many howlers he would get about this. And Professor Lupin at the teacher's table looked like someone had kicked him in the stomach.

Harry sighed and looked down at the food appearing on the table. His appetite had just joined his stomach in the Slytherin dungeons.

.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry felt relieved when the feast was finally over. It turned out rather fortunate that he'd lost his appetite, because his house-mates hardly let him eat. They peppered him with endless questions, and the tense silence on either side of him didn't really balance that. Nor was the heat he got from everyone offset by the glacial glare Snape gave him all through the feast. He felt like a beetle about to be dissected for ingredients. As for his two friends ...

Hermione's silence was … mostly considering. He could almost hear the wheels clicking in her brain. She was biding her time, waiting for a better moment to spring her questions, and meanwhile absorbing everything he said to others. As well as cataloguing the reactions he got. But at least she was honouring his plea for delaying the shouting until later, and waiting her turn. He sighed. Because it was only a delay of the inevitable.

Ron, however …

His friend was almost radiating betrayed hurt. And a total lack of understanding. He felt Ron's eyes on him, looking like a kicked puppy. Yes, there would be yelling later. And upset, and tears, and explanations that went in one ear and out the other, because the red-head had his family's temper. And while he had a brain, it was usually on off when he was feeling upset. And he didn't listen well while he was shouting, so … yeah, it would be _such_ fun. Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation.

Just like Ginny …

Because the girl kept staring at him as if he'd suddenly grown two more heads and turned into Fluffy. Or as if her world had crumbled to ruin around her. It was hard meeting her eyes. If Ron was likely to yell at him as soon as he got the chance, Ginny looked like she was about to turn into a permanent water-sprout. Harry's gut clenched again. He'd expected Ron to take it badly. But Ginny was obviously worse.

As for the other students ….

The Gryffindors were a tad confused, and nosy like usual. And of course they tried to satisfy their curiosity, since he was right in their middle, and couldn't escape the questions. Amazingly, though, a few seemed even disinterested. See, Snape, not everyone's a member of the Harry Potter fan-club. Sadly they were the minority. And the twins couldn't decide between treating this as a supreme prank, or as fodder for making jokes.

The Ravenclaw table apparently found all this very interesting, and had turned him into the topic for an almost philosophical discussion. On hubris, of all things. As if he was committing sacrilege by ridding himself of an unwanted name. If John Smith wanted to be John Tailor instead, no-one would care. But because it was Harry Bloody _Potter_, it was worthy of notice. Was it really arrogance to want to be … less? To shed fame, and attract less interest? If so, then people clearly had some strange ideas.

The Badgers seemed the most disinterested. Of course they were gossiping like mad. But they were _always_ gossiping like mad. They had a tendency to behave a bit like a hive-mind. And to displays of horrible clingyness. For all that he'd wanted friends and acceptance when he first came to Hogwarts, the kind offered in Hufflepuff was obviously not for him. At least it was the only house the Hat had not considered for him. And since he was no stranger to working hard … was he disloyal? He thought not, but he'd grown up to rely only on himself, and closeness mostly made him feel … uncomfortable. See Mrs. Weasley and her hugs. He should be soaking those up. Instead they often made him want to flee. And to be an outsider in _Hufflepuff_ was probably about the worst thing that could happen to anybody.

As far as he could make out the Slytherins were trying to make witty little jokes at his expense, and failing miserably. Which was his one point of consolation. They clearly were the ones who had the least comprehension of what he'd done. Or what it meant. Because to a pure-blood who had grown up with a family, removing yourself from said family was probably … unthinkable. And they didn't know how far he'd gone in that. That he truly was no Potter anymore. That he'd been willing to have the Potters die out. That would be completely incomprehensible to them. Instead they likely only saw a ploy to achieve some goal or ambition. But really, why should he care what _that_ lot thought? He'd never amount to anything in their eyes, no matter what he did.

Which left the teachers ...

The staff table was mostly inscrutable. Of course, they kept looking at him a lot, too. But few of the teacher's faces showed anything more than a bit of honest puzzlement and mild interest. It seemed Dumbledore had been at his twinkly-eyed best at sowing confusion and leaving incomprehension in his wake, by being delightfully vague. Harry was by now firmly convinced that the headmaster's absent-mindedness was nothing but obfuscation, the sweets a distraction, and the twinkly eyes a tool delicately used to infuriate his opposition.

He took careful note who seemed hurt or disapproving, though. That new teacher was definitely affected, even though he wore a mask of gentle amiability. But there was bewilderment in his eyes when he looked at Harry, and disbelief. And he'd have to talk with Hagrid. The half-giant looked really puzzled when he glanced at Harry, and his drinking was heavier than usual. McGonagall looked her usual stern self, but there was something in the turn of her mouth that spoke of disapproval. Flitwick and Sprout mostly just seemed curious, and Hooch and Sinistra were about the same. He didn't know the other teachers personally, so their reactions meant little to him.

And Snape … was being Snape, glacial glares and all. Though something seemed a bit off about him. As if his heart wasn't quite into it. Or if his balance had been upset. Yes, potions would be such fun.

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oOoOoOoOo

"All right. Spill it," Hermione demanded, tapping her foot. With her arms crossed and a stern expression on her face.

The two of them had dragged Harry away from the rest of their house along the way to the tower, and were now looking none to patiently at him. And Ron was obviously feeling hurt and betrayed. He sighed.

"You heard Dumbledore," he began cautiously.

"All he said was that you changed your name," Hermione replied fiercely. "But why did you do it? How? When? What made you think this was a good idea?"

"And why didn't you tell us about it?" Ron asked, with a 'kicked-puppy' expression on his face. "I thought we were your friends?"

"Yes, you are," Harry said firmly.

"But look at your reactions! Would you seriously have left me alone if you'd learned about this in summer?"

That actually shut both of them up. They looked taken aback, and Hermione had the start of an ugly blush creep up.

"You still should have told us!" she rallied.

"Probably," Harry allowed, swallowing hard.

"But is it really too much to ask for _one_ summer in my life to enjoy? It was wonderful, and I just didn't want to have to deal with this yet," he made a sweeping gesture including the two of them. "I'm sorry, if I hurt you by keeping it from you, but … I simply couldn't tell you," he finished lamely, looking pitifully at them.

"I just … couldn't."

They both stared at him. Ron finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

"I still don't understand why you did it in the first place," he said, sounding totally bewildered.

"Because I couldn't bear being Harry Potter anymore," Harry replied simply. Because that really was all the answer there was.

"But you _are_ Harry Potter!"

"No, Ron. I'm Harold Evans," Harry said firmly.

Ron spluttered. "But, how could you do that? Why don't you want to be yourself anymore?"

"Ron, I'm still quite myself. I simply have a different name. Which is actually my _mother's_, you know? The woman famous for sacrificing herself for my sake?" There was a decided edge to Harry's voice. And a certain amount of frostiness.

His friend just stared at him in utter confusion. "I don't understand you," he wailed. "You are Harry Potter! How can you not want to be Harry Potter?"

"Because I _don't_ want to be Harry Potter!"

"But ..."

"No, Ron, you don't get it. I hate the fame. I hate not being normal. I hate everyone having ideas about me. I hate how everybody thinks they know better than me who Harry Potter is."

Ron looked absolutely piteous. Clearly he didn't understand it at all.

"I'm perfectly happy not being Harry Bloody Potter anymore. It was my idea, and Dumbledore helped me because he agreed that it'd be better for me."

"Well, in that case," Hermione said. "It has to be all right. Professor Dumbledore wouldn't let Harry do anything like this, if he thought it was a bad idea. And I think I do understand," she added thoughtfully. "It must be horrible to have all those people write about you, and hardly any of them get it right."

It was a relief to know that Hermione was okay with it. Even though she managed to be perfectly _Hermione_ about it. As in, it was approved by authority, therefore it was all right. And of course she'd detest printed falsehood with a passion. But he would take what he could get. Ron, on the other hand, clearly still didn't get it. Time for another angle of attack.

"Ron, it doesn't matter. Because I can't change this anymore. Harry Potter is history. There is only Harold Evans now. And I'm not sorry I did it. I'm just sorry I didn't tell you about it earlier, but we wanted to keep this out of the papers," he tried to explain yet again.

But Ron obviously had problems wrapping his head around the idea, and continued to protest. Because how could anyone not want to be Harry Potter? Everyone wanted to be Harry Potter!

At which point the former Harry Potter badly wanted to point out that if being Harry Potter meant having a Dark Lord after you, few people would really want to be him. Or live long once they were him, for that matter. But he kept silent and listened to Ron getting increasingly vocal in his attempt to understand Harry's decision. Or rather his failure to understand it. And Hermione finally getting involved in defending Harry's decision didn't help either. Instead of calming Ron down, it seemed to upset him further. The red-head was certainly taking this as a personal slight.

"Look, Ron, I really consider you my friend. And I want to continue being your friend. But you'll have to think about who _your_ friend is. If your friend is _me_, or _Harry Potter_," Harry finally told his friend seriously.

He'd dreaded this confrontation, and unfortunately it was playing out exactly like he'd feared.

"Because if our friendship depends on me being Harry Potter, then I'm sorry to say, but there is _nothing_ I can do. Harry Potter is no more. The name is gone. Obsolete. Finite."

And he gazed at his struggling friend with sorrow. His friend of the red face, silently working mouth and tear-filled eyes.

.

oOoOoOoOo

When they continued up to the tower, Ron stomped ahead. His stiff back and refusal to speak clearly said that he couldn't deal with Harry yet.

"You told Bill at your party, didn't you?" Hermione asked, coming up from behind him.

"Uh, yeah," Harry admitted quietly.

"Why him and not us?"

So Hermione _was_ still feeling a bit hurt about this after all.

"Because I had too?" he tried. "I already had my hair done like this, with a glamour to hide it," he explained, speaking softly so only she could hear. Maybe if he let her in on a secret now, it would help make her feel better?

"And he saw through it?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "So I had to explain about it. He promised not to tell anyone, though. I had a really good talk with him, about a lot of stuff. Uh and well, there is another thing," he added, eyeing her carefully to gauge how she'd react.

"Another thing?"

"Yeah, we got to talking about runes and stuff, and because of that I changed my elective," he told her. "I ditched Divination to take Ancient Runes instead."

She looked taken aback again. And rather pleased, too.

"But, well, I don't think Ron will be happy that I'm abandoning him in Divination," he admitted. "So he'll probably yell at me some more."

"Oh, Harry," she said, with laughter in her voice. "You don't do things by half, do you?"

"Yeah, I just hope he'll come around."

"He will. Eventually," she said, rolling her eyes. "So the new Harry is going to be more studious, too, or what?"

"Maybe?" He grinned at her.

"Dumbledore got me a load of tutors this summer, after he talked to my relatives. I had a very busy summer, but it was great, too. I learned tons of useful stuff. Fun stuff, too!"

"That's good," she said, smiling at him. It seemed he was forgiven.

.

oOoOoOoOo

But of course his day wasn't quite over yet. He vacillated in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. Ron had already passed through, and Hermione turned to face him when she realised he'd stopped following her.

"You can't delay forever," she pointed out, studying his face.

Harry sighed glumly. "No," he admitted.

"I knew this was coming, but … that doesn't make it any easier. And part of the reason why I did it was to escape the constant _nosiness_," he snarled. "I've never wanted to be a … a celebrity! I really hate it!"

He thumbed the wall beside the portrait with his fist. The Fat Lady looked at him with alarm.

"Is anything the matter, deary?" she asked.

He sighed again. "No, sorry dear Lady," he said in defeat. "I just have too much on my mind, I guess."

"Well, if you are sure?" she said doubtfully. "Better go in though. You don't want to be caught out here, do you?"

Hermione gave him a smile that was probably meant to be encouraging. Unfortunately it failed to reassure him. But he squared his shoulders anyway and followed her through the entrance when the Fat Lady swung her frame aside again to let them enter. There were a lot of people still in the common room, though at least Ron was gone. He couldn't see Ginny either and was absurdly glad about that. But the rest were clearly lingering to wait for him, because normally everybody would be up in their dorms, sorting out their luggage. His heart sank.

But there was no escaping it. If he was a Gryffindor, he'd have to face them. But that resorting idea was looking better and better …

Especially when the first two to descend on him were the twins.

"Oh, Harry," twin one said from behind him, making him jump and whip his head around.

"really, dear Harry," twin two made him turn it back just as fast.

They had him sandwiched. And he didn't like the gleam in their eyes ...

"how could you keep something,"

"so delightfully naughty and inventive,"

"to yourself?"

"We are wounded,"

"wounded, I say,"

"and I agree," the two stared at each other over Harry's head, their rhythm momentarily broken.

"Anyway, we are hurt that you didn't," twin one took the flow up again.

"feel like you could confide in us,"

"when you performed such,"

"a wonderful prank,"

"on absolutely everybody!" they chorused enthusiastically.

Harry felt his stomach clench. Just like he'd told Bill … those two would think it all a grand prank. Only it wasn't. And having it treated as such … was making him angry. Because they were every bit as bad as the rest. Assuming things. Inferring from their own expectations. Of course everybody did that. But he still didn't have to _like_ it. Or just take it lying down.

And, really, it was the last straw ...

"That's because it's not a stupid _prank_!" he yelled at them suddenly.

He was aware that he had the complete attention of the entire room now. And he felt like the prime exhibit in some Muggle Freak Show. See the woman with two heads. See the snake man who can put his feet on the back of his head. Next up: Harry formerly Potter, the Boy-who-was-too-stupid-too-die.

The twins looked at each other in puzzlement and a lack of understanding that almost rivalled Ron's. Harry groaned.

"Look, I didn't do this because I wanted to _prank_ people," he added in a more normal tone of voice. "I did it, because I needed to do this. Because I thought it was the right thing to do. And because I'm obviously getting something out of it, which is that I want to be _normal_. I simply want to be this guy you know who is a friend of yours because he's a good sort, and nice to hang around. Not because he's _Harry Bloody Potter_!"

He let his gaze sweep the rest of the room.

"I _hate_," he snarled coldly. "The attention. I _detest_ everyone staring at me. I _abhor_ that you are talking about me behind my back. Judging me. Gossiping. Thinking that I don't have any right to privacy because I'm _Harry Bloody Potter_. That you assume you know what I'm like, even when you don't have a clue. That I have to be what everyone expects of me, and when I'm not, I get blamed for it."

"I," he said forcefully. "Am not an _idol_. That you can put on a pedestal. I'm just … me! Just a guy like everyone else!"

He'd almost screamed the last sentence. As he stared at them all, he saw the glimmer of comprehension in a few eyes. But most of them … obviously didn't understand. Mostly they appeared taken aback, and looked at each other in confusion. He'd really lost it this time. Harry groaned again and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. This whole day had been such a headache.

"Ehm," twin one actually seemed disconcerted. "So … this isn't,"

"meant to be a prank?" twin two clearly had trouble grasping the idea that there could be a different reason.

"No," Harry agreed icily. "This is not a bloody prank. This is, in fact, entirely _serious_."

He eyed both of them coldly.

"If you two are actually able to comprehend something like that," he concluded rather spitefully.

They looked hurt at that. And slightly troubled, too.

"Now, now, break this up. Time to go to your dorms," an officious voice made Harry spin around yet again.

Great. Rescued by Percy. Standing there in all his glory of Head Boy, badge gleaming proudly on his breast. Trying to radiate authority, and failing badly.

"You too, Harry," the older red-head made a shooing gesture at him.

"As for you two," Percy tried to give his two younger brothers the death glare. "Stop pestering him."

Predictably, that did not go down well. And the twins weren't impressed by their older brother's display of officiousness. But the resulting scuffle distracted everyone long enough from Harry that he was able to quietly slip up to the dorms. He flashed Hermione an apologetic smile before hurrying up the steps. His friend gave him a rueful smile back and just shrugged, turning to slip up to the girl's dorms herself.

.

oOoOoOoOo

He drew a deep breath once the door to his dorm had safely closed behind him.

Dean and Seamus had been part of the crowd downstairs, and Ron already had his bed-curtains drawn. Harry sighed and headed over to his own bed. So it was going to be like that, was it? Hopefully Ron would have cooled down by tomorrow. He took advantage of the still empty room to quickly put away his clothing.

He'd just changed into pyjamas when Neville came in from the wash-room, gripping his wash-bag under one arm while towelling his hair with the other. He gave Harry a sympathetic look and settled on his bed, vigorously finishing off his towelling.

"Not giving you any peace, are they?" he commented, watching Harry grab a stack of books from his trunk.

"Yeah," Harry agreed morosely. "Why is everyone always so _nosy_," he snarled, putting his charms textbook away rather forcefully.

"People are just curious," Neville shrugged. "You simply have the bad luck that everyone's interested in you."

"Which is exactly why I had my name changed!" Harry exclaimed, glaring at his potions textbook.

"Yeah, I can understand that," Neville said, smiling kindly. "I wouldn't like people staring at me, either. Or talking about me all the time." He gave a dramatic shudder.

"But they'll lose interest. And," he cast a knowing look at Ron's closed curtains. "He'll come around."

"Did he say anything earlier?"

"Nah. Stormed in and went straight to bed."

Harry sighed and gave the curtains a doubtful look.

"He's just got a temper," Neville said softly. "And takes things to heart too easily. Too little self-confidence," he added with a slightly bitter smile.

"Neville, you're a great guy," Harry began.

"But I _know_ I have no self-confidence," the other boy interrupted him with a breathy laugh. "Well, unless we are talking stuff that's green and needs watering," he joked with a wry grin.

"You see, I realise. He doesn't," he added quietly, jerking his chin at Ron's curtains.

Harry gave him a startled look that turned thoughtful after a moment. That was a reason for Ron's desire for recognition he hadn't considered. Because Ron didn't come across as lacking in self-confidence. But all the bravado, and temper, and blustering could easily be a cover. And having a loving, supportive environment to grow up in didn't necessarily make you confident. Being part of a big family simply gave you more people to compare yourself too negatively if you felt insecure.

It was definitely worth considering.

But right now footsteps on the stairs and excited voices heralded the arrival of Dean and Seamus, and Harry didn't really feel like talking to them. He just had time to give Neville a panicked look and put his finger to his lips in a plea for silence. Neville gave him a quick nod and a smile as he watched Harry dive into his bed, closing the curtains quickly and pretending to be asleep. Harry heard a quiet chuckle from his friend before the door opened and the last two occupants of the dorm came in noisily.

Well, he had survived the first day. And eventually he actually managed to really fall asleep.

.

oOoOoOoOo

AN: Thanks for the reviews! The next chapter should include some reactions by Remus and Sirius. And classes are about to start ...


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

.

oOoOoOoOo

"You wanted to speak with me, headmaster?"

"Thank you for coming, Remus. Please make yourself comfortable. And remember that it is _Albus_, dear boy," the old man remonstrated with a gentle smile for the younger wizard.

Remus Lupin gave him an apologetic look as he took a seat in front of the headmaster's desk. "Sorry, Albus. Coming here just brought back old memories of being a student, you know?"

"Yes, I can imagine," the headmaster replied gravely.

"And well, I was thinking about them. James … Sirius … Peter," Remus added with a weary sigh and a pained expression. "Why did it all have to end like that?" he asked despondently.

"That is sadly the nature of evil. Like a weed it spreads and corrupts. It is jealous of happiness, and tries to strangle and destroy it. Which is why we need to fight it whenever we can, and yet can never fully succeed because it leaves its damnable seeds everywhere." Albus Dumbledore's expression was sad. And resigned.

Remus looked aside, clearly discomfited. "Of course. You probably want to know about the Dementor on the train?"

"That is one of the reasons I called you, yes."

"Why else?"

"I saw how you looked at Harry during the feast, Remus."

Remus continued to avoid the headmaster's eyes.

"Yes," he said tonelessly. "I don't understand ..." he trailed off, suddenly looking up. "Why? He seems a nice kid … he even apologized for it on the train when I told him I was a friend of his father's."

The headmaster sighed. "He is. A nice kid. A nice kid, who had a not very nice time growing up. Lily's relatives … they … are not nice people at all," he admitted.

Remus stared at him, dumbfounded.

"What are you saying? And didn't you put him there yourself?"

Albus nodded sadly.

"Yes. To my shame, I did. They … neglected him. Badly. It is sorted now," he said, stopping the other wizard from interrupting with a raised hand. "They will never do so again, unless they want to feel my considerable displeasure."

"But," he continued with another sigh. "He had a hard time growing up. And then when he came to Hogwarts … he went from being considered less than nothing to everyone fawning over him. I do not know if you have kept up with everything that happened to him but … well, he ended up really hating the constant attention and unwarranted fame."

He gave Remus a thoughtful look. "You of all should know how horrible people can be. How … inconsiderate and prejudiced. How willing to believe the sensational over the truth."

The younger wizard nodded. "Of course. But still … why did he not want his father's name anymore?"

"He does not mind that it was his _father's_ name. It is the expectations that come with it. The fame and mindless adulation. He never knew _James_. But he knows about Harry Potter this, Harry Potter that, and he knows about the name being alternatively lauded and condemned. And so he came to resent it very much. When he approached me to ask for this … and I learned of his upbringing ..."

The headmaster gave the other wizard a searching look. "It was my fault. Thus I owe him a debt. I could not refuse him."

Remus looked away again, clearly uncomfortable. "I have no right to judge, of course," he admitted softly. "It's just … first seeing how different from James he looks … and then hearing this ..."

"I believe he had also grown rather tired of hearing all the time that he looked exactly like his father," Albus explained. "It is sad, don't you think, to be reduced to nothing but a scar and the looks of a dead man?"

Remus nodded. "Of course," he repeated again, faintly, and both his face and voice were blank. "I … will have to think about this."

"Try to talk with Harry," Albus advised him gently. "For all that he is not a Potter anymore, he still cares about his father and would enjoy hearing about him, I believe."

"If you think so ..."

"I do," the headmaster said firmly. "Please talk with him. He will very likely tell you more about his reasons, too. And … it would be just like Harry to feel guilty about hurting your feelings," he admitted with a sigh. "He is that kind of person. He is really a lot like Lily, rather than James."

"Then I will," Remus said softly.

"Thank you," Albus said with a sincere smile. "Now … what can you tell me about the incident on the train?"

"I was reading, when I felt the Dementor come closer. I have no idea how it got on the train," Remus admitted. "I think we might have slowed down. I was not really paying attention, I'm afraid. But when it got colder, and so … hopeless and depressive, I thought something was wrong and I went to investigate."

"When I came to the next compartment I saw the shroud already bending over a student … I did not know then who it was … it looked about to deliver the kiss," he explained, shivering. "My Patronus managed to drive it away just in time. It was such a close thing, Albus. So very close. And if I had not been on the train … and luckily right next door as well ... "

They exchanged a look. Remus looked away first. He shivered again, crossing his arms as if to ward off a chill.

"I must admit I am concerned further," he added, giving the headmaster a worried glance. "Because that Dementor made straight for Harry. The other two children were closer to the door, and it still went for him. I am certain as well that it passed several other compartments after it got on the train. So what does that tell you, Albus?"

Albus Dumbledore gave a weary sigh and closed his eyes as if in pain.

"That someone sent after him," he replied bleakly.

"Yes," Remus said. "That's what it seemed like to me. But who ..."

"The ministry. Voldemort. Someone at the ministry working for Voldemort."

The younger teacher nodded in agreement. "Yes. And none of that is good."

Albus Dumbledore got up restlessly and moved to the window. After staring at the rain-laced darkness outside with unseeing eyes for long moments, he finally turned back to face the other wizard with another tired sigh.

"I had hoped this would give the boy a more peaceful year for once," he said. "But between Sirius Black and the ministry's glorious idea to use _Dementors_ to keep him away, I fear this is not to be once again."

"And now from what you tell me there is apparently another direct threat against Harry," he added helplessly.

Remus nodded. "I will do what I can to help guard him," he offered.

"Thank you. And as I said … please talk with him."

"I will. And I bid you a good night now … I should go and unpack."

"Indeed. Good night, dear boy. Though sleep may be hard to find tonight," Albus admitted softly, looking back out of the window.

.

oOoOoOoOo

Half an hour later Minerva McGonagall came up to the office to start on the paperwork, now that the new students had been sorted. They worked quietly for a while, only conversing about their task, but he could tell there was something weighing on her mind. There were the sidelong glances, and the way the smile did not reach her eyes when he attempted a joke. And her lips spent too much time firmly pressed together.

"Do tell, my dear, what has you in such a dither," he finally asked her, after getting yet another tight-lipped sidelong glance.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," the witch declared with an affronted expression.

"Oh, Minerva, how long have we known each other?" he admonished her gently. "Now tell me, why are you so upset about Harry?"

"Really, Albus, how could you let the boy do something so foolish?" Minerva asked, and the expression on her face was halfway between disapproving and lost. "Why didn't you stop him?"

"Do you truly think he could have done this without my assistance, my dear?"

She appeared taken aback at that. "_You_ really were behind it?"

"Well, it was _his_ wish and decision. But he could hardly have accomplished it without my help."

"Then why did you help him?"

"His arguments were quite compelling."

She continued to look bewildered. "Then ... why did he want this?"

"That is for him to tell," he told her firmly.

"Surely … he is but a child … how can he know his mind, and the consequences ..."

"But you know, it must be a terrible thing to be overshadowed by your _own name_," he added almost idly, but there was suddenly a steely edge to his voice.

Minerva blanched. "What do you mean?" she asked, her hand fluttering to her throat in an unconscious gesture.

"That because of his name, everybody had expectations of him from the moment he set foot into this school. And he could either meet those expectations, forcing himself to be possibly quite untrue to himself, or fail, and _disappoint_ people."

Albus' eyes were hard as he watched her struggle with herself.

"He wants this to _change_, Minerva. And that is very hard when everybody has preconceived notions about him. This is his chance to escape from them. Do not grudge him that, just because you would like to see James come alive in him again. Harry really is not his father."

She sighed in defeat. "I know," she admitted. "James was so … carefree. Such a joyful and happy person. So confident and wilful."

"And you would like it if Harry was, too, I know. But how could he be, with Voldemort after him? And ..." he gave her a searching look. "Unfortunately you were right. They _really_ were the worst kind of Muggles."

"What do you mean?" her voice went up as she stared at him in dismay.

Albus sighed. "James had loving parents. Harry … did not. Their care of him was of the most grudging kind. They gave him as little as they could, and made him work for even that much. As for love and care and tenderness …" his pained voice trailed off and he lowered his eyes to his hands, which were toying with a quill. "He had none of that, ever."

"But, how … why did no-one notice? Didn't you place Arabella there to watch over him?" Minerva's voice was disbelieving. Horrified.

"So I did. But they were clever enough to hide the obvious signs, and made sure he would not want to tell anyone."

"Oh, Albus … and you never checked yourself? And … " the disbelief in her expression changed to rage as her voice went up another notch. "You left him there again this summer!"

"Yes, I did. After a long, a very long talk with them. They will never dare neglect him again, believe me. And if they should dare ..." he gave her a crocked smile which did not reach his eyes, which were cold and deadly. "They will only have themselves to blame for what will happen to them."

"But still ..."

"Leave it be. I have taken care of matters, and he was fine this summer," he sighed wearily. "And you could not make me feel more guilty than I already do."

"But you must realise Harry will never be like James. And that he has the right to be his own person, which involves bearing the name he chooses for himself. And you loved Lily, too. He wanted to honour her name now. So if you want to help him, then support him and his choices, Minerva."

She folded easily after that, her expression softening.

"Yes," she murmured. "Of course I will."

"And please, keep an eye out for him. He knows most there is to know about … his godfather, and the danger Sirius poses. Harry accepts we will need to keep him close to Hogwarts because of that. But ... unfortunately, it seems the Dementors themselves might present him a danger, too."

Minerva blanched. "That is … most worrisome. But was it … wise to tell him about Sirius Black? Harry is still a child, Albus, he needs to be protected ..."

The headmaster's eyes grew distant.

"Sadly … he is not, Minerva. Please do not make the mistake of treating him like one. I would preserve his childhood … if there was anything left to preserve. And I would doubly wrong him now, if I were to treat him like an ignorant child, when it is thanks to me he never had the chance to be one. Instead I must now honour my debt by arming him as best I can for what is to come."

"So please, watch over him. And if he should come to you with any concerns, or observations … do not disregard them. Circumstances have made him grow up beyond his years. Which is both a blessing, and a curse for him. Let us at least not waste the blessing," he told her with an earnest look.

She clearly was not happy. But she understood enough now that she would do as he had asked. And the least he could do for Harry, was to give him what allies he could.

.

oOoOoOoOo

For all that he'd gone to bed straight after the feast, Harry awoke the next morning feeling wrung out and out of sorts. Sleep had eluded him for the longest time, and he'd spent long hours staring into the darkness of his bed-curtains while trying to analyse the happenings of the day. It must have been well after midnight when he finally drifted off into uneasy slumber.

But it wasn't just that he still felt tired and anything but well-rested. He was also feeling rather apprehensive. Last night his mind had kept replaying the confrontation with Ron, trying to figure out if he could have gone about it better. Of course, there was nothing he could do about Ron's reaction to Harry no longer being a Potter. But he _could_ have told Ron earlier about the name-change, instead of letting him find out with everyone else.

And lying awake, in the unrelenting quiet of the dorm, he finally had to admit the truth to himself.

He'd simply been afraid. Afraid of loosing his best friends. Because _that_ was the real reason he'd waited to tell them. Yes, the press finding out had been a consideration. But mostly he'd simply been too cowardly to tell them. And that was stupid, because he'd known they would find out. All he'd done was delay the inevitable. But his stomach had clenched every time he'd considered telling them. His mouth had dried, his quill had ground to a halt, and his brain had refused to come up with the words to express himself.

It was easy being a Gryffindor when confronting evil wizards and basilisks. That was clear-cut, and the danger of the moment made the decisions obvious. But he found it hard to be one when faced with relationships. Because he was pants at dealing with _friends_. After all, he didn't have any for most of his life. For that matter, he didn't have all that many now, either. So the very thought of loosing them had terrified him. And he was horribly bad at opening up to people. At letting them close. He'd been a loner all his life, thanks to the efforts of his relatives, and consequently he didn't really know how to handle people.

And so he had delayed, and pushed it all away until it was unavoidable.

And thus he'd created an even worse mess.

All of which meant he was very reluctant to get up and face people this morning, especially his friend. Though he was doubtful if he would still be able to call Ron his friend at the end of the day. But he pretended to himself that he was a good little Gryffindor, and got up and showered and got dressed. Which at least made him feel less wrung out. It also helped in avoiding Ron, who'd left the room by the time Harry got back from the shower.

But now breakfast was looming ahead. Which meant braving the Great Hall, and not only his friends, but everybody else, too.

And everybody by now had plenty of time to talk about him, and form ideas and misconceptions about what Harry had done.

He went downstairs anyway.

As he slipped into a seat beside Hermione, Harry cast a worried look at Ron. The red-head seemed relatively calm, but he was subdued and refused to talk all through breakfast, which made Harry realise how much his friend normally contributed to the conversation. Hermione tried to make up for Ron's silence, but she sounded forced. And she kept shooting Ron reproving glares, which were probably not helping. Harry badly wanted to get up and run away, but he forced himself to stay and try to make at least a token attempt at eating.

Finally, towards the end of the meal, Ron suddenly put his fork down and looked straight at him. Harry tried to meet his friend's eyes calmly, but his insides were churning.

"Look," Ron said, sounding strangled. "I can't say that I understand … all this. But I _do_ want to be your friend."

The red-head lowered his eyes to the table again, and toyed with the remaining food on his plate for a moment, looking thoughtful.

"And yeah, I guess I feel hurt you didn't tell us. Though I think I can understand that part, actually," he admitted with a rueful expression. "So anyway, I don't get it. The why and everything. But you are right about one thing … you are still _Harry."_

"Yes, I am," Harry told him firmly. "Though I'm probably a bit different from what you are used to. But not _that_ much different."

Ron gave him an uneasy look.

"We'll see, then. Though, please don't make me call you 'Harold'," he pleaded. "That one's every bit as horrid as 'Ronald'!"

Harry almost laughed at his friend's horrified expression.

"Don't worry," he said with a reassuring smile. "I'll always be Harry to you, I hope."

"Why did you go for that name anyway?" Hermione asked him curiously.

Harry shrugged, feeling relieved that a lot of the tension was finally gone from the air.

"Dunno really. But 'Harry Evans' just doesn't ring. So I went with 'Harold Evans' for when I'm being formal. But otherwise I'll simply be 'Harry'," he explained with a hopeful smile.

"Hmm, you may be right about the 'Harry Evans'," she admitted, tilting her head sideways. "Just 'Harold Evans', though? I'd have thought you'd keep the 'James' at least?"

He sighed. "I thought about it," he said, letting his gaze stray across the room. It still met a disconcerting number of people staring back at him.

"But 'Mione, and please don't take this the wrong way," he said hastily, with an apologetic look at her. "The only time anyone ever used my middle name was when they were yelling at me or chastising me."

Hermione blushed at that and lowered her eyes. However, she was spared having to say anything because right then McGonagall showed up to hand out their class-schedules. Harry's Head of House was looking him straight in the eye when she handed over his schedule. To Harry's great relief she was smiling softly, and the look of disapproval from yesterday seemed gone. He gave her a questioning gaze, which earned him a quick nod and a reassuring smile before she moved on. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh look, we have Divination first thing," Ron exclaimed, appearing pleased to start the week with something new.

Harry's relieved sigh turned into a wince. He knew he'd forgotten something. Oh, dear. And Ron had just come around mostly, too. He grimaced, feeling his stomach clench. Still, there was nothing for it. He'd have to bite into the apple, no matter how sour it was.

"Ron," he began tentatively, getting his friend's attention.

"Yeah?"

"I … have another confession to make," Harry said unhappily, keeping his eyes down.

There was a long moment of silence.

"What about?"

Ron sounded uneasy.

Harry sighed. "I owe you another apology," he admitted, looking back up at his friend. Who was starting to look apprehensive now. Unfortunately there was nothing Harry could do about it. He plunged on.

"Because," he drew a deep breath. "And I'm really sorry for ditching you, but I'm not taking Divination."

Ron's expression was stunned. And turning hurt again.

"Why not," he asked hoarsely.

"Bill convinced me it would be pointless," Harry told him quietly. "And Ron, I'm sorry for abandoning you," he repeated hurriedly. "But I just can't afford to go for classes which give easy marks. You _know_ the things that keep happening to me. I need every advantage I can get, if I want to survive," he concluded earnestly.

He felt bad for playing that card, which came too close to a guilt-trip for comfort, but it was probably the only thing which could make Ron understand. The red-head was still looking stunned. And definitely hurt now. But at least he wasn't yelling.

"Why didn't you at least tell me?" Ron finally asked. His voice sounded choked. "I mean, this was hardly a big secret you needed to keep from everyone?"

Harry winced. Because Ron was certainly right about that.

"Yeah, you're right," he admitted.

"I … I guess I simply didn't think," he added, with a guilty expression. "You're right, I should have told you about that one at least. I'm sorry," he repeated to Ron's accusatory face.

The red-head ran a hand through his hair and looked away.

"Are you sure you really want to be my friend?" he asked harshly.

It was Harry's turn to look stunned.

"Oh Merlin, yes," he breathed, feeling suddenly terrified with the realisation how badly he'd messed this up. "I'm so sorry. I … I just didn't think. I _do_ want your friendship, Ron, I really do," he pleaded.

Ron gave him a glance that was heavy with doubt. And a tightening of his mouth that was both hurt and a bit hostile.

"I guess I've gotten into a bad habit of not telling stuff," Harry admitted, closing his eyes and grimacing.

"And I was afraid you'd take it badly and … now it's even worse," he concluded helplessly, realising his mistake. Because he could … barely ... excuse not telling them about the name-change. But he had no excuse at all for not telling Ron about Divination.

Once again he'd messed up because he didn't trust people. And because he was too much of a coward. Or too self-absorbed to realise that in trying to avoid a confrontation, he'd eventually make it much worse once the truth came out. And that it would hurt people even more when it did. He certainly was stupid sometimes.

"I didn't think this through. And I should have! I _know_ how it feels when people don't tell you stuff you ought to know. And now I'm the one doing it!" he said, struggling with an overwhelming feeling of self-loathing.

"Harry ..." Hermione said, putting a hand on his arm. Her eyes were on Ron, though. Who was frowning hard, and seemed very unhappy.

"No. I'm a horrible friend," Harry moaned, hiding his face in his hands, with his shoulders slumping dejectedly.

"I wouldn't say … horrible," Ron said after a lengthy pause, sounding relatively neutral. Harry looked up hopefully, but Ron was still scowling.

"But you're not being a terribly _good_ friend right now, either," the red-head added harshly.

Harry simply nodded. He deserved this judgement.

"So. Anything else you've forgotten to tell us about?" Ron asked sarcastically.

"Uhm. That I intend to work much harder in class from now on?" Harry offered, trying hard to remember if he'd kept anything else from his friends. "I really need to, you know. I have to take this serious. Dumbledore is sure Voldemort is still out there. That he'll come back," he confided, watching Ron's expression turn frightened. And a bit green.

"So I guess that's another thing. Because being my friends makes you a target, too. Me not being Harry Potter anymore isn't going to change this. You shouldn't want to be my friends," he said, feeling rather hopeless. "Especially not with me being such a bad friend back."

"Harry ..." Hermione began again, but he cut her off.

"Because I don't know how to be a friend. I never had any friends before Hogwarts," he admitted, feeling irrationally ashamed for this lack.

"And I was so afraid you'd take it badly, that I … I simply couldn't tell you. And now it's all messed up because I'm really a coward. It's all my fault."

Ron just stared at him. There was hurt in his stare, and confusion, and an edge of hostility, too. It pained Harry to look back, but he forced himself to, trying to put all the wretchedness he felt about this situation he'd caused into his expression.

"Yeah, well …" Ron finally said, tearing his gaze away and standing up abruptly. "We'll see, I guess."

It was better than outright rejection, at least.

.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry felt downcast as he headed off to Gryffindor tower to collect his books for today. Just as he was about to leave the Great Hall, Professor Dumbledore's voice calling his name arrested him in the process of opening the door.

"Sir?" he asked, looking back up at the headmaster who had come up behind him.

"Walk with me for a moment, Harry."

"All right, sir," Harry said reluctantly, not really feeling like talking at the moment, but he fell into step beside the old wizard.

"How are you holding up, dear boy?" Dumbledore asked him quietly once they were away from the press of students exiting the Great Hall to get to their classes.

"Not so good, sir," Harry admitted dejectedly, keeping his eyes on the floor. "I … should have told Ron and Hermione. It would have been much better. Not telling them was a mistake."

"Sometimes it is unavoidable that we make mistakes," Dumbledore told Harry gravely, and there was regret in his voice. "But once done, dwelling on regret does little good, dear boy."

"What do you mean, sir?" Harry said, looking up to find the headmaster staring off into the distance.

"That I, too, regret many of my decisions, especially those regarding you," the old wizard admitted. "But it does not help anybody, if we get caught up in feelings of guilt and regret. The wise man admits his mistakes, learns from them and moves on. And of course does his best to make up for them," he concluded, peering down at Harry with a sad smile.

"And what you should learn from this is that sometimes we have to keep secrets, because not doing so would do great harm. But when we do so only to spare the feelings of others, or because we are afraid of admitting to something ..." Dumbledore's voice trailed off, and his smile turned rueful.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I realised that last night. I've been a real coward about this. Keeping secrets because you don't want to hurt someone is really very stupid when they are bound to find out anyway. It ends up hurting them even more once they do," he concluded, scowling unhappily.

"Well, then you have already passed the first steps," the headmaster said with an encouraging expression. "Now you just have to try to make up for it. And not do it again," he added thoughtfully.

"_That's_ going to be the hard part," Harry admitted glumly.

Dumbledore chuckled lightly. "Learning is never easy, Harry. At least not the worthwhile things. And growing up is often painful, but much preferable to staying a thoughtless child."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, looking away.

He felt relieved to see the gargoyle ahead that guarded the headmaster's office. The old wizard's words were making him uncomfortable in their truth. Dumbledore stopped once they reached it and turned to face him fully, reaching out a gentle hand to tilt Harry's face up and looking straight into his eyes.

"Always remember, Harry," he said quietly, but with a strangely intense expression on his face. "That the price of having friends … is being a friend. And that it takes two equal sides for a true friendship. Mr. Weasley will likely forgive you, especially if you can show him you are sincere in learning from your mistakes and not keeping your friends at arm's length again. Just as you need to forgive him his insecurities and immaturity until he can grow out of them."

Dumbledore's eyes were earnest as he continued: "You are both still young. And that means there would be a long time to nurse regrets if you let your friendships fail now, just because you are afraid of loosing them."

Harry found his voice had deserted him, so he gave the headmaster a jerky nod instead. Dumbledore gave him a long, searching look in return, which made Harry feel as if he was an open book for the old wizard to read.

"Remember," Dumbledore repeated softly, with a final pat on Harry's shoulder and a gentle smile, before he turned to ascend the staircase to his office.

.

oOoOoOoOo

Ron heaved a great sigh as he sat down next to Harry for lunch. He quickly loaded up his plate with food, but unlike normally when he would tear into it immediately, he stared at it morosely for long moments before looking straight at Harry. The red-head looked like he had bitten into a lemon, but there was also an apologetic twist to his mouth.

"Bill was right," he finally said bluntly. "It really is a load of rubbish."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Divination?" he guessed.

"Yeah," Ron muttered, returning his attention to his loaded plate and poking at it with his fork. "Trelawney must be the greatest fraud like ever," he exclaimed. "You should have heard her go on about the power of the Inner Eye! And she kept talking about death and doom and disaster."

Harry felt immensely grateful that his friend was talking to him again. Now he'd just have to work on keeping it that way. Agreeing with Dumbledore about the need to make up for his mistakes had been easy. Actually doing it … was a big challenge. Commiserating with Ron would certainly not hurt, though.

"Hmm, yeah," he agreed. "She sounds pretty bad. Though she can't be the greatest fraud ever," he said with a frown, remembering a certain other fraudulent teacher.

"You didn't hear her, mate!" Ron declared. He clutched his hand dramatically to his brow, faking a swoon. "Oh, Mr. Weasley, I see great pain in your future. And I see a grim which will snatch you and take you from your nearest and dearest!" the red-head intoned in a high voice, rolling his eyes upwards dramatically.

Harry had to laugh at this display.

"Yeah, she sounds like a real phoney. She still isn't the greatest fraud, though. I think after last year no-one can beat Lockhart to that title, honestly."

Ron sobered up at that. Obviously he remembered Lockhart's attempt at obliviating them and leaving Ginny to her fate all too well. "Yeah," he muttered, poking his food again.

"Yeah," he repeated a bit louder after a moment. "Guess you are right about that one."

And he picked up his fork and started eating determinedly, keeping his attention firmly on the plate. Harry sighed. It would be a long road back to normal. As much as anything was ever normal for Harry … Evans.

.

oOoOoOoOo

AN: Sorry … no Sirius in this chapter after all. But I first need to write a nice juicy bit of Daily Prophet sensationalist slander, which is giving me serious (pun intended) trouble. I really should not ever consider a career in journalism, given how much I'm struggling with it. And sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, but real life reared its ugly head and having my father in hospital for an operation wasn't helpful in getting the creative impulses going. He's better now though, so I'll try to get back into regular updates for my stories again.

Thanks for the reviews, please keep them coming! Receiving feedback not only nourishes the author's desire to keep writing, but getting an outside perspective of my writings also helps in making this a better story, too!

oOoOoOoOo


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

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oOoOoOoOo

Yesterday had been pretty tumultuous. First there was the disaster with Ron at breakfast, which was of course mostly Harry's own fault. His first class of the day, Ancient Runes, actually started out very promising. He really enjoyed the lesson, and even managed to forget about Ron and his other troubles for a while. Sure, Professor Babbling was a bit odd, but that wasn't exactly uncommon in a witch. She certainly was enthusiastic about her subject, just like Bill, and he was glad he'd taken it instead of Divination. The one strange thing about it was that Hermione was in the class, too. And he remembered Ron saying something about her also being in Divination. At the same time. But with everything going on, he probably misremembered it. Or something. It was hardly that important.

Transfiguration afterwards went all right,too, and Professor McGonagall was obviously pleased with Harry's increased participation in class. And while she looked a bit strange every time she called him Mr. Evans, neither her expression, nor her tone of voice was disapproving, unlike the night before at the feast. She kept him behind after class, to ask if he had any lingering after-effects from the encounter with the Dementor. And to tell him, once again, that he could come to her if he had any problems.

Right. As if he would. Well, maybe. Depending on what it was. She'd seemed a bit apologetic. And concerned. So … maybe. He'd have to test the waters. Provided she would actually _listen_, she certainly had the potential to be helpful. So … he might give her another chance. He'd really have to see.

Unfortunately, things went downhill from there. Because later they had their first Care of Magical Creatures class with Hagrid. And while Hagrid was a dear, he not only lacked discretion, but apparently also any common sense. Which was why their first lesson featured _Hippogriffs_. It had started well enough, with Harry being properly polite and getting a ride on the animal out of it.

The experience had been glorious … and bloody scary. Because you had no control whatsoever. Flying on a broom was one thing. You could steer the broom, decide where you were going, whether to dive or pull up, go slow or go fast. Flying on a living, breathing being with a mind of its own was something else entirely. It decided where to go. It took you where it wanted to. You had no real control. You were at the mercy of a wild, untamed creature.

It required _trust_. And taught it, at the same time.

The flight left him shaken, for a multitude of reasons. Exhilaration. Fright. Utter freedom. Fear and panic. The closeness of clinging to feathers and fur. How far the ground had suddenly seemed from up there. It had been amazing, nevertheless.

But then Malfoy had to go and spoil it. Malfoy, who sneered and insulted the Hippogriff in his mistaken sense of superiority, and who got himself attacked for it. And of course the Slytherin then had to make a big dramatic production out of his injury, and run squealing to tell _Daddy_, like the little rodent that he was. Which meant Hagrid was bound to be in trouble for letting something happen to the precious Malfoy heir, no matter that it was Draco's own fault. The Slytherin talked loudly about it all during dinner, how his father would have Hagrid fired, and Buckbeak put down for daring to injure him.

Also people still talked about Harry behind his back, often falling suspiciously silent when he came closer. During meals, half the Great Hall stared at him. Ron remained distant for the rest of the day, though he would talk at times when he forgot that he was mad at Harry. Only to fall silent again, giving Harry uncomfortable looks. And Ginny also kept staring at him oddly, but she disappeared every time Harry tried to approach her. He was starting to get quite annoyed at her strange behaviour, but as long as she was avoiding him, there was nothing he could really do about it.

All in all, he was in a foul mood by the time he went to bed, and struggling to keep his temper contained. He didn't want to blow up at his dorm-mates. He badly wanted to scream at someone, but he was all Evans now. And it would not do to let his anger out on the undeserving.

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oOoOoOoOo

The next morning, however, brought him a fitting target for his by now well-stewed frustration and anger. He'd run a bit late for breakfast, and was hurriedly filling his plate, when the owls descended with the morning mail. Hermione picked up her copy of the Prophet, shock it out, took one look at the headlines and blanched. As his friend read on, her pallor was increasingly replaced with the flush of rage, and Harry was dismayed to hear her swear under her breath. Anything that made _Hermione_ start cursing had to be bad indeed. Finally she looked up at Harry, who was by then on tenterhooks, and simply shoved the paper at him with clenched teeth and a look that could kill in her eyes.

.

**The Boy-Who-Lived: A Potter no more? **

Startling news reached us yesterday from so far unconfirmed sources. They informed us that the Boy-who-lived, Harry Potter, now refuses to answer to his name. Apparently he was introduced to the assembly of students and teachers at Hogwarts as 'Harold Evans' at the start-of-term feast. The headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore, then informed everyone that the saviour of the Wizarding World had his name changed during the summer. This startling announcement caused great uproar amongst the student population of Britain's foremost school for young wizards and witches.

Which leads us, dear reader, to the question of why such a strange thing happened in the first place. Why should Harry Potter no longer wish to be a Potter? What influenced him to abandon his famous name? Was it indeed by his own desire, or rather, as wiser tongues suggested, was he forced by dire circumstances to discard the proud name of his former parentage? Could there even be the possibility he was stripped of his family name?

Far be it from us to cast aspersions on an old and hallowed family name, but surely there must be some good reason for Harry Potter to reject said name and family. An old family curse maybe? A long forgotten vendetta? A vengeful ghost perhaps? Perchance an unfortunate ancient marriage contract which would have ensnared the last heir of the Potter line? What deep and dark secrets might lie hidden behind the bright façade which the Potter family has presented for many years?

Or could this all be a plot hatched by the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, in an attempt to confound those elements of society which may wish harm upon the Boy-who-lived? If so, could he really seriously consider that such a laughable attempt to hide the identity of You-know-who's bitterest enemy would possible work? But then it cannot be denied Albus Dumbledore is increasingly advanced in years, and it would hardly be surprising if he were to start cracking under the many burdens and offices he holds. We can only hope such is not the case, because we shudder at the very thought of what would happen, if the man responsible for leading the light side of the Wizarding World should slip into senility or worse, insanity. (Read more on p.9 about the many machinations of Albus Dumbledore over the last decades)

Of course, this could also be an attempt to further Dumbledore's hold over the former Harry Potter, who is now to all purposes even more of an orphan, with no one to turn to. No longer connected to the many stalwart old families the Potter line used to intermarry with, our saviour is now surely much more vulnerable to outside control. What are the plans Dumbledore has for the Boy-who-lived? Who will ultimately benefit from Harry Potter being removed from his family?

And lastly, one more theory which was suggested to us is, that perhaps he never was a Potter to begin with. Of course, all this is purest conjecture, but the possibility exists that the Boy-who-lived was conceived out of wedlock, and in consequence was stripped of his name and paternal family rights. The marriage of the pure-blooded James Potter and Muggle-born Lily Evans was always lauded as a love-match made in heaven, but what if that was nothing but an illusion?

Was there maybe no love lost between the couple, and Lily Evans, caught in a cold, lonely marriage bed, looked elsewhere for solace? There can be little doubt that former Harry Potter is, indeed, the son of Lily Evans, but who is really his father? Is it actually James Potter, or could it be some other, unknown man? Or worse, one of James Potter's old clique? They were rumoured to be extremely close during their school-days, sharing everything. Was Lily Evans yet another aspect of their friendship they shared amongst them? (see p.14 for an excerpt on the school-day exploits of James Potter, the escaped convict Sirius Black, his victim Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin, the unremarkable fourth of the so-called 'Unholy Quartet')

What other dirty secrets may be hidden behind the impenetrable walls of Hogwarts castle?

Once again, we here at the Prophet wish to assure you, dear reader, that we are fully dedicated to discovering the truth for you. We will continue to try to learn just what caused young Mr. Evans to no longer bear his formerly vaunted family name. Look out for further breaking news in future editions!

.

oOoOoOoOo

As he continued to read the utter slander the Prophet had printed, Harry couldn't help but follow Hermione's example and start swearing. The blood was pounding in his ears, and he very badly wanted to hurt someone. Preferably whoever had written this piece of sordid drivel, this utter monstrosity aimed at destroying the Potter name. Never mind he himself had caused it to become obsolete in the first place. He'd wanted to get rid of his name, yes, but not to see it dirtied and trampled in the mud by those … vultures who wrote for the Prophet.

Yesterday's frustration and anger was nothing compared to the way he felt as he ran his eyes again over the worst offences. He felt iridescent with fury. He wanted to storm the office of the Prophet and blow them up and eviscerate everyone who had dared to do this to him and his parent's name and reputation. He wasn't aware that the glasses on the table had started to shake badly. Or that the silverware was starting to do a dance. He just knew he had to make someone _pay_ for this … this …

What brought him out of his murderous rage was the sound of glass shattering all over the Great Hall, as every single glass blew up simultaneously. This was followed by the shrieks and screams of students covered in glass shards and drenched in pumpkin juice or tea. Those sounds slowly quieted down to a terrified silence, broken only by a few faint sobs of frightened students. As Harry lifted his blood-shot eyes from the damnable newspaper, it was to meet, once again, everyone's eyes staring back at him. Only this time most of them were fearful.

The part of him which was capable of rational thought groaned at the realisation that this would be like the Heir of Slytherin business all over again. The other part, which was still raging, almost delighted in the stunned and fearful reactions he was receiving. At least they knew what he thought about this … this … he could find no adequate words for it. You certainly couldn't call it an article. Or news. Or anything that wasn't the foulest of slurs, insidious, underhanded social murder of his family, and the most abominable defamation of the dead. He simply couldn't find any words offensive enough to describe what he thought about it.

As he numbly stared back at everyone, he became aware that both the headmaster and Professor McGonagall had appeared behind him. He turned to look up at them. The witch appeared deeply disapproving, but when her eyes fell on the Prophet in front of him, he saw a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. Dumbledore just looked sad.

"Mr. Evans, if you would come with us?"

It wasn't a request, of course. But he could appreciate the illusion of courtesy. In any case, he was all in favour of getting away from everyone staring at him in fear and shock or calculation, the last mostly on Slytherin faces. He simply had to hope he wouldn't get punished too badly for blowing up the glass and injuring other students. He was starting to feel really bad about that, which cooled his anger rapidly. It had been accidental magic, yes. But it was still fuelled by his temper, which he had allowed to get out of control.

The combination of rage and guilt made his stomach hurt.

Consequences. Always.

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oOoOoOoOo

Albus Dumbledore sighed as he looked at Harry, who was slumped in a chair in front of the imposing headmaster's desk. The boy was clasping his hands tightly together and looked somewhere between murderous and remorseful.

"Harry, Harry. I know this is bad. Once again I needs must apologise for failing you. I should have foreseen something like this happening, and taken steps to prevent it. Or at least warned you of the possibility," he said, coming around to Harry's side of the desk and sitting down next to him. He gently took Harry's hands in his, and gave the boy a sorrowful gaze.

"Sadly I was not aware how very desperate for any selling story the Prophet appears to have become. As for the utter vitriol and hate behind this monstrosity … I suspect outside hands at work. And it was not only aimed at you, but through you at me and my influence," Albus shook his head and gave another sigh.

Harry just kept staring blankly at their clasped hands, his shoulders drawn up and his whole body tense.

"I have become somewhat inured against this kind of thing, and in truth they would hesitate to attack me directly. But a mere orphan, even if he is the boy-who-lived … apparently whoever is behind this considers you fair game."

"What can I do then?" the boy asked in a hollow voice.

"I will attempt to make them retract the article, but I fear the damage is done. Unfortunately the wording was most insidious … they never stated anything outright. Wizarding law is in many ways behind the Muggle one. There is little to defend an individual's right to privacy, or against indirect slander. So unless they directly say something … as long as they merely keep hinting, and 'voicing concerns' or asking pernicious 'questions' ... there is little that can be done, though I will put a lawyer on it straight away."

Albus sighed again and gave Harry's hands a gentle squeeze.

"I will, of course, attempt to discover who really is behind this. There are many who wish only the best for you here at Hogwarts, and together we will make sure the culprits get their just deserts. But for now, Harry, I fear the best you can do is ride out the storm and stay afloat. I do promise you this: Whoever is behind this _will not get away with it_."

Harry kept staring at their hands.

"All right, sir," he said. "I hope so."

"But you do not believe it. I understand, dear boy. Trust and belief do not come easy for you. And in truth, this is a difficult matter," Albus admitted. "Now, do you happen to know how to get into the kitchens here?"

"No, sir," Harry replied softly.

"Then I shall tell you how to reach it. You know the corridor leading to the Hufflepuff dorms?"

The boy gave a dazed nod.

"Along that corridor you will find a painting of a bowl of fruit, one of them is a pear. When tickled, the pear will transform into a door-knob, which opens the door leading to the kitchens. I will instruct the elves working there to provide you with a meal whenever you want to. Because at the moment, for the sake of everyone, most of all yourself, it might be wise if you avoided taking your meals in the Great Hall until the worst has blown over."

He held out a conciliatory hand as Harry's head shot up in indignation.

"Do not consider this cowardice, Harry, but rather prudence. To allow the currently very turbulent public waters to settle down before you venture into them again. Of course, if you do feel up to face … everyone, you are certainly welcome to do so. But unless you are more jaded than you should by rights be at your age, I cannot but think you should feel quite overwhelmed by all this," Albus carefully explained his reasoning, and his expression was sad as he peered down at the dejected, serious young face.

"Could Ron and Hermione come with me, sir?"

"Hmm. Maybe not for every meal. They are your best way of staying in contact with the rest of your house. Do try to make peace with your house-mates, Harry. Your house is meant to be your family while at school. Unfortunately, just as with a real family, house-relationships tend to be riddled with disagreements and spats at times," he admitted ruefully. "Still, they should learn to stand together with you, but you will have to learn to let them do so."

.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry found himself nodding earnestly, though inside he was rather doubtful. His own experiences with family were certainly … anything but promising. But he had to admit that alienating himself from Gryffindor would be a bad idea. He was contemplating the monumental task of getting through to his house-mates, who could be quite stubborn and difficult, when the fireplace suddenly flared green. Harry was startled to see Professor McGonagall's head appear in the green flames.

"Albus?"

"Yes, Minerva?

"Do you still have Mr. Potter with you?

"Indeed, my dear."

"We just finished cleaning up the mess in the Great Hall, and fortunately I can report that none of the students were harmed. Well, aside from getting more or less drenched with sticky liquids. But the glass shattered in a very strange way, there were no sharp edges to the fragments at all. Apparently Mr. Potter's magic did not wish to injure anyone ..."

"That is good to know," Dumbledore told her, sounding relieved, and Harry noticed the twinkle seemed to be back in his eyes. "In that case I shall tell Harry his … punishment now, and then send him onwards to his classes. Do try to calm down the rest of the students, Minerva, we cannot have the term start with heavy bouts of hysterics all over the place."

"Of course, Albus. Though I should warn you that many of them were clearly frightened or upset by Mr. Potter's … display. It will likely take some time for them to forget about it."

The old wizard sighed and his smile turned wry. "No doubt. Well, we can only do our best, I suppose. I will see you later, Minerva."

The witch nodded sharply and then her face was gone from the fireplace, the flames dying down and resuming their normal colour. Dumbledore straightened up and turned to look pensively at Harry, who found himself fidgeting uncomfortably under the headmaster's regard.

"Now … I am afraid that in order to appease the other teachers and students … I will have to assign you _some_ form of … punishment," Dumbledore finally said gravely, after contemplating Harry silently for long moments. Harry merely nodded and hung his head dispiritedly. He did feel guilty, after all, even if thankfully no-one had gotten hurt.

"I fully realise you did not do this on purpose, and punishing you for accidental magic ..." the old wizard gave Harry a sorrowful look full of hidden meanings. "Does not sit well with me, in light of what your relatives used to do. However, if only for the sake of appearances, the illusion that you _were_ punished must be in place."

The headmaster peered at Harry searchingly before continuing: "I shall take twenty points from Gryffindor for causing a commotion in the Great Hall … which in truth, you did," he admonished, though his tone was gentle. "And I shall also assign you weakly detentions with Minerva for the rest of the year."

Harry's head shot up again, an indignant protest half-formed on his tongue. He'd just been told he would not be seriously punished, after all, and detentions for the rest of the year seemed a fairly hefty price to pay for doing accidental magic.

"Let me finish," Dumbledore said more sternly. Harry subsided, feeling bad all over again for his rashness.

"You do deserve some measure of punishment, after all, and so yours shall be that you will learn to keep your temper in better check. The detentions will actually be a cover for you to take lessons in meditation and anger-management with a healer friend of mine who works in St. Mungo's. And I _do_ expect you to have made significant progress by the end of the year!"

Harry blinked in surprise and nodded earnestly after a moment.

"Yes, sir. I will do my best. And I do try, it's just … well, you saw what they wrote," he pointed out, struggling to keep the rage he'd felt earlier from rising up again.

The headmaster sighed. "Yes, and I do understand. But you must realise your … explosive reaction earlier likely made your situation worse. No doubt the Prophet will learn of it soon, and they can and will make even more of a spectacle out of it. Or accuse you personally of unfounded things. This last 'article' was mostly aimed at your family name and myself … I fear the next may well target you directly instead," he concluded soberly.

Harry blanched, because unfortunately Professor Dumbledore was right. It had been bad enough with the Parseltongue last year. And at that point, the Prophet hadn't even been out to get him, they'd simply been eager for any story. He shuddered at the thought of what a hostile newspaper could make out of him blowing up like that. He'd be the new Dark Lord by tomorrow, and murdering students in their beds by next week. He met the headmaster's grave eyes. There was no twinkle there now, and the old man appeared sad.

"What will be, will be. Do try to control your temper better, Harry. But for now … all we can do is ride out this storm, and see if we cannot send it back to its originator."

.

oOoOoOoOo

Sirius Black stared blankly at the headlines screaming at him from a discarded Daily Prophet that he'd dragged to the Shrieking Shack. He was badly tempted to scream back at it, and refresh the rumours of haunting which made the Shack such a good hide-out. Because none of this made any sense.

First the boy who was his godson changed his looks so that he hardly appeared like James' son anymore. And then the kid fled from him when he met Sirius. And now this dreadful paper told him that Harry had also changed his surname. Which was all kinds of wrong in itself. He couldn't comprehend why James' son didn't want to acknowledge James as his father anymore. It … made no sense. No sense whatsoever.

Even he, who'd hated his family, never tried not to be a Black. Because even if you couldn't stand them … your family was important. And what reasons could the boy have to not want his father anymore, when James had been such a great guy? James. James had been a great father. So how could his son reject him? He couldn't understand it. It just made no sense.

If only he hadn't asked them to switch … James would still be alive. And be there for his son, whose behaviour was utterly confusing Sirius. It was all the fault of that damn traitor. But he would make the rat pay. Oh, yes, the rat would pay. He snarled his hate, and felt the paper tear in his fingers.

Maybe someone had forced his godson to do this? That must be it. The dreadful paper suggested Dumbledore's involvement, but surely that couldn't be right? Though … hadn't the old man left him to rot in Azkaban? Shouldn't he have known of Sirius' innocence? The old man always seemed to know everything, after all. So maybe it was Dumbledore? But the headmaster had always been on their side. Or seemed to anyway. It was hard to tell what was truth anymore, after so many years with only Dementors for company. Especially when nothing seemed to make sense.

Of course the Prophet also hinted darkly at any number of other reasons, some of which were clearly laughable, but … no smoke without a fire, right? He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, willing the headache to subside. He longed for the simplicity that was _dog_, that worried only about the next meal and a comfortable place to sleep. And the hunt. The hunt for an evil, traitorous rat.

Yes. Padfoot needed to catch Wormtail, and make him _pay_.

He would concentrate on that for now. And maybe everything else would make more sense tomorrow, or next week.

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oOoOoOoOo

AN: This update gave me serious trouble, mostly the Prophet bit. And sorry about that, the article didn't start out too bad, but just grew progressively worse. Please do not stone me. And yes, there shall be a war against the Prophet in this story. The chapter also changed and evolved while I was writing it, as this whole story tends to do. That mostly started out with the basic idea of: 'Hey, Harry changes his name, which causes any number of things to work out differently, and various relationships develop in sometimes unexpected ways. And there shall be many unforeseen consequences.' Which I keep discovering as I continue to write this story. Some of it is pre-planned, but a lot of it I do not know beforehand, either. As I said before, partly I'm writing this story to find out myself what is going to happen. I invite you to come along for the ride, and I hope you have fun. :)


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

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He'd somehow made it through yesterday, mostly by avoiding everyone as much as he could. He was also incredibly thankful for his friends, who'd stuck with him, glued to his side all day long, shielding him from the other students.

He'd tried not to look at people. But he'd still heard the whispers that sprang up whenever he passed, even though Ron and Hermione had done their best to drown them out with their chatter. It had sounded brittle and forced, but Harry was grateful all the same.

He'd made it through classes by arriving as late as possible, and immediately running off as soon as they were finished, taking seats as close to the exit as available. The three of them had avoided lunch and dinner in the great hall, and had eaten in the kitchens, where they'd been swarmed by house-elves.

He'd first gone there alone, after Professor Dumbledore had told him how to find them, wanting to test the waters before he dragged his friends along. Ron and Hermione were a bit annoyed at him for that. Sometimes it was hard to please people, really. But at least this way he was saved the embarrassment of being fussed over in front of them by hordes of elves, led by an enthusiastic Dobby. The former Malfoy elf seemed even crazier, if that was possible, and most pathetically eager to meet the 'great wizard master Harry Potter' again. Apparently he'd been offered to work at Hogwarts by Professor Dumbledore sometime during the summer.

He'd also discovered, much to his chagrin, that Dobby still worshipped the ground Harry walked on. The elf's incessant chatter was bad enough. However, the constant praise was even worse, especially given how frayed Harry's nerves already were. But he didn't have the heart to tell Dobby to stop, not when the little elf was so obviously overjoyed to see his great wizard master Harry Potter. Really, it was too bad.

Fortunately, it was probably impossible to die of embarrassment.

Luckily, he managed to come up with a cunning ploy to stop the excessive worship when his friends were around. Dobby readily believed Harry when he claimed the elf's behaviour would make the others feel left out, and that he needed to tone it down, or at least spread it around. It actually worked, and Harry was only slightly dismayed to find he rather enjoyed his friend's blushes and wild-eyed looks when they were included in Dobby's exuberance.

Still, meals in the kitchen were mildly hair-raising, since all the elves kept staring at him at intervals. But at least they weren't _frightened_. They didn't look at Harry as if he was going to blow everything up again at the drop of a pin.

They didn't ask awkward questions, either. Harry could deal with getting stared at, and endure Dobby's incessant happy babbling, if it meant he didn't have to deal with the rest.

Ron was in heaven, of course, once he got over his share of the embarrassment. And the elves were simply overjoyed to find such a willing and enthusiastic eater of food, and kept offering the red-head refills until even Ron had to give up or burst. Hermione was clearly fascinated, never having met house-elves before, and continued to ask them questions. They had to periodically remind her to actually _eat_.

Ever so often she would give Dobby a considering look. Harry could almost see the cogs turn in her brain as she compared the treatment and behaviour of the elves here at Hogwarts, with what Harry had told her about Dobby's suffering under the Malfoys. Because the elves here were clearly happy, and seemed to love their work. Well, when they weren't staring at Harry instead.

After dinner they went to the library. For once it was Harry who insisted they should do their homework straight away, and prepare for the next day. Because at the moment, keeping busy was … good. Keeping your mind on homework meant not having to think about all the rest. And he didn't quite want to talk much with his friends either, not while talk was still so forced and stilted. But he made sure to give them lots of grateful smiles.

There _were_ other way to communicate, after all.

They stayed in the library until just before curfew, at which point they dashed up to the tower, where they went directly to their dorms. Everything to avoid … confrontations. Even so the common room went suspiciously silent when they entered, and Harry felt the hairs on his nape prickle as he crossed the room to get to the stairs. He went straight to bed. Not that he fell asleep until much later. But drawn bed-curtains were a fortress. His fortress.

His fortress where no-one gave him uneasy or frightened looks, or tried to question him. Or thought he was insane, or a Dark Lord.

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oOoOoOoOo

In the morning Harry avoided everyone by getting up late. Ron and Hermione had gone to take breakfast in the Great Hall at his urging. He needed to know what the general opinion about him was. As well as everybody's reactions if the Prophet printed something _again_. He was feeling rather apprehensive on that front, because they were bound to have heard about his blowing up the glass.

Harry himself just went to the kitchens to pick up a slice of toast and a couple of apples, which he munched on while making his way to the headmaster's office. Dumbledore had asked him to go straight up and wait for him there. He passed the time peering at the headmaster's collection of strange artefacts, and admiring Fawkes. The phoenix was perfectly happy with one of Harry's apples, and listening to the bird's sweet trills made him feel a lot better.

Unfortunately, Dumbledore's serious expression when the old wizard finally arrived undid all that and made Harry's stomach turn over again.

According to the headmaster, the letters which came in response to the abominable article were a rather mixed lot. There were a lot of people who obviously believed in some of the Prophet's theories, and expressed their open disapproval of Harry and his change of name. And disapproval was very likely a mild word for some of the rants and howlers that had come in. Harry was really glad he didn't have to deal with all those letters himself. Because fortunately, Dumbledore had anticipated the problem, and ordered the elves to take care of Harry's mail.

But there were also plenty of other letters, from people who were outraged at the insinuations and hidden accusations of the article. Some of those people had known his parents, and knew better than to believe the lies. Others were simply disgusted with the way the Prophet wrote, and the horrible assumptions in the article. But no matter why, what really mattered was that they were on Harry's side. That they didn't believe the filth and slurs.

And then of course there was the _new_ article in today's edition of the Prophet, and their 'retraction' of the old one.

It didn't affect him as badly as the first one, but that was probably only because he'd already expected them to start a new 'Dark Lord' campaign against him. And when you've already been a baby Dark Lord once, having it happen again was somehow not nearly as bad. Almost amusing in a way. Amusing in a very dark and twisted way, of course, because too many people would happily believe those new insinuations. Again.

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**Harold Evans (formerly Harry Potter) blows up Hogwarts' Great Hall!**

This is a short follow-up to our article yesterday about the former Potter heir, which reached us just in time to make this edition. It has come to our ears that in reaction to reading it, Mr. Evans (formerly Potter) apparently blew up the breakfast tables in Hogwarts' Great Hall. We have as yet not been able to confirm if any students were injured in the incident. We do, however, hope this is not a sign Mr. Evans has snapped, or indeed, reverted to old behaviour (see a résumé of our earlier coverage about the Heir of Slytherin making the halls of Hogwarts unsafe on p.14).

Concerns were raised then that a new Dark Lord was coming into his power at Hogwarts. We therefore hope this public display of vindictiveness Mr. Evans showed yesterday was not a symptom of increasing violent or Dark tendencies, for what hope would the Public have otherwise? Unfortunately, we remain in the dark regarding Mr. Evans' real purpose and intentions, as he was not available for comment.

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**Retraction**

Under threat of legal action by Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Headmaster of Hogwarts, we are forced to retract our, we quote the headmaster, 'odious insinuations' regarding the Potter heir's abandonment of his family name. It was not our intention to cause offence. Here at the Prophet we are dedicated to discovering the truth, and nothing but the truth, no matter how painful or outrageous the truth may be.

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What a heartfelt retraction and apology. Not. But instead of making him angry, the thing gave him a sick and hopeless feeling in his stomach. How was he to fight against those insidious, twisting words? It was hard to battle an opponent that kept wriggling about worse than a snake in the grass. You had to pin down its head, but what could you do if you didn't know where or who the head was? And he had no idea how to lure his enemy out into the open, either. Harry left the headmaster's office feeling rather morose and sorry for himself.

At least Hermione came up with a grand idea while they had lunch together in the kitchen. She asked the elves if they could compile lists of names and addresses … from both kinds of letters. The elves, led once again by an exuberant Dobby, were quite happy to comply with her request. By dinner-time they had presented the trio with neatly written lists, which they would keep adding to whenever more letters came in.

And those lists had the potential to be really useful. Because they showed who was likely to be on his side, or against him. Who could be easily swayed by public lies, and who saw through them or was on Harry's side for some other reason. Who could be a potential ally, and who an enemy.

The three of them agreed Harry needed to do some kind of publicity campaign of his own, which was about the only thing he could do at this point. Of course Dumbledore and the adults would do their part. But as Hermione pointed out sensibly, Harry himself carried quite a bit of clout in the public opinion. Even if he was no longer Harry Potter. So it was high time he actually used his fame for his own purposes, instead of letting others use and abuse it for theirs.

And that campaign would have to include Hogwarts, and the student body. Hermione agreed with Dumbledore that it was better for him to avoid meals in the Great Hall for now. It kept everyone from being too nervous. Of course there was plenty of talk and speculation about Harry going on at breakfast, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Because the students at least knew he hadn't hurt anyone with his little … explosion … yesterday. Still, they were uneasy and confused. And wondering where he was, and why he wasn't there. Which meant they were also ... curious.

And if he could somehow use that curiosity to his advantage …

It was definitely time to look for help outside of his two best friends. And see if he couldn't change the reactions of his house-mates at the same time. As Dumbledore had pointed out, Harry needed his house firmly behind him, if he was to weather the storm. And the rest of the school was also less likely to think him a Dark Lord, if he was obviously supported by the house of the brave and righteous.

So that day after dinner they didn't hide out in the library. Instead they went up to the tower and claimed a table in the common room to get down to some serious planning on how to retaliate. The public, and the Prophet in particular, needed to learn that an Evans wasn't a doormat, but would instead get … even.

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oOoOoOoOo

"Should we really be doing this here?" Hermione whispered, her eyes darting around the crowded Gryffindor common room.

That is, crowded everywhere but around the three of them. People had edged away from them as soon as they'd settled down around their table. The more circumspect ones had simply found something urgent to do elsewhere. Or had noticed friends they wanted to talk to on the other side of the room. All together it had been a not very subtle migration away from their space.

Harry snorted in disgust at this display of almost … cowardice. Or at least stupidity. If he could blow up every glass all over the Great Hall, then a few meters of distance here would hardly save anyone.

But for all that the space around them had become … uncrowded, most of the Gryffindors present were still more or less covertly watching him. And certainly listening in on their conversation. In fact, he was rather counting on that. He cleared his throat, trying to project an air of unconcern.

"Right. So … any idea, guys, what we can do about this mess," he asked in a normal tone of voice that at least half the room would be able to hear easily, disregarding Hermione's question.

"Well," his friend said slowly. "The obvious would be to try to get them for libel. But you said Professor Dumbledore has already got a lawyer working on that angle?"

"Yeah, that's what he told me," Harry said, nodding earnestly. "Just … he said that the laws in the Wizarding World aren't really good for protecting people's privacy and keeping the papers from printing rubbish."

"I can imagine," Hermione muttered darkly.

"Hmm. Could you look into it a bit anyway, 'Mione? You know, outsider's view and all that? There might be something you'll spot that a lawyer will miss?"

He watched her scribble down something in the journal before her. "Research laws regarding libel and slander, right," she murmured, her eyes taking on that feral gleam which meant that the next library-hunt was on.

If there _was_ something a professional might overlook, she was bound to pick it up. If he had learned anything during the last couple of years, it was that no-one could beat Hermione when it came to digging through mountains of obscure tomes and extracting every last useful bit from them. Provided there was something to find, of course.

"You know, mate, you should get your own article out," Ron suggested. "Tell everyone what's really going on. And what you think of that shite," the red-head added, gesturing wildly at the Prophet spread in front of them.

"Are there any other publications in the Wizarding World?" Harry asked. "It's not as if the Prophet would print anything I said … at least not without turning it into something horrible."

He could tell the people around them were getting interested. Several of the older years were surreptitiously edging closer.

"Well, there's the Quibbler," Ginny said, suddenly flopping down in the last empty chair at their table.

Ron brightened. "Of course," he exclaimed. "Luna and her dad!"

Ginny nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. The Lovegoods publish that. They live quite close to us. And Luna is in my year. She's … a bit odd, though."

Ron snorted. "Odd doesn't even begin to describe her. She's rather barmy, I'd say. So's her dad. Always off about some weird creatures no-one else can see and stuff like that. And they're really big into conspiracy theories."

Ginny nodded in agreement. "Yep. So they'd probably love to print a counter-article from you."

"Yes, but if people think they are strange … wouldn't many think the same of their paper?" Hermione asked, tilting her head and looking thoughtful.

Ron and Ginny shared a look before reluctantly nodding in concert.

"So having Harry's interview appear in it might be a bit … counterproductive?"

Harry watched a lot of heads around them nod in silent agreement.

"Is there nothing else? Does the Prophet really have a monopole on misinforming Britain's wizards?" he asked, feeling deflated. Getting a counter-article out _was_ an excellent idea, but if there was no way to get it printed and read …

"There are various magazines," one of the older students who'd been drifting closer threw in unexpectedly. "Like 'Witch Weekly', and there's one that reports about Quidditch, of course. And there are publications about various fields of magic, like the 'Potioneer's Gazette'."

"And places like Diagon and Hogsmeade tend to have small, local newspapers," someone else said. "But they are only monthly or so, and don't reach many people, so it's probably not what you are looking for, is it?"

"No," Harry stated firmly. "I need to reach lots of people, and I need to reach them _now_. Before all those lies are too much set in people's minds."

"Is it all lies, though?" the sixth year prefect challenged him.

"Hmm. Well, the first paragraph is actually correct. But all the rest, all those theories they have ..." he made a show of scanning the horrible article. "Nope. It's quite amazing how many wrongs they managed to get into so few words."

"Yeah, but you'd say that anyway," someone shouted from the back of the crowd which surrounded them by now. This was greeted with a lot of muttering and suspicious looks thrown at Harry.

He suddenly stood up, his chair scraping back loudly. He let his stare move over all of them, and his eyes were hard. Too many faces met his gaze with sullen defiance. But the muttering died down. They were all waiting for him to speak.

"Look, I had quite a few reasons to change my name. Like I hate it how everyone thinks they know me better than I do, just because of all the stupid stuff that's been said about me for years. I hate the expectations. I hate that I can't go anywhere without people crowding me."

He thought for a moment, his gaze never leaving them.

"Well, unless they're currently going through a phase of thinking me the next Dark Lord and are afraid of me instead. Can't say that everyone running away from me is that much better, though."

This actually got a few nervous laughs.

"I hate the attention, and the fame," he spat the last word. "That's why I wanted to be simple Harry Evans, who's just a normal guy at Hogwarts, you know? Nobody special. Just another Gryffindor struggling with homework and playing Quidditch and trying to not get caught by Filch."

He could see the incomprehension in most faces, rather like Ron's had been. He sighed. But there were a few more now who were nodding thoughtfully, and looking like they might understand him at last.

"Just think about it," he urged them. "Think how it would really be like in my shoes, won't you?"

"Would you really want to be me? With your parents murdered when you were still a baby. Then you got put with relatives who didn't appreciate that you were dumped on their perfect little normal _muggle_ family. And since they hate magic, they never told you about any of it. And nothing about what happened with Voldemort and your parents, either."

It was almost funny to see the joint wince his casual mention of the name caused all over the room.

"Anyway," he continued. "Then you finally learn about magic, and come to Diagon Alley, with no idea about who you are supposed to be, and wham, suddenly you're a bloody 'celebrity'? And everyone is abjectly grateful to you for something you didn't even know you'd done? Do you really think that's great?"

He glared at them.

"Well, let me tell you, it was _frightening_ to have everyone crowd me, and congratulate me for what I supposedly did, and fawn over me! And horribly _embarrassing_! Or maybe you think it's fun when things happen like last year, when everybody thought I was the bloody heir and new Dark Lord instead? And half the school shunned me? And now they're doing it _again_!" he concluded bitterly. "I just can't get a rest, can I?"

"Cause now I have to deal with this shite," he tore the Prophet from the table and tossed it on the floor with a sneer. "And as if that's not enough, there's having to worry about Sirius Black, too."

That got some more winces all across the room.

"So … tell me, who of you would still want to be Harry Potter? Who would like to be in my shoes?" he challenged them, folding his arms and staring them down.

Uneasy gazes met his glare. Some of them were actually looking mildly horrified. Good. It seemed he'd finally gotten through to most of them.

"Guess you're right, mate," Ron suddenly spoke up from behind him, tight-voiced. "Yeah, you're right. Being Harry Potter wasn't all daisies and sunshine, was it?" the red-head admitted with a grimace as Harry turned around to meet his eyes.

Harry felt something happy bubble up inside him. He had his friend back. And he had other people to support him, too. The atmosphere in the common room was quite different now. More open. More friendly. There were many who met his gaze freely now, without suspicion, when he turned back. There were smiles, and supportive nods.

He smiled back. "Right," he said. "So … any other ideas?"

"There's the Irish daily of course," Seamus piped up. "It's not so widely read over here, sure, but it's like a really serious newspaper. Very respectable. So maybe if you got something there _and_ in the Quibbler, they'd balance each other out?"

"Yeah. That could work," Harry said after a thoughtful pause. "Ginny, could you please ask Luna about this? And Seamus, how could I get in touch with that Irish paper?"

Ginny simply nodded and got up to quickly disappear in the throng of Gryffindors. Harry gazed after her, feeling a bit disappointed. So she was still avoiding him. Seamus clearing his throat made him lock back at his dorm-mate.

"I can ask my mum how to contact them," the Irish wizard offered.

"That would be great. Please, if you would," Harry said, smiling gratefully at the other boy. "Now all we need is the right person to write something like that and do an interview with me."

"Well … there's Rita Skeeter. She's the absolutely most venomous writer there is. And dreadfully sensationalist. I was kind of surprised it wasn't her who wrote this," a seventh year girl spoke up with a grimace. "Defamation is normally _her_ speciality."

"You mean whoever wrote this isn't the one who normally writes the most vicious stuff in the Prophet?"

That was one thing that had them stumped. The article hadn't been signed, so they had no clue who the actual writer was.

"Obviously you've never read anything by Rita then, P … Evans," the girl said with a wince. "She's an absolute scandal hound. But this doesn't sound like her style, plus she'd never not sign her work."

"But she's worse than this?"

"Hmm … hard to judge actually. It's mostly a difference in style, really. She's definitely just as bad. But if you could get her on your side … fight fire with fire I say!"

"But how would I get her to write for me?"

The girl shrugged. "Easy. Offer her an exclusive interview with the boy-who-lived. She'll be drooling. And I doubt she liked having been upstaged by this," she pointed at the Prophet on the floor. "Cause if she writes against you, too, it will make her look like a cheap copy. And to not write anything at all must irk her like crazy."

"Is that so," Harry said slowly, considering his options.

"Definitely. She's some distant cousin of mine, and Merlin, that woman is one crazy bitch. Totally obsessed. She'll do anything for a good story."

"So … if I were to give her some inside info on why I really changed my name, and make it into a bit of a sob story ..."

"Oh, she'd do anything for that."

"Even go against the Prophet?"

The girl put her head sideways in thought, but finally nodded firmly. "Yeah, I'd say so."

"Well, we could try asking her, then? Would you do that for me? Since you seem to know her?"

"Sure, no problem, might even make her more bearable to be around at the next family reunion," the girl said with a sparkle in her eyes.

"Go ahead then, please. Offer her an exclusive interview with me, and that I'll tell her about my real reasons, if she writes something that will get the public opinion on my side as the poor victim of the Prophet."

The older girl nodded, smiled at him almost fondly, and wandered off to start writing a letter. As Harry watched her walk away, he became aware that Fred and George were approaching him instead, with eager looks plastered on their faces.

"Hey, Harrikins …"

"We thought of something ..."

"That you might find interesting."

"You know, thanks to the Prophet ..." Fred said with a nasty gleam in his eyes.

"People sent you all those letters and howlers." George finished with a matching smile.

"So how about ..."

"We return the favour ..."

"And send them some nasty stuff ..."

"Anything from stink-bombs ..."

"To letters filled with itching powder ..."

"'And other things like that?"

"Hmm. They do deserve it, but won't they have wards or something against that? And they'll be extra careful, if it comes from me or other students?" Harry asked. It would be a rather satisfying thing to do … a bit petty maybe, but every small thing helped, right?

"Ah, that would be the beauty ..."

"Of our plan."

"We would be using simple muggle stuff ..."

"So there's nothing for any wards to detect."

"Plus, we could maybe ask some of the people ..."

"Who do support you to send it for us?"

"And as long as the stuff isn't actually harmful ..."

"Aside from to their dignity of course ..."

"The Prophet couldn't really do a thing ..."

"Against anybody but write whiny articles ..."

"Which would only make them look stupid."

The two pranksters stood there looking proud after they finished the exposition of their plan. Harry nodded at them.

"All right. We could do this. Though … better make it all anonymous. They'll _know_ it's from me, but if others send it, there's nothing to link it back to me. But are you sure there are muggle ways of doing this?"

"Oh yes, mate ..."

"Muggles have itching powder, too ..."

"Butyric acid which stinks like anything ..."

"All kinds of dyes which stain horribly and are …"

"Really hard to get out of fabric ..."

"And that's just what we can think of offhand."

"Sounds good then. All right, you two are officially in charge of pranking the Prophet! See if anyone wants to help you, especially with the list of potential senders, will you? Oh, and maybe you also want to look into pranking some people here at Hogwarts who are most vocal against me?"

"Awww. Our little brother Harry …"

"Is going to turn into Dark Lord Prankster!"

"We are so proud of you ..."

"Our Dark Liege of Prankdom!"

The last was delivered simultaneously, and they took a deep bow, with ridiculously devout expressions plastered on their grinning faces.

"Off, off with you, my pranking minions," Harry deadpanned, after which he finally couldn't hold it in anymore and started laughing.

For the first time since the start of term he felt optimistic. Dumbledore had been right … again. And as he looked at his house-mates, still eagerly discussing possible plans or surrounding Fred and George, he knew Gryffindor was his … strange as that was. He'd managed to get them on his side … by letting them help him.

"You know, Harry, you need to do that more," Hermione said after a while, giving him a fond smile.

"Hmm, what do you mean?"

"You need to smile more. And laugh, and joke, and be ridiculously enthusiastic about things. You are much too gloomy and moody most of the time. Being happy and bouncy would really do that Dark Lord image in, you know. And well," she shrugged. "Every little bit helps, no?"

"What a cunning plan ..." said twin one, suddenly appearing back at Harry's side.

"Oh great Dark Liege of Prankdom!" twin two exclaimed, fluttering his eyelashes at Harry.

"We shall befuddle …"

"The whole school with ..."

"The miracle of a happy ..."

"Harry P … ehm, Evans."

Both twins locked rather befuddled themselves for a moment, Harry thought. They shared a look, before facing Harry again and giving him a doubtful stare.

"Dark Lord Evans ..."

"Just doesn't roll off the tongue, does it?"

"So if you don't want to be a Dark Lord ..."

"You should remind everyone ..."

"That your name is Evans."

"But if you want to ..."

"You'd totally need a cool moniker."

"Maybe you could start a naming contest?"

They eyed him with the earnest innocence of two puppy dogs. He swallowed.

"Ehm, thanks guys, but how about we leave it for now?"

"As our Dark Liege of Prankdom decrees!"

"Even if he is sadly lacking in Darkness."

They looked really, seriously disappointed in him. It was just too much. And it took the Great Evil Dark Lord Evans forever to stop sniggering.

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oOoOoOoOo

Sirius Black felt vaguely disappointed. He'd managed to steal another copy of the Prophet today, and once again he'd taken it to the Shrieking Shack to read.

So … it seemed his godson had found the article odious as well, and had been upset enough with the libellous words to blow up in the Great Hall. But what did they mean by old behaviour? And Dark tendencies? What was going on here? Why should anyone think James' son to be a new Dark Lord? And what was that bit about an Heir of Slytherin?

It certainly didn't explain why his godson couldn't have stayed a Potter. That still didn't make sense. He wanted to ask the boy, to grab him and shake him and demand to know why he'd done this to James and to Sirius. He wanted to know if Harry had been forced to do it, or done it himself, for whatever reason. He badly wanted things to make sense.

He cursed at being so out of the loop. Clearly things had happened since the lad started going to Hogwarts. But how could he find out more? This could be the key for him to work out why Harry wasn't a Potter anymore. If only he wasn't so cut off. If only he could go and talk to people, instead of hiding out of sight, or slinking around as Padfoot. Not that you could rely on what people told you, of course, but ask enough and you got at least most of the picture. More than he had right now, for sure.

To just read about it, second-hand, with no way to discover the truth, was driving him crazy. He hated being so utterly in the dark. And he hated how hard it still was to think most of the time. The mental fog, caused by being under Dementor induced fears all the time, was slowly lifting, but … too often it all seemed like a dream. A nightmare.

And then there was the short … retraction of yesterday's horrible article. Which only told him once again that Dumbledore was involved in some way. But was the old man helping Harry with the press, or trying to cover up his own involvement? The niggling doubts sown by yesterday's accusations against the old man kept returning to him. Because he'd always known the headmaster was manipulative. That the man did nothing without a reason. That he played chess on a board only he could see, and in chess, well sometimes you had to sacrifice a pawn, right?

The question really was whether Sirius himself was just such a pawn. And what about James' son? Sirius had never learned exactly what the damn prophecy had said which forced his friend's family into hiding, and sent You-know-who after them. But it was possible it had something to do with his godson. How else could Harry have survived otherwise?

So maybe Harry was more than simply a pawn in Dumbledore's game. And therefore Sirius had been sacrificed so Dumbledore could keep control of James' son, who should have grown up with Sirius, after all. If he hadn't ended up in Azkaban. Grown up with Sirius, or the boy's parents, who'd ended up as another sacrifice. Thrown to the wolves, all of them. He crunched up his brow.

No, that didn't sound quite right. It was the rat, after all, who was to blame. And himself of course, for suggesting the swap. Why had he, though? It was hard to remember. It was so long ago. And just yesterday, to Padfoot.

So long ago that he'd lived, and not drifted in a Dementor haunted stupor, lost in Padfoot's instincts. So the hungry, soul-stealing monsters couldn't steal everything from him.

Still, not knowing if the old man had deliberately thrown Sirius away, was yet another reason he had to be careful. He couldn't risk getting caught, not while the damnable rat was running around loose in the castle. Dangerously close to his godson. And free, free, when Wormtail should be dead. All right, living as a rat was hardly glorious. But it was a damn sight better than being in Azkaban.

Why had he been condemned to the hell that was Azkaban? Dying would have been better. Still, he was alive. Alive meant he could attempt to avenge his friends. And maybe take care of his godson, late as he was. But first, he had to kill the bloody rat for real this time. Sirius could not risk anything, not until the rat was dead, safely gone.

If only they hadn't put the Dementors all around the castle. Of course he could sneak in through the tunnel, but it was always risky. But … maybe worth it to hang around the castle. Maybe Padfoot could get friendly with some of the students. Overhear the gossip. Surely they'd be talking about his godson. And he could sniff around for the rat at the same time. Yes. He was going to sniff around, and hopefully get to the bottom of this. And catch the damn rat, of course.

It seemed like a plan. Now all he had to do was avoid the damn Dementors. Find and destroy the damn rat. Find out the truth about James' son. And find out what Dumbledore's role in all this was.

All in a day's work.

.

oOoOoOoOo

AN: Yeah, for once Rita gets to be one of the good guys. Ehm … or not. I like to think of her as a kind of independent weapon. Just point her at a target, get out of the way and hope for the best. Now I only need to work out who the real enemy shall be. Of course there are several likely candidates in the running … but well, lets see. I'm open to good suggestions, too. Also, does anybody have an idea what an Irish daily Wizarding newspaper could be called? Otherwise it is doomed to remain 'the Irish newspaper'. And next chapter will finally see Severus Snape (and his headache).


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

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oOoOoOoOo

"Hey, Potter!"

Ah, yes, Malfoy. And he didn't feel even the slightest impulse to react to his old name. He grinned to himself. Magic really was wonderful.

"Potty!"

Surely Malfoy could come up with a better insult than Harry's stupid cousin? He calmly continued onward, smiling at Hermione, who was looking at him questioningly. Ron, who was walking on Harry's other side, had turned his head to look back at the Slytherin.

"Oi! Scar-head!"

Harry sighed inwardly. Okay, that nickname still applied to him. And Ron had stopped now and was clearly ready for a confrontation with Malfoy. So Harry put a hand on his friend's arm, which made Ron look back at him. Harry just shook his head, smiling lightly. And continued towards the potions classroom.

But the delay allowed Malfoy to catch up with them. He sailed up to Harry and grabbed his arm, glaring at him.

"Hey, stop ignoring me!" he snarled, looking angry. His two minions were only now lumbering up, panting slightly.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't hear you call my name," Harry said in a deliberately friendly tone of voice. Time to finish off Malfoy. And to show Ron how it was done, because the red-head was about to blow his head off. Which never worked.

He knew Malfoy was spoiling for a fight, and had been all week long. The Slytherin had been somewhat wary right after Harry's explosion in the Great Hall, but clearly the memory had faded by now and the blond was ready to go on the attack again. But he could handle the big prat now. Because Malfoy was really ridiculously easy to derail, if you paid attention to what he said. The blond had a bad tendency to talk himself into a corner, and to get upset and angry if Harry didn't react to his taunts. Which was the point where Harry Potter had often failed in the past. But he was all Evans now. An Evans didn't get upset with insignificant, petty little bullies.

Fortunately, Harry was also in a quite reasonable mood, which made it much easier to mess around with the Slytherin. It was harder to keep his cool when he was already upset, after all. But the Prophet had been mercifully quiet the last couple of days, aside from printing several reader's letters full of vitriol and righteous anger. However, there had been no direct front-page attacks. Harry didn't know why, though. Possibly Dumbledore's lawyer had managed to tie them up in legal actions. Or maybe they were just biding their time, in order to deliver something nice and juicy in their weekend edition. But no matter the reason, the respite had allowed his nerves to recover, and he was no longer feeling so frazzled. It also helped that his Gryffindor house-mates were now firmly behind him.

Harry's plans to get back at the Prophet were progressing nicely, too. Seamus had sent his mother a letter, Ginny had promised him an introduction to Luna Lovegood over the weekend, and he'd actually already gotten a reply from Rita Skeeter. That seventh-year girl had been right about her … the writer was practically drooling to do an interview with Harry. He was a bit concerned about that, and wondering if he shouldn't better bring a lawyer, or at least some adult, with him when he talked to her. He'd have to ask Dumbledore about it before meeting with her.

The twin's attack should also start soon. They'd already gotten a surprising number of replies from people who were gleefully eager to take part in a prank-war on the Prophet. Then again, it was quite possible that a sizeable number of Harry's supporters were former victims of the Prophet's bad journalistic practises, and therefore wanted revenge. The twins had also played a number of pranks on those most outspoken against Harry at school. Rather harmless stuff actually. Just … embarrassing for the victims. But fear of further public embarrassment clearly was a good way to deter people who were only guilty of running off their mouths. At least the bad-mouthing had drastically decreased.

It also sent the right message to those who were fearful and wary of him. Because really, which Dark Lord _pranked_ their opponents?

But right now … Malfoy. Malfoy, who really hated getting embarrassed, too. And the Slytherin just couldn't handle it when Harry was actually … friendly.

"So what can I help you with, dear Draco?" he asked sweetly, pasting an artificial smile on his face. He heard Ron gasp in either outrage or shock.

But that was nothing compared to the dumbfounded look on Malfoy's face. Which quickly morphed into horror.

"Why are you calling me Draco?" the blond demanded.

"Well, you see, after the end of last year, I'm afraid your father has replaced you as the Malfoy I dislike the most. So to avoid confusion, I'll simply have to call you Draco now. Unless you'd prefer Mini-Malfoy, or Baby-Malfoy, or something similar?" he asked with a concerned air, tilting his head sideways, still keeping the horrible smile on his face.

Malfoy gaped at him for a moment, clearly caught by surprise, but then he got angry.

"You … you," he snarled impotently at Harry, who kept smiling beatifically.

"Me?"

"How dare you!"

"Well … you make it way too easy, Baby-Malfoy," Harry said, reaching out to pat the blond gently on his cheek. The other two Slytherins seemed to be caught in the same dumbfounded horror as their little leader, who stood frozen, staring at Harry.

He gave them an innocent look.

"What? It's called being friendly. You should give it a try sometime," he sniffed scornfully, still smiling madly. Beside him, Ron's shoulders were starting to shake as the red-head tried to keep from laughing into the Slytherins' faces. And judging from her expression, Hermione was apparently caught between a kind of horrified admiration of Harry and amusement at Malfoy's predicament.

Malfoy seemed about ready to launch himself into Harry's face.

"Now what can I do for you?" Harry repeated calmly, doing his best to sound helpful and friendly.

Which nicely put Malfoy on the spot. The Slytherin actually spluttered for a moment, but then he visibly pulled himself together and tried to resume his usual haughty air.

"Stop calling me Draco! Or that other thing!"

"Aww, I thought it rather suited you. You look just like a perfect little copy of your father, after all."

Really, it was way too easy to make fun of the blond. He was too used to being deferred to, and getting whatever he wanted on the strength of his father's influence. But he didn't know how to deal with mockery wrapped in apparently friendly terms. Harry rather suspected he was actually more Slytherin than the blond, whose main qualification for the house seemed to be ambition. And usually getting everything he wanted, had clearly not taught him subtlety. So as long as Harry didn't let the insults get to him, there was no way Malfoy would ever beat him at this game.

But right now the Slytherin was smouldering, and getting ready to explode. Time to douse his rage a bit, because Harry didn't really want to get attacked. The whole point was to head off a confrontation, after all, not encourage it.

So he deliberately relaxed his pose, and turned his smile genuinely friendly, with one eyebrow raised questioningly.

Malfoy looked flummoxed in response, unconsciously relaxing from his fighting pose as well.

That tutor in conversational skills had been awesome. And the guy had great advice about the use of body language to influence people's reactions, too. If he hadn't been a Muggle, he would surely have been a Slytherin.

"So what did you want, Malfoy?" he asked quietly.

"Ehm, I was wondering if you'd heard about your _dear_ godfather. You know, the one that broke out of Azkaban to come after you," Malfoy said, his voice gaining confidence towards the end. And unfortunately also regaining a note of arrogance and viciousness at the same time.

He sighed inwardly. Malfoy clearly thought Harry was ignorant about Sirius Black, and would be confused and distressed to learn about him. Regrettably for Draco, Harry was going to have to disabuse him of that notion.

"You mean Sirius Black, who broke out of Azkaban this summer after spending twelve years there because he betrayed my parents to Voldemort, killed one of his best friends, and blew up a load of Muggles?"

Malfoy's face clearly said he hadn't expected Harry to know all that.

Harry sighed outwardly, too.

"I don't want to spoil your fun, Malfoy, but yes, I have heard about him. I even know he is a cousin of _your_ mother."

Now the blond looked taken aback.

"Do you also know he was spotted in Hogsmeade this week? Staring at that Prophet featuring _you_?" he asked spitefully.

"Well yes, I _do_ read the Prophet. Especially since their lovely editions of this week," Harry pointed out dryly, crossing his arms and deliberately looking bored. It was time to end this conversation, because class was about to start soon. Though in a way he should be grateful to the blond prat. He'd nicely managed to take Harry's mind off Snape and potions.

"So why aren't you out there looking for him to avenge your family? Or has Potter the hero suddenly turned into a coward?" Malfoy tried to needle him, obviously frustrated with Harry's lack of reaction.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Draco, as _Evans_ the sensible person knows when to let _adults_ and the Ministry handle an escaped convict and mass-murderer. If trained Aurors and a horde of Dementors can't catch him, why should I? Now if he comes after me, I'd obviously have to do my best, but otherwise ..." he let his voice trail off, and gave an unconcerned little shrug.

Of course, the 'if' was most likely a 'when', given Potter's law.

"Also revenge isn't going to bring my parents back to life," he added. "So given they sacrificed themselves for me, I reckon what I owe them is to keep living. And stupidly going after Sirius Black wouldn't be very conductive for that now, would it?" he asked coolly, giving Malfoy a mocking smile.

"So if it's all the same to you, Baby-Malfoy, I'll concern myself with the things I can actually do something about. And leave Black to those whose job it is to deal with him."

"Why you ..."

Harry had no intention of letting Malfoy start an angry tirade. "And right now my biggest concern is to get to potions on time, if you don't mind terribly," he concluded, giving the blond a mocking half-bow.

After which he simply turned and walked away, with Ron and Hermione hurrying behind him after a moment. Malfoy and his goons were left standing, staring after them in stunned silence.

"That was bloody brilliant, mate!"

Harry permitted himself a genuine smile of pleasure.

"Glad you liked it, Ron," he said quietly.

If only Snape would be as easy to handle ...

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oOoOoOoOo

Severus Snape had a headache. The reason for this headache was, as usual, one Harry ... Evans. Well, actually it was more often called Neville Longbottom. But the latter was only proficient in melting cauldrons, whereas Harry ... Evans was in the process of melting his brain.

When Severus had arrived to let the third-year Slytherin and Gryffindor students in for their first class of the year, the tension had already been thick between the two rival houses. He looked at Draco Malfoy. The boy seemed disconcerted. Clearly things had not gone as he had intended. And Draco kept staring at P ... Evans as if the Gryffindor had grown another head.

Evans. Startling green eyes, _her_ eyes, no longer hidden behind unfavourable glasses. Longer hair, neatly pulled back, with strong auburn highlights. Probably some hairdressing charm, rather well done. The result looked a lot like ... her, with most of the obvious resemblance to Potter senior gone. The boy held himself well now, too. If he had been put next to Malfoy, you could not have told them apart by their posture. Given how the brat used to slouch ... clearly Albus had a hand in that. He pinched the bridge of his nose. This was really doing his brain in.

He longed to snap at P ... Evans. But he would have to snap _her_ name. At her son. Damnation. This was a conspiracy. They were trying to kill him by melting his brain, the boy and the old man. Poison would be preferable. At least there was usually an antidote.

The brat even reacted differently. Didn't get upset all the time, looked back at Severus relatively calmly. Of course, there had been the incident with the exploding glass the boy had caused earlier this week. But he somehow couldn't fault the brat for that, not after reading what the Prophet had written about the Potters. Indeed, after seeing the slander they had written about Lily, he had been hard put not to blow something up himself. He had not read the 'excerpt' on his four former tormentors. Because he likely _would_ have blown something up, if he had.

He prowled among the tables again. At least Longbottom was still predictable. The little idiot really was a cauldron maker's joy.

At least nobody got hurt … this time. He supervised the cleaning up of the mess left by the exploded cauldron, all the while berating Longbottom, which was at least somewhat cathartic. He kept looking at … Evans out of the corner of his eyes, however. The boy clearly did not like the snide, hurtful comments directed against his house-mate. But Severus could hardly reprimand the brat for the slight tightening of his mouth and the look of frustration in his eyes. Weasley, by contrast, finally exploded and earned himself a detention for calling his teacher names. And Granger kept glaring daggers at him.

Evans just continued to work quietly on his potion. Which turned out surprisingly well. Which was frustrating all over again. He longed to catch the brat at something. His moment finally came when the little menaces handed in their summer homework. Severus' eyes gleamed in anticipation.

"Stay behind Mr. ... Evans. I have a question regarding your ... homework."

"All right, sir," the boy said politely, and merely gave Severus a considering look and stopped to gather his things together. He whispered a few words to his two sidekicks, flicking his eyes to the doorway, and smiled at them reassuringly. And stepped up calmly to the front of the classroom, waiting for Severus to address him.

.

oOoOoOoOo

"Clearly this cannot be your work, Mr. ... Evans."

"Why not, Professor Snape?"

The brat remained remarkably composed in the face of the accusation.

"Because it is not in your handwriting. Unless your handwriting has suddenly gone from barely legible to a prime example of calligraphy."

"I may have been taking some lessons this summer, sir."

"You expect me to believe you spent your vacations taking calligraphy lessons?"

"I had a lot of free time this summer, sir," the brat explained and shrugged. "I was bored."

"Tell me P... Evans, what do you think you are playing at here?" Severus drawled with a sneer on his face. If only the boy did not look so much like his mother now. It was really getting quite difficult to be nasty to him.

"You change the way you look and your name and now you tell me you took up _calligraphy_ out of boredom?"

The brat returned Severus' challenging stare calmly.

"I'm not _playing_ at anything, sir. I had some pretty good reasons for doing what I did. Professor Dumbledore made me write it all down, before he agreed to help me. And well, it seems he was right to think you'd bring this up, because he had me make a copy of it for you, sir."

P ... Evans looked at Severus doubtfully, finally showing a bit of uncertainty, and withdrew a scroll from his bag. "Here you are, sir."

Severus barely managed to suppress the recurrence of a dumbfounded expression on his face by twisting it into a severe scowl instead.

"We _will_ discuss this, Mr. ... Evans!" he hissed at his student, snatching up the scroll the boy held out to him. "And while I read your 'reasons', you will write a hundred lines of 'I shall not be cheeky and disrespectful of my teacher'. And if they do not match your homework ..."

Evans merely gave a resigned shrug at the implied threat. "All right, sir."

.

oOoOoOoOo

Severus Snape stared at the writing in front of him. The same careful and legible script as the boy's potion homework. Clearly, if … Evans had written this at the start of the summer, it had been copied later. Slowly he started to read ...

.

'Why I hate being Harry Potter'

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To begin with, I have rarely heard the word 'Potter' spoken in any other tone but hate, disdain, dislike, ridicule, censure or threat. The people who usually call me 'Potter', are generally those who dislike or even hate me. 'Potter' is what I hear when people shout at me, or snarl, or growl, or snap. 'Potter' is also frequently an insult, a harsh word or a curse.

'Mr. Potter', or my full name, is somewhat better, but aside from those who manage to simply use it as my name (i.e. many of my teachers), well, I have had plenty of oily subservience, biting sarcasm, or insipid admiration. It is also what most people who normally call me Harry will use when they are displeased with me. If I hear one more 'Harry James Potter!' from Hermione or Mrs. Weasley (it really seems to be a female thing, doesn't it?), it will be one too many. Of course, if this goes through, I shall have to get used to 'Harold Evans!' instead. I think I might actually want to leave off any middle names. Sorry dad, for wanting to get rid of that as well. But what good is a middle name, when you only hear it when someone is displeased with you?

Anyone who likes me at all, just calls me Harry.

.

As for 'Harry Potter' ... he is a legend, a myth. He is everybody's expectations. He survived the killing curse as a baby, and is famous and written about in books. I cannot say I have really met him, though. He certainly has nothing in common with me and my upbringing.

He was a hero. I was a neglected house-elf. He killed evil overlords. I washed dishes and cooked meals and did endless cleaning chores. He defeated Voldemort by simply being there. I was chased all over the place by my big bully of a cousin and his friends. He was adored by multitudes. The neighbours were told I went to a school for criminal boys. He was the child of brilliant parents and everyone expected great things of him. I was punished for doing better than my stupid cousin at school. He was a great wizard to be. I was called freak and locked in my cupboard for doing accidental magic. He lived everyone's dreams. I dreamt everyone's nightmares.

.

I remember the mirror from my first year. It showed me myself with my parents. But a name doesn't make a family. To me this name is now sadly nothing but a shackle to a lot of unwanted thing. Because all that is left of my family is ghosts and wishes. And the name simply reminds me of what I will never have, no matter how much I desire it.

Also everyone keeps telling me my mother sacrificed herself for me. So why shouldn't I honour _her_ name? The only thing I have left of her otherwise are her eyes. Or so everyone tells me. And that I look like my father. I don't remember him at all. What he left me was his name, and his reputation. The latter mostly seems to work against me, or so I've found. Which is rather unfair, as I think I'm quite different from him.

Oh and they left me quite a bit of money, of course. Though so far this hasn't done me much good, so it's mostly abstract. Anyway, I don't believe one should have to appreciate one's parents by virtue of how much money they left behind. I'd rather have no money and living parents instead. Ron Weasley doesn't know how much I envy him his family. And yet here I am, wanting to remove myself from one half of what is left of this family. But in truth, it doesn't feel all that much like _my_ family.

Frankly, aside from the 'I will be disinheriting myself from my father's family' bit I cannot see any drawbacks. As my father is highly unlikely to come back from the dead, and there don't appear to be any other relatives of his family in the offering (at least not ones that I would want to associate with), I don't see why I should really care. I know this probably sounds callous, but right now I feel terribly like being selfish for once and doing something that is for my own well-being, instead of what everyone expects of me.

At this point, I simply want to have a new beginning for my life, which started going wrong the day my parents were killed. And a lot of getting a chance for such a fresh start involves other people. I can't change the people I have to interact with. The only way to do that would be to leave the country, I suppose. Because here everyone 'knows me', and it's the worst at school. However, I hope the shock of a new name might help to get them to see the real me. Which is, I'm sorry to have to say again, nothing like what people expect Harry Potter to be like.

Also this might, in a way, possibly improve my relationship with my aunt. Maybe she'll finally be able to remember I'm actually her nephew if I'm called Evans. It certainly shouldn't interfere with the wards, as those are created from my mother's sacrifice. So taking her name might even strengthen them.

A different name may also help me get out of the limelight of the press. Surely Harold Evans isn't going to be as interesting as Harry Potter? Of course they will write about Harold Evans as soon as school starts. I cannot hope that the press will ignore this. But I think it will confuse people. And people have trouble with facts that confuse them. So they might keep looking for Harry Potter, and overlook Harold Evans. Or at least try to look beyond what they think Harry Potter is like, when they meet Harold Evans instead. I can hope for that, at least.

.

But in short, Harry Potter can have the fame, the notoriety, and the adoration, as well as all the expectations that ignorant people have of him. Harold Evans, on the other hand, would like to have a quiet, normal life, full of obscurity. Inasmuch as a certain well-loathed and apparently not really dead psychopath and his henchmen will let me have, of course. But that is something I unfortunately have no control over. I know I cannot change my whole life. But I can and wish to change the aspect of it which is my name, and through that hopefully at least some of the misconceptions people have of me.

Because the sad truth is that I am not really the Harry Potter everyone thinks me to be. Like in advertising, the inside does not match the empty promises of the packaging. And I would rather have just a few people appreciate me for what is actually there, than many for what isn't.

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oOoOoOoOo

Professor Snape,

I am adding this specifically for you at the request of Professor Dumbledore. He also asked me to inform you that in case you don't want to believe me, you should go and talk with him about it. This is not easy for me to put in writing. However, it is still easier than telling you face to face, as it's not something you want to say to someone who usually doesn't believe anything you say. But Professor Dumbledore wants me to tell you, and he said I needed to trust you with this information. I don't honestly see why, but given all he has done for me this summer I will try - for his sake. Maybe it's so I learn to trust others. If so, starting with you sure feels like jumping off a cliff in order to learn to fly. And since you have made your opinion of me clear from day one, I rather expect a crash landing.

Anyway, while my relatives didn't outright physically abuse me, they have definitely neglected me all my life. I was often halfway starved, I got only my cousin's cast-off clothing to wear, and the most exciting present I ever received was an old cloth-hanger. They never took me to doctors when I was ill or hurt, they let their son bully and hit me all the time, and whenever he did something wrong, I got the blame instead. One of his favourite games was 'Harry-hunting', where he and his friends chased me around and beat me up if they managed to catch me. He also did his best to ensure I never had any friends, just as his parents made sure the neighbours thought I was an ungrateful, good for nothing liar and borderline criminal.

They never wanted me in their home, and while they spoiled my cousin rotten, they tried their best to beat me down. I was called a freak for doing accidental magic, and locked in my 'bedroom' for days. Which happened to be the cupboard under the stairs, while my cousin had a second bedroom just for his broken and discarded toys. I was punished for every little mistake, generally treated like a house-elf, and further punished if I so much as dared to hint about this to anyone. Admittedly I didn't try very hard after the first failed attempt. In my experience, grown-ups simply don't want to see things which make them uncomfortable anyway.

I was also told my parents were drunks who died in a car crash. I had no idea magic even existed until my letter for Hogwarts arrived. And they tried to keep me from reading that, too. Hagrid had to rescue me from them finally in order to allow me to come to Hogwarts. Which I love. I love magic. But I really hate the way most people in the magical world treat me. I hate the fame and the constant attention. Especially since everybody seem to think it entitles them to be horribly nosy and make assumptions about me. I am in no way responsible for my 'fan-club'. I just wish they would stop and leave me in peace.

There would be a lot more to tell, but frankly, if this isn't enough, then more details will not help either.

I have no idea how you will react to all this. I know it will not match with a lot of what you think of me. As I mentioned, Professor Dumbledore can personally verify most of it. No matter if you chose to believe me or not, I will, however, expect that at least you aren't going to use this against me for further insults. I would also be very upset if you should tell anyone else about it without my permission, and I believe the headmaster would not appreciate that either.

Sincerely,

Harold Evans

.

oOoOoOoOo

Harold Evans moved over to a desk, took out his writing supplies and busied himself with carefully writing his lines. It was amazing how the art of penmanship could turn even writing stupid lines into a relaxing exercise. Concentrating on the form rather than the content of what he had to write made it much easier. Occasionally he peaked at his teacher through his fringe. Snape certainly looked ... disturbed. Shocked even at times. Delightful. He smiled to himself. Maybe this was actually going to work. His stomach didn't quite want to believe him though and kept turning over.

For quite some time the silence was only broken by the faint scratching of Harry's quill, but eventually he was finished. He contemplated the parchment in front of him with satisfaction and carefully drew a few decorative wriggles at the bottom. He then put his quill and ink away. Silence. He looked up. Snape was sitting as still as a statue, his face cradled in his hands, staring ahead unseeingly. Finally Harry cleared his throat.

"Professor?"

The man gave a slight start and lowered his hands. Looking lost. Well, it ought to have been delightful. So why didn't it feel like a victory? Harry sighed. Always with the consequences.

"Sir, I held a long correspondence with the headmaster this summer. I found it helped ... a lot ... in clearing up things. Between him and me and well, ... in my head. Without shouting and getting into a temper. Would you," he drew a shaky breath. The damn bastard was getting to him even when he was silent. But it was just a word, just a word. He swallowed. "Please, do me the same courtesy?"

Because there is way too much bad blood between us. And because somehow you get under my skin, he wanted to say. Because hell if I know why, but somehow I need you, Professor. I need you to see I'm not my father. Not just Potter.

Snape looked at him and finally simply nodded. The teacher's expression was totally unreadable as he got up slowly and went to pick up the parchment with Harry's lines. His eyes flicked over it, and then to the other scroll left back on his desk.

"All right, Mr. Evans. Expect a reply tomorrow. You may leave now."

Snape sounded defeated. Harry perked up inwardly. Maybe this was going to work after all.

.

oOoOoOoOo

AN: Yeah, I finally got to post this bit, which I had written months ago. Unfortunately, potions didn't happen until Friday. What can I say, Severus just happens to be my favourite character. Stay tuned for the next instalment: 'How Severus Snape is going to react to having his view of Harry … Evans turned upside down!'

And as always thanks for the reviews and suggestions, which are still open for more!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

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"Is it true? What he wrote?"

Albus Dumbledore gave his potions master a considering look when the younger wizard entered his office with a stormy and disturbed expression, snapping out his questions.

"I assume Harry gave you the letter?"

Severus Snape looked very uncomfortable.

"So is it true then?" he repeated with a snarl, plunging into a chair opposite the headmaster.

"From the memories I saw in the Muggle's minds, yes. Which does rather make the next move yours, Severus," Albus pointed out calmly, continuing to watch the younger wizard carefully.

"All right, so I was wrong. I admit it. The boy is not the spoiled and arrogant brat I thought he was. I suppose the least I can do is to start listening to what everyone else has been trying to tell me about him, instead of my own biased prejudices. And ..." for once Snape seemed at a loss for words. "Frankly I do not know what to do, aside from trying to find out what he is really like."

"That is probably all he will ask of you."

"Maybe," Snape said, looking doubtful. "If it were me, I would have a hard time forgetting and forgiving my past behaviour. Though he did deserve some of it," he sighed unhappily and made a face. "But probably very little of it. What about you though? How could you leave him with those damnable Muggles?"

Albus Dumbledore looked away. "I beg you to not bother blaming me for leaving him with his relatives ... I do that enough on my own. In truth, there was little alternative, if I did not want him to end up with the Malfoys or worse. Where I clearly went wrong, however, was in not checking up on him more and assuming they would accept and love him as family," he admitted, shame colouring his voice.

"I fear that the concept of love and Petunia Evans never went well together, headmaster," Snape said harshly. "And yet you left him there even now?"

"Unfortunately, the boy's own choice left me with no other alternative. He severed himself from anybody else who might have taken him in, when he rejected the Potter name. So unless I can find protections as formidable as the wards powered by his mother's sacrifice, he needs to stay with them."

"Could you not take him yourself?"

"I cannot be seen to openly interfere with him. I fear his legal situation is rather precarious. If the Minister became truly aware of that fact, he would make him a ward of the Ministry in a snap."

They both contemplated that outcome with trepidation.

"What about Minerva?"

"Is too much me by extension," Albus said unhappily. "Did I really just say that?" he asked after a moment with a frown.

"However," and the twinkle in his eyes was for once, truly disturbing. "I made damn sure to put the fear of _me_ into them. And I will keep a very close watch on him now whenever he has to go back there. It may never become a pleasant place for him, but neither shall it be terrible anymore."

"Anyway, I cannot undo the past. I can only try to make amends, and I believe I have at least begun to do so," he concluded. "And you? What reparations will you undertake, Severus?"

"Given how the followers of the Dark Lord keep stirring and I need to be amongst them to keep an eye on them ... there is not a lot I can do ... outwardly. My Slytherins, no doubt, are all little spies for their parents. And I already find it impossible to continue insulting the boy ... " Snape admitted, shooting the other wizard an irritated look. "Which I am sure you are well aware of, as you clearly had a hand in his change of appearance."

Albus Dumbledore merely smiled to himself, stroking his beard.

"However, he asked me ... for a correspondence," Snape finished on a note of bewilderment.

Albus nodded happily. "Excellent idea, yes. I exchanged a number of letters with him over this summer. He pens quite entertaining missives. Plus, now one can read them easily, too," he concluded with a twinkle and a wink.

Severus Snape merely groaned in response.

"However, if you should decide to … unburden yourself to the lad, I have to ask you not to tell him about the prophecy. That is one thing he need not know … yet."

"What _have_ you told him, then?"

"More than I originally intended. I wished to preserve his childhood. Now that I know I already lost him that," Albus gave a heavy sigh and looked away. "I feel arming him for the inevitable with nothing but ignorance would be an even greater disservice."

"Still, I try to limit what I tell him to things that can help him _now_. And at this point, knowledge of the prophecy would be nothing but a crushing burden, as he is in no position to do anything about it. As it is, he already accepts that … Riddle will keep coming for him. Which is enough … for now. As long as Riddle remains a shapeless mist, clinging at best to some underling deranged by the possession, Harry need not know what may be his ultimate destiny."

"But you _will_ tell him?"

"Eventually, yes. Definitely, if Riddle should manage to regain a real body. Once I do … I will leave your part in it up to your discretion, dear boy," the headmaster said with a fond smile at the scowling potions master. "It is not essential that he learn of it, after all."

"Do you also intend to give him further training to face his … destiny?" Snape almost spat the last word in disdain.

"Considering how the boy ends up in dangerous situations far too often, it would be … most advisable, despite his youth. Over the summer, I mostly arranged tuition for Harry in various subjects which will allow him to progress easier in school and fit in better with our society. In truth, most of that was to rectify what my mistake in placing him with Petunia cost him. But I did intend to gradually change his tuition to more … survival oriented lessons."

"You should," Snape said harshly. "Unless you want to send a lamb to the slaughter."

"Compared to Riddle he will always be."

"True. And not. My Lord," he said the word like an epithet. "Suffered from delusions of grandeur even before his disappearance. His long stay as a disembodied spirit was not likely conductive to his sanity, either. All of which ... diminishes his prowess. And the same goes for Black, after years in Azkaban. Someone trained to be clever, and take advantage of opportunities … may well overcome where sheer strength and knowledge of spells cannot hope to succeed."

"I see what you mean, Severus," Albus conceded gravely, stroking his beard in contemplation. "And you would be uniquely qualified to teach him just that, wouldn't you?" he added with a whimsical smile.

The younger wizard merely scowled and crossed his arms in a defiant gesture in reply.

The headmaster leaned forward and gave him an earnest look over his spectacles. "If you should wish to offer the lad any lessons, I will not object and do my best to facilitate it. But I would not force either of you into it. Just remember, if you do, that he is still merely thirteen. And while he is a resilient and resourceful person, he is not a miracle worker."

"Of course," Snape agreed readily, but with a gleam in his dark eyes. "However, I doubt we have reached a point yet where I could offer something like that, and have it received well. If we do get there, I shall let you know. For now, I suppose I have a letter to write," he concluded with a grimace as he got to his feet, swept the headmaster an ironic bow, and moved smoothly out of the office.

Albus looked after his potions master with a satisfied smile, which had a definite touch of 'cat' and 'cream' in it. Some consequences, after all, were rather predictable.

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Severus Snape stared with dull eyes at the amber liquid in his glass tumbler, before throwing it violently into the grate in front of him. The fire flared up as it greedily consumed the alcohol in the liquid. The smashing sound of glass breaking was … comforting. Worryingly so. He rested his face in his hands and cast his thoughts back. To a gently smiling face, framed by auburn hair, green eyes glowing with happiness. How far in the past that face was. And gone now, forever gone. Thanks to him. And now he had failed not only the mother, but her son as well.

Failed, by letting the boy grow up neglected. And doubly failed, by heaping yet more undeserved verbal abuse on the boy when he came to Hogwarts.

He stared morosely at the flickering flames. He had given physical protection, yes. But the heart and spirit were even more vulnerable than the body, and he had done his best to hurt to boy there, by being nasty and unfair to him. And by constantly insulting the boy and his father, too.

Why had he never looked beyond the boy's face? Why had he not considered that merely wearing James' face outwardly, didn't mean the son had to be like his father inside? That the boy almost had to be different, given he had Lily as his mother? Why had he automatically assumed the boy was as spoiled rotten as his father? Why had he never really thought on who would have raised him? He had known it would have to be Petunia … and yet he had never considered the ramifications of that fact. Which was doubly damning, given that he _knew_ Petunia.

Why, why, why?

Apparently, it had been a kind of gut reaction. Instinctive. Which considering how Severus normally prided himself on his rationality and logical mind, was … most disturbing. Clearly, he needed to watch himself carefully in the future where the boy was concerned, so he did not fall back on any … instinctive behaviour.

However, the past was the past. And dwelling on the past would not fix this, since his fixation on it was the cause in the first place. He needed to finally leave the past behind.

But the problem was that the only way forward, if he wanted to change his relationship with … Harry, was to reveal at least some of the _why_ of it to the boy. And there was no way to do that, which did not involve spoiling the no doubt gleaming image of James the boy must hold. After all, everybody else only had good things to say about Saint Potter. He snorted in disgust.

In all fairness, a lot of that disgust must now be directed against Severus himself. Because he had been no better than James Potter when he targeted his enemy's son, who couldn't fight back. So he had become the very thing he detested himself. A bully. All for the sake of revenge on a dead man. It hurt to admit it, but it was like lancing a boil, too. If he could face this now, he would hopefully emerge a better man for it.

Still, there seemed no way around the fact that in order to heal the wounds he had caused himself, he would have to reopen his own scars. And likely cause further emotional hurt to the boy. Because exposing the truth about the foul relationship between Severus and James Potter would be painful … for both of them. Yet he could simply see no other way to explain himself. Only the truth would suffice now. And the truth _would_ cause harm.

Which he no longer wanted to happen. He did not even want the obscure kind of revenge that was inherent in exposing the father's misdeeds to his son. Thanks to all he had learned today, it felt all wrong. The boy simply did not deserve it. He had never deserved Severus' spite and malice, and being abused in revenge against James Potter. But he could not expect the boy to understand, and maybe eventually forgive, if he did not know about the reasons for Severus' reaction. Which required telling him about the past. The past Severus had wanted to keep buried, only to fail spectacularly at it. Because the emotions had emerged nevertheless, and been all the wrong ones, too.

But he just could see no way around it. So … best to lance that boil quickly, and see if the wounds could be healed afterwards. And try to be open to whatever consequences resulted. The boy might understand … or dislike him even more. He might forgive … or condemn Severus for hurting him further. He might seek out his mother's old friend … or revile his father's old enemy.

He would tell the boy the truth … but he could neither predict nor influence what … Harry's reaction would be.

He could only hope that in the end, the boy would be more forgiving than his mother had been. Especially given that this time, there was much more to forgive than a single insult. Maybe he would. After all, the boy clearly knew what it was like to be the victim. So perhaps he would understand the temptation for revenge, and for lashing back.

Maybe he would shame Severus by being the better person, and forgiving his tormentor.

And it was strange, so very strange, how one could actually desire to be shamed.

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Dear Mr. Evans,

I must thank you for the totally undeserved trust you have shown by telling me of your upbringing. I wish to assure you that not only does the though of what you had to endure cause me both shame and horror, but that I will not betray your confidences. The shame stems from my own actions in the past, because I used to accuse and ridicule you wholly undeservedly for things which were not true anywhere but in my imagination. And the horror, because no child should ever be subjected to neglect and mistreatment.

I realise the trust is not really mine, but merely extended to me courtesy of the headmaster. Nevertheless, it now rests in my hands as well. I promise I will not mistreat it, and that anything you have disclosed to me shall remain a secret. Just as anything you might be willing to tell me further, shall be. In return, I have to ask you to treat my missives with the same confidentiality. In truth, the leap of faith in trusting you with what I will have to tell you, is almost as great as yours. But I feel I owe it to you, whereas you did so only at the request of Professor Dumbledore. Still, I ask that you do not share this with anyone, not even your friends. Do not worry about anyone else reading this letter, as the parchment has been spelled so only you may read it.

I assume the question which you would most like to ask me is this: why did I treat you so abysmally for the last two years?

I find the answer must be: why indeed? To my very great shame, now that I think about it rationally instead of driven by old resentments, I must admit you are little to blame for it. If at all. Unfortunately, rationality took a dive out of the window when you looked at me with your mother's eyes out of your father's face. A sentence which will, no doubt, mean nothing to you, unless Albus Dumbledore told you more than he should have. But as he normally does not betray confidences, let me explain myself.

You see, your dear mother was once my very best friend. Until the day I called her, in a rush of anger and embarrassment caused by a deed committed by your father and his friends, a terrible and unforgivable name. If I may offer you one piece of advice: never call your friends names when you are upset. It cost me dearly, as she refused to speak with me afterwards. There were, admittedly, further reasons for her to decline my company, but this was definitely the final straw.

Thus to see her eyes, which always were very dear to me, look at me out of your father's face – has always been sheer torture. Because your father was to me, what your cousin seems to have been to you. He was a rich, spoiled, arrogant brat coming from a doting family, who picked on a poor, lonely kid who never really fit in. From the day I set foot in Hogwarts, he and his gang of friends continually hounded and tormented me. It started with pranks, escalated to fights, and at one point even threatened my life. For which I got a slap on the wrist, whilst they came off almost clean.

I cannot deny that I did my share of retaliation, but our conflict was inherently uneven. For unless I wished to seek help from my fellow Slytherins, which came with its own price, I was alone against four. Furthermore, their aim was often to embarrass me. And I had little but my pride, and mockery has never sat well with me. To say that I came to deeply detest and hate them in consequence, is probably an understatement.

Now please imagine that you had one dear friend, and your bully of a cousin managed to first help drive her away from you by goading your temper, and then further compounded this by stealing her affection for himself. And then, years later, their son came to a school where you found yourself as his teacher. Not knowing that the child had a horrible upbringing, you instead thought he was the same spoiled, arrogant brat as his father, who had made your own school-years a living hell. Add to this the fact that the child was much famed, but for a sacrifice which cost his mother her live, and ... well. I will only say that resentment found a most fertile breeding ground in me.

But I made enough excuses. I still should not have taken this out on you, without at the very least first verifying that you were really like your father. For this I can but apologize. I would ask your forgiveness, but I fear I do not deserve it. However, I hope I have at least been able to make you understand why your very appearance sparked such deep resentments in me. It unfortunately brought up a host of bad memories which were buried much more shallowly than I had realised.

Sadly, I can do little at this point to make outward amends. The reasons for this are ... complicated, and would require me to disclose secrets which are not mine alone to share, and indeed might even put lives at risk. All I can say is that our public interactions are under constant surveillance by a host of little spies and tell-tales, and should our behaviour suddenly change too much, it would instantly reach ears belonging to unfriendly parties. I believe I need not tell you, after your experiences in the past two years, whose those are.

Nevertheless, I will at least attempt to moderate my treatment of you in class to avoid causing you further hurt and distress. Unfortunately, I need to keep up the ... appearance that I still dislike you. In truth, at the moment I cannot really say what my feelings towards you are, aside from ashamed and distressed at my behaviour. Which I have to continue to some extent. I wish I could start with a completely fresh slate, but I am afraid that is impossible.

I would, however, be happy to continue a correspondence, and I find myself wanting to get to know the son of my once best friend. Which is what I should have done in the first place, instead of merely seeing the offspring of my former enemy. If you wish to continue writing, I would ask that you let the headmaster teach you the charms to keep your missives unreadable but for the intended recipient. You should also use school owls to send them, as your own owl is too recognisable.

I hope my explanations have not distressed you too much. It was not my intention to cause you further hurt, but I could see no way to avoid it. Sadly, the truth has an unfortunate tendency to be unpleasant. I can only tender my apologies again for badly misjudging both your character and your past on the basis of groundless assumptions. I do not expect your forgiveness, though I still find myself hoping for it.

Sincerely,

and most regretfully,

Severus Snape

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Harry stared at the letter in confusion … and increasing horror. His mother had once been Snape's best friend? And his father had bullied the man? He did not want to believe it. But the way Snape wrote about it, so very matter of fact, felt … convincing. He badly needed to ask the headmaster about this. Snape had told him to ask for the charm anyway. But if it was true …

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Consequences. You try to change your life, and how other people see you … and apparently you end up seeing other people differently, too. And not necessarily the way you would have wanted to, either. You couldn't throw a stone into the water and not have it make ripples. Ripples that were now coming back to him, and upsetting the surface. And if you hit the bottom, there may be nasty, murky stuff stirred up as well.

Don't do something, if you aren't prepared for … unexpected results.

Lies and slander could hurt. He knew that well by now. But that the truth could have an even worse impact … he was learning that at the moment.

He'd gotten angry at the lies and slurs the Prophet had sprouted about his parents. Yet this letter was somehow worse. Because it felt like the truth, if a most unwelcome one. It certainly explained Snape's behaviour towards Harry perfectly. And it was worse, because he could understand the man's reaction. Could actually sympathise with him. And since Dumbledore would likely be able to confirm it, Snape had nothing to gain by lying to Harry. And the dungeon bat had actually _apologised_ to him … something he'd never ever expected to happen.

But to think that his father was not the shining paragon everyone always painted him as …. was shattering. In fact, Snape's description of James Potter sounded a lot like Malfoy, which unfortunately made a lot of sense. Arrogant, spoiled, sure the world centred around them, blind to the hurt they caused … was all too likely the result of being the apple of the eye of a rich, Pure-blooded couple without other children. Add a group of friends to egg each other on … and their behaviour could easily have slipped into the inexcusable. Harry had a perfect example of that in his own cousin.

What a supremely ironic twist of fate that Harry had turned into the victim instead. And that the father's bullying should come back to haunt his son.

Having been the victim of so much bullying, Harry simply had no sympathy for it. Could never excuse it. At all. It was just … wrong. So if what Snape had told him was true … well, he'd already discarded his father's name. The step to renounce his character, too, was surely not all that large. Genetics had given him James' face. But there was no way it had also given him his father's personality. And he had no real need to mould himself after a parent. Especially one who was dead in the first place.

No. He would be his own person. He would rise and fall by his own merits and failures. He'd be himself. Not James Potter's son.

So … Snape apparently wanted to make up for his past mistakes. For treating Harry solely as James' son. For taking his hatred of James out on Harry.

And he had _apologised_. Snape. Had. Apologised.

Still, the question remained … could he forgive? Did he even want to? But … if he wanted to move out of his father's shadow … he'd almost have to. And while Snape's treatment of Harry was a kind of bullying … it was caused by suppressed emotions. For the sake of a wrongly targeted revenge. In all honesty, Harry couldn't really say that he wouldn't have done the same if their positions had been reversed. And he didn't think that Snape was really a bully by nature. Yes, the man was a harsh taskmaster, had an unpleasant nature, and was in no way _nice_.

Though given what Snape had hinted at … some of that might even be … a role? There was clearly something afoot and secrets involved that went beyond matters of school … and that pointed to … Voldemort. And Dumbledore trusted Snape. Snape _had_ saved Harry in the past. Had always been right in the thick of things. And he was also right in the middle of Slytherin, which was the place where Voldemort would have the most influence.

It was a bag of mixed signals for sure. Just as mixed as Snape's behaviour had been so far. Trying to keep Harry safe on the one hand, and lashing out at him at any opportunity at the other. Well … another thing to ask Dumbledore about. And Snape himself, of course. He might even get an answer.

He couldn't rightly say that he _wanted_ to forgive his teacher. But he was also curious to find out more about this obviously complicated man. To ask him questions about the past, and maybe his mother, too. To find out whether Snape was a bully after all, or just a victim tempted by opportunity to take revenge on the wrong person. The fellow victim.

And he clearly remembered the way Snape had looked while reading Harry's letter. The expressions on his face, combined with what the man had written, really told him quite a bit about the Professor. It made him believe that the apology was actually sincere. It also made Harry want to forgive him. Or at least give him a chance to earn forgiveness. Yes, giving the man a chance felt … right.

Because that lost expression on Snape's face would continue to haunt Harry.

It had certainly affected him during yesterday's first DADA lesson with Professor Lupin, when Neville's boggart turned out to be Professor Snape. Which wasn't too surprising really, since the poor guy was absolutely terrified of Snape. Maybe he could ask the man to go a bit easier on Neville? Anyway, seeing Snape dressed up in Mrs. Longbottom's absurd hat and dress should have been funny. Everybody else found it so. But somehow his mind kept superimposing that image with the memory of the lost look on Snape's face. The lost look Harry had put there.

He'd almost looked forward to his own try at the boggart, to wipe away that memory.

And then Lupin kept Harry from it. For no apparent reason.

Was the man upset at Harry because he'd been a friend of James … and Harry had discarded his father's name? Or did he think Harry's boggart would be something too horrible? Not knowing the reason was … irritating. It made him a bit annoyed at Professor Lupin. The teacher then kept him back after class, and asked Harry to meet him for tea later the next week. To talk about his parents. Harry was irritated with Lupin, but accepted anyway. For the chance to learn more about them.

Yesterday, he'd been happy at any chance to learn more about his father.

But if Lupin was one of James' friends … was he also one of the bullies that Snape told him about?

How would he react to any stories told about his father … now? Now that he knew his father had possibly … probably been a bully. He still didn't know for sure, after all. Part of him continued to hope it wasn't true. But the pattern would fit … only too well. He really needed to talk with Dumbledore. Because the uncertainty was driving him nuts. And he couldn't deal with either teacher, without knowing the truth.

But if it was all true, and he gave Snape a chance … should he also give Lupin one? He probably should, if only to find out more of what had really gone on. And in case Lupin had been involved, if he at least regretted it now. The man did not appear the bullying type. More the opposite, actually. So, best not jump to conclusions, and try to find out more first.

If only the water hadn't gotten so murky. And the truth not turned into something so potentially … dirty.

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AN: Well, that was one not very productive week. I'd originally planed to post the next chapter of Corvus Black, but my mind refused to be creative at all. So I had to fall back on posting this (already mostly written) chapter here. At this rate I'll never get back to more frequent updates. *sighs and threatens her brain with a feather-duster.

Thanks for the reviews, though I wish I could get more feedback to know if people like where I'm going with the story and the characters! *does a Hermione to look up charms in the library which induce readers to leave more comments.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

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"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore."

"Oh, hello, Harry. I was rather expecting you at some point," the headmaster said with a smile when Harry entered his office after dinner, putting aside the book he had been studying. "Please take a seat. How are you holding up?"

"Better, sir, now that the Prophet has stopped. You wouldn't know anything about that, by the way?" Harry asked, sitting down across from the headmaster in an armchair that threatened to swallow him.

"Oh, I believe my good friend Mr. Brandon is one of the best in his field. He certainly knows how to tie up things in lovely knots of legalese," Dumbledore said with a happy twinkle in his eyes. "In short, for now we have a restraining order curtailing them."

"I was wondering if you had arranged something like that, sir. Can I expect this to last, though … ?"

The twinkle died, unfortunately.

"Sadly, no. There will be a hearing at the Ministry sometime later next week. We are trying to delay it, but someone there is pushing it forward. And obviously we have no idea about the outcome of the hearing either."

"So it was mostly a delaying tactic?"

"Yes. We are looking hard for other ways to stop them, of course. And to find out who is behind the whole … affair," Dumbledore said. "I gather you have also been busy?"

And the twinkle was back. Harry nodded cautiously. He wasn't totally sure how much he should tell the headmaster. About the upcoming interview, certainly. Most definitely about Rita Skeeter. But the stuff the twins were up to … maybe it would be better if Dumbledore didn't know about it. Hermione had muttered something about plausible deniability. His friend started to sound like a law-book after a few days of research in the library. She was also in an increasing state of frustration with Wizarding law, apparently.

However, this was a fancy way of saying the headmaster couldn't be faulted for something a bunch of students came up with, provided he had no idea about it. And pranks were not likely to do anything positive for Dumbledore's image of the wise, grandfatherly leader, either. So … probably best if he didn't know what they were up to. He'd be able to work it out once it happened anyway, given that he knew the twins.

"Yes, sir. I would actually like your advice about a few things."

"Of course, dear boy. What can I help you with?"

"Well, the other day we sort of did some brainstorming up in Gryffindor tower ..."

"Ah. I had noticed your house-mates being rather more ... supportive of you the last couple of days."

"Yeah. I did manage to get most everyone involved, and I told them a few things which made them see it from my point of view. And well, you were right … I needed them behind me."

Dumbledore gave him a fond smile. "I did say something like that, didn't I?"

Harry nodded and continued. "So we all got to talking about stuff I could do. And I think it's kind of high time I made use of that stupid 'fame' of mine for my own purposes, if you know what I mean?"

The headmaster nodded gravely and gestured for him to go on.

"Anyway we, that is Hermione, Ron and me, think I really need to run some sort of publicity campaign. To tell people about my side of the story, and hopefully make at least some of them see sense. So we talked about it with the others, and came up with the idea of publishing an interview with me in the Quibbler," he watched Dumbledore's expression turn doubtful. "As well as in the Irish Harbinger."

"Ah. Yes. Those two should balance each other out, which no doubt was your intention?"

"Yes, sir. I know the Quibbler is a bit," he coughed. "Dubious, from what I heard. But it's still the most widely read thing after the Prophet, and I don't think _they_ would be willing to print anything of mine."

"At least not in any … unadulterated form, I fear. And I quite approve of your idea, dear boy. Do you have any idea yet who will interview you?"

"Ehm ..."

"Yes?" The headmaster raised an eyebrow at Harry questioningly.

"Yes. I do. Which is … actually another thing I needed your advice on, sir."

"Do you now? Who could it be that makes you so … tentative?"

"Well … we were talking about possible writers up in the common room, and there's this girl who has a cousin … "

"Yes?" Dumbledore was starting to sound a bit impatient with Harry's continued stalling.

"It's Rita Skeeter, sir. I've already asked her, and she's agreed. And ..." Harry stopped himself, as Dumbledore had paled.

"Are you sure this is wise, Harry? She has a bad reputation, and the things she normally writes ..." the headmaster said doubtfully, looking at him with concern.

"I know. But she seems very eager to write for me, and if I can get her style of writing on _my side_, against them … whoever they are ..."

"You may have a point. Still, promise me to be very much on your guard when you talk with her. She likes to twist what you say in the most horrible way, and what you do not tell her, she may well invent … to your detriment."

"Yeah. I will be careful. But I am also going to get the interview to read over before it's published, so that at least shouldn't be a problem."

"Ah. Good, that does indeed remove one worry. Still ..."

"And I was wondering if I shouldn't bring someone adult along for the interview itself? Maybe even a solicitor? That should help keep her in check, shouldn't it?"

Dumbledore visibly relaxed at hearing this. "Yes. Yes, capital idea, dear boy. In fact, if you want to, I could offer you Mr. Brandon's services. He truly has a way with words … and in his own way he is quite the match for Miss Skeeter. Quite the match indeed."

Harry nodded earnestly. "Yes, sir. I would like that. I was a bit worried about meeting with her on my own, to be honest."

"I will arrange it then, if you let me know the when and where of your interview," the headmaster said, and the twinkle was back in his eyes.

"Thank you, sir. I will," Harry replied, smiling gratefully.

"Now was there anything else on your mind?"

It sounded vaguely like a dismissal. But Harry was not yet done with the headmaster. The worst part was still ahead. The personal part. The one where Dumbledore probably confirmed something he didn't really want confirmed. But better a harsh truth, than poisonous doubts. And he could not go forward with either Snape or Professor Lupin until he knew. So … he drew a deep breath.

"Yes, sir. There's something else I wanted to ask you," he said firmly, even though his insides felt like mush. And his stomach was once again wearing a Slytherin scarf, and wanting to take up residence in the dungeons.

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oOoOoOoOo

"You see, Professor Snape sent me … a letter," he began awkwardly. His gut was churning.

"Ah, yes. Indeed. He mentioned his intention to do that," Dumbledore was gazing at him rather seriously. "I assume you wish to ask about something he told you?"

"Well," Harry nerved himself to continue. "Yes. He tried to explain why he reacted so badly towards me. And he apologised," he hastened to add. "Which was … unexpected, but … good. But ..."

"But he also told you something you were not happy to hear?"

"Yeah. About … James Potter."

"Your father. Yes. He would have to, I suppose."

"Is it true then?" Harry rushed on, wanting to get it out. "Were he and his friends bullying Snape during school? Did they really almost kill him? And was my mum really his best friend?"

Dumbledore took a deep breath and looked … unhappy. Then he sighed and nodded.

"Yes, Harry. It is unfortunately the truth. Mind you, Professor Snape did fight back, too, but … they were the instigators most of the time. He was their favourite target, and they consistently picked on him for all their years at Hogwarts. And their pranks … often went too far. For which I am partly to blame as well, for not stepping in and dealing with them more firmly."

The headmaster appeared rather ashamed of himself. Which made Harry feel uncomfortable in turn. Clearly, the old wizard did not enjoy getting reminded of this. Once again … unexpected consequences. And it was obvious that even the passage of time was no help against them springing up. He wondered vaguely if he'd get yet more nasty surprises from his name-change in a decade or two.

Meanwhile the headmaster continued, still looking unhappy.

"And yes, I am sorry to have to say, they did put Severus into considerable danger to his life at one point. James rescued him from a most dire fate, at the last moment. Which did not help matters, I fear, as Severus resented him for it."

"Why would he resent that, sir?"

"The rescue put a life-debt on Severus, which he felt was rather unjust as it was Sirius Black's fault he was in danger to begin with. There was really no way he could have accepted it graciously."

"Oh. So … they did have a horrible relationship, then?"

"Yes. And sadly, the friendship between Lily Evans and Professor Snape was another reason for it. Your father had a crush on your mother for many years, but she always refused him. They only got together in their last year, when they were head-girl and boy together. After Lily ended her friendship with Severus. I fear he also never quite got over that. I believe they were great friends even before they came to Hogwarts, and knew each other from the Muggle world. So to lose her friendship … hurt Severus badly," the headmaster explained, looking sad and very uncomfortable.

Harry's shoulders slumped. So it _was_ the truth.

"So yes, it is true. But also not quite the whole truth," Dumbledore continued, and held up a hand to stop Harry from interrupting.

"No, please let me explain. What Professor Snape told you was, indeed, the truth. But it was told from his perspective, obviously, and did not include what happened after they all left Hogwarts."

"You see, your father did grow up. Otherwise your mother would never have married him. He chased after her for years, but she was not one to be impressed by boyish charms. So I really think he did change. He became a better person, but Severus … Professor Snape, never had the chance to meet that person. To him, James Potter will always be the one who haunted his school-days."

"Unfortunately it is a fact that during most of his Hogwarts' years, your father was, indeed, rather a spoilt terror. He and his friends easily put the Weasley twins to shame, and they were also often more malicious in their pranking. The twins are more … innocent in many ways. It may have been the influence of Sirius Black, who grew up in a very Dark household. And well, you know what happened with him," Dumbledore added with a sad look.

"You mean one bad apple spoiled the lot?"

"Something along those lines, possibly. Certainly those were darker times. Voldemort was very much active, death and other bad news were a frequent occurrence. There was a lot of pressure to pick sides, and Slytherin house almost automatically meant his side. And it was my fault as well. I did little to ease the tension. To stop the rest of Hogwarts from stigmatizing them. And I fear I have always let the Gryffindors get away with too much."

Harry thought back upon the last two years, and found himself agreeing with the headmaster. Even though he had personally profited from the indulgence given to house Gryffindor. Certainly some of the things he had gotten away with, might have seen others expelled. Then again, others did not have to live with the same dangers as the stupid Boy-who-lived. Still, a firmer hand might have been … advisable. Preferably combined with a lot more support and help from the teachers, though.

Dumbledore was looking rather pensive, and sighed again.

"Yes, I have probably played favourites for so long, that I hardly recognise it as favouritism anymore. Oh, and by the way, did you read what the Prophet wrote about your father and his friends, Harry?"

"No, sir. I got too upset about the main … article, and then I totally forgot."

"That may have been fortuitous. And best, if you do not attempt to read it now. It was … colourful. And very sensationalist, and large parts were rather specious, too," Dumbledore explained earnestly. "But in one regard it was correct. Your father and his three best friends were indeed as thick as a pack of thieves, and they got into a lot of trouble together. The number of detentions they earned, were truly legendary, but they never let that stop them. Sadly, their friendship did not end well."

Dumbledore looked away sadly. "No, not well at all."

"What happened, then?"

"You know most of the story already. Sirius Black betrayed your parents to Voldemort, and killed Peter Pettigrew. And their fourth friend … he had many troubles of his own, and was devastated by the betrayal and his friends' deaths. He disappeared for the longest while. It was only recently that I managed to convince him to return ..."

"To teach us DADA this year?"

"When did you turn so observant, Harry? Not that I am unhappy about it, but I must admit you have caused me quite a few surprises since the start of summer," Dumbledore peered at him over his glasses, and sighed once again. "Unfortunately, most of the surprises were not of a desirable nature, not that it was your fault. No, not your fault at all."

"Sorry, sir," Harry said automatically.

"As I said, not your fault. In fact, far too much of it was my fault instead, for being too blind. If anyone needs to apologise, it is me. But yes, Professor Lupin was the fourth of the friends."

"He seems a rather … shy person? If I may say so, sir."

"Yes, he is. You are quite correct. He has a private and studious nature. I fear his greatest failing in those days was, that he did not stand up more to his friends. That he did not do enough to stop them when they went over the line. I suspect he was rather afraid of loosing them, you see. So, please, do not blame him too much. He is a good person. And Remus Lupin has led a life of many hardships, and lost much over the years."

Harry nodded earnestly. He could certainly understand someone going along with their friends to avoid loosing them, especially if those friends were the only ones they had. He was too some extent guilty of the same, even though he'd never taken part in bullying because of it. Then again, James Potter and his friends likely didn't think of what they did as 'bullying'.

People never liked to think of themselves in terms of uncomfortable and negative words. You were always a freedom fighter. It was the others who were terrorists.

"Of those four, the ringleaders were definitely James Potter and Sirius Black. Both were very charming and attractive young men, and high-spirited. Both came from old families, but where the Potters were always Light, the Blacks had been a Dark family for a long time. Sirius Black being sorted into Gryffindor, was quite the surprise to everyone. He seemed rather a rebel in those days, though of course somehow … it was either a deception even then, or something caused him to turn back later."

Harry wondered about that himself. What could have driven his … godfather to such a betrayal? But he was not curious enough to want to seek the man out just to learn about it. Though the way Potter's law tended to work, he'd probably end up meeting him anyway. Fate really seemed to have it in for him. Still, there was no reason to go and tempt it. None at all. He could survive with not knowing. Really.

"In any case, the other two were more in the way of followers. Peter Pettigrew had quite a negative personality, in that he just did not stand out. He was always in the shadow of the others. And Remus Lupin was the quiet one. In many ways he was a lot like your friend Hermione, because he loved books and learning. And he was also the least … rash of the lot of them. As well as the most rules-abiding. But maybe also a bit too weak, that he did not stand up to them," Dumbledore concluded, and sighed again.

"Well, this is the sad, and admittedly at times sordid, tale of your parents' time at Hogwarts, Harry. A very condensed version, of course. I wish I could have spared you learning the darker side of it, but … maybe it is best that you know."

"Yes, sir. I do not like unpleasant surprises, either," Harry pointed out more calmly than he really felt. It helped that he came prepared to have his illusions dispelled … but he had still hoped they would remain reality. But better confirmation, than niggling doubts.

"So, was this all you needed?"

The old wizard looked pained. And was showing his age for once.

"Almost, sir. I would like to write back to Professor Snape," Harry admitted. "He should be able to tell me more about my mum, shouldn't he?"

"Yes, of course," Dumbledore said, and the twinkle was finally back in his eyes.

"Well, he told me I should ask you for some charm to spell the paper, sir?" he gave the headmaster a hopeful look, as he didn't know what exactly he was looking for.

"Certainly, dear boy, certainly," the old wizard replied with renewed animation. "Here, let me demonstrate the spell for you … "

He broke off, gazing at Harry seriously.

"Now, we do not normally teach spells like this so early, as they can be abused somewhat. But I will trust you with this, though I have to ask you not to share it with anyone. Not even your friends. At least not without asking first."

Harry nodded earnestly. "Yes, sir. Of course."

"Now this spell scrambles the words so they become unreadable, unless a password is spoken while tapping the wand to the paper. That is probably the easiest one to do. You need to think hard on the password while speaking the words _celo scriptura_ … and this is the movement for the spell. Give it a try … yes, very good. With a bit of practise you should have no problems," Dumbledore said with an encouraging smile. "You will know if you were successful when the words shift."

"Now you can use the same spell to link it directly to a recipient, but that variant is a bit trickier to cast, I fear. Not because of the spell itself. For that you only need to concentrate on the person you want to be able to read the words, instead of thinking hard on the password. But you see, you either need to know the magical signature of your target, or at least have a very clear mental picture of him. And well, I do not know if you can do either for Professor Snape?"

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Harry looked down, picking on the buttons of his robe while he thought. Magical signatures had of course come up at times during classes, but they had learned nothing yet about how you could identify one. And at the moment he hardly had a clear mental picture of Snape, did he?

"Sir? I must admit I still have problems understanding Professor Snape. I think I know why he didn't like me, but some of what he wrote has also confused me," he said slowly, trying to put his confusion into words. "So I'm not sure if I could use that method. I mean, I just don't get him. He is so … contradictory. And complicated. And he also hinted at things that … I'm not sure I understand."

He gave the headmaster another hopeful look.

Dumbledore peered back at him with a considering air, as if he was weighing the merits and drawbacks of telling Harry more about the potions master. Finally he sighed.

"There are many things I cannot tell you, Harry, because those secrets are not mine to share. But I would suggest you ask Professor Snape himself … and I would further advise you to inquire about his role in the war against Voldemort. You may also inform him that I sanction his telling you … whatever he is willing to impart to you."

The headmaster's eyes were penetrating.

"But this needs to be restricted to when you are actually talking with him in person, and in a secure location. And whatever he chooses to tell you, if he does, you may not share with anyone. In fact, it might be prudent if you swore a Wizard's Oath beforehand."

Harry felt taken aback. They had suddenly strayed into serious territory. Still …

It appealed to both the Gryffindor and the Slytherin in him, he had to admit. Secrets edged with danger … for all that he craved to be _normal_, he probably wasn't, at least not in this respect. Because normal people probably didn't find dangerous secrets so … attractive. Kind of irresistible. He sighed inwardly. And knew he'd already made up his mind to ask Snape.

Because he was probably doubly damned. Lions were cats, and cats were rather curious, right? And snakes were considered very secretive, after all. And he really was both, wasn't he? Like a chimera, though without the goat part. Then again, he could be very stubborn so … maybe a bit of goat, too.

Harold Evans, the chimera of Hogwarts.

It might also mean keeping secrets again from Ron and Hermione. The most worrisome thing about that was, that it didn't particularly worry him. Apparently he really _liked_ secrets. And if he was found out, he could always blame it on the headmaster's orders. Conveniently so. Do not get found out, and if you are, blame it on someone else. It was probably the Slytherin motto.

"However, do not ask him this lightly. Only do so, if you are sure you are ready to hear the answer … any answer. You may not like what you discover."

Harry sighed. "I should hope I've learned _that_ lesson by now, sir. There are always consequences, and most of the time they are really not what I would have expected. Or wanted, for that matter."

"Indeed. But in this case, I must warn you there will _definitely_ be such consequences. I have told you more things recently than I had intended, since I realise you were forced to a maturity beyond your apparent years, but ..."

He broke off, and looked intently at Harry over his half-spectacles.

"Sir?"

The old wizard took a deep breath before continuing. "This would likely draw you deeper into the webs we spin to counter the forces of Darkness, Harry. Webs that most are blissfully unaware of. Yet I know you keep finding yourself tangled in them over and over again in any case, so maybe … it is for the best if you lose your ignorance."

"You mean my innocence?"

"Some would say it is the same thing."

"And what do you think?"

The headmaster sighed. "I would love to preserve your innocence, but I fear you do not actually have much of it left. Between your childhood and your experiences in the last two years … I honestly cannot see how you could have retained it. It would be foolish of me to try to keep something intact which does not exist, especially when ignorance will not work in your favour."

"Some things might have worked out differently if I had known more, sure," Harry said thoughtfully. "And had someone _reliable_ to go to with what we found out," he added, and didn't try to keep the resentment out of his voice.

Dumbledore actually winced at that. "Yes. I fear too many of us have not taken you serious enough. It is hard to look beyond your apparent age … especially for anyone who is used to dealing with _children_ all the time."

"I think I know what you mean. Most of them are very immature still, aren't they?"

"Yes. You are in many ways very different from the other students. Due to the circumstances of your life, you are not really a child anymore, much as it grieves me. You have developed a much more … complex nature than most of your friends."

"Is that the reason the Sorting Hat had such a hard time with me?"

"Well, it is not often it wants to put someone into Slytherin, and yet lets itself be swayed to put that someone into the opposite house instead," the headmaster pointed out, giving him a considering look. "Not that you do not fit in there, but ..."

"Yeah. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't said no to Slytherin. And at times I rather feel like one, too," Harry admitted. "Especially recently. Something about this seems to bring that side of me out more and more."

"You have spent a lot of time in introspection this summer. And you learned many things, both about yourself and our culture. That is bound to have affected you."

"I simply can't tell if it's a good or a bad thing," he admitted, with a grimace.

"Dear boy, we are not two-dimensional beings. Nor are we limited to a few character traits. Any growth of character is just as likely to go into new directions, as it is to deepen old ones. In any case, those traits were there to begin with, else the Hat would not have considered you for the house of the cunning and ambitious."

"So you don't think it is a bad thing?"

"No, Harry, I do not think it is a bad thing at all. Especially given how you will indubitably continue to become involved in our struggles against Voldemort and the Darkness he left behind. Having a cunning and manipulative side can only be to your advantage there. Especially if few expect it of the brave and brash Gryffindor," the headmaster concluded with a wink.

"Sir? Do you think I should tell Professor Snape about this? That I nearly ended up in Slytherin?"

"Hmm. It may ease his mind about you, and your involvement. As well as give him a nice surprise," Dumbledore suggested with a merry twinkle and an almost anticipatory air.

"You enjoy surprising him, don't you?"

"It is a rather rare occurrence, sadly. It is not easy to surprise Professor Snape. And I think you may well soon learn why it is so hard."

"So you do want me to ask him?"

"Yes. I think you should. And know, that I do trust him. With all our lives. You need to remember this, when the time comes."

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oOoOoOoOo

So he came away with, surprisingly, a fair few answers. Not necessarily the ones he had wanted, but still … answers were good. They proved that Dumbledore was actually taking him seriously. Which was … promising. Though he'd also gotten a lot of … hints. And an invitation, of sorts. Because the headmaster had more or less sanctioned Harry's increased involvement in … whatever the adults were up to. The next step was apparently to ask Snape about it. Which was … a challenge. Kind of. Or a hurdle. Because Snape certainly wasn't the type to give up his secrets easily, headmaster's approval notwithstanding.

He yawned as he crawled into his bed and settled himself comfortably. The day had been full of … emotional discoveries. It grieved him a bit that he finally learned more about his father … only to find James Potter had been rather less than perfect. Maybe that was the reason Harry had never been told much. Because they were only human, after all, and the people who might have told him more didn't want to spoil his father's image for him. Or were uncomfortable with their own parts in whatever had happened.

When he came up to the tower, after his long talk with Dumbledore, he stumbled right into a heated argument between Ron and Hermione. Because apparently Crookshanks had been chasing Ron's rat around, and the redhead was angry about it. Well, Scabbers had been the family pet for a long time. So his friend was attached to it, even though it was such a scruffy and frankly unpleasant animal. And Hermione was just as loud and determined in her defence of her cat.

By the time Harry arrived on the scene, they were at the yelling and waving fingers in each other's faces stage.

But really, after his conversation with the headmaster he didn't feel like getting involved in their squabble. Their looks had been flabbergasted when he just walked right past them with a simple 'good night', ignoring their shouting in favour of getting to his dorm. But he was simply _tired_. Tomorrow he'd have to write Snape back, and get the man to meet with him. And try to grab Ginny, so she'd introduce him to Luna Lovegood. And there would be the Sunday edition of the Prophet. Even muzzled by the solicitor, they might use that edition to take a strike at him.

So he really wasn't in the mood to deal with a silly quarrel over some stupid pets. Not when he'd just learned his father used to be a bully. Even if he grew up later. He still left his misbehaviour as a legacy for Harry to deal with, in the form of a resentful teacher who took his dislike for the father out on the son. Of course James Potter couldn't have known this would happen. But it had.

Always ... consequences. And when they affected other people … matters could get ugly. Especially when you mixed in ignorance, and secrets. Between all those hints dropped by both Snape and the headmaster, and Sirius Black's inexplicable betrayal, and whoever was behind the Prophet's attacks … he felt there were plenty of secrets around.

And a lot of ignorance for him to get rid off.

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AN: Another talk which got out of hands. Sigh. They have a habit of doing that recently. Thanks everybody for the reviews, though I still wish this story could garner more of them. It really helps, especially with a story like this where the plot isn't really set in stone, aside from trying to include canon happenings.

Looking over the listings of Irish newspapers, I found that most of them were actually printed in English. I would have liked to give the Wizarding paper a Gaelic name. However, since I don't speak the language, I fear the result would have been potentially … rather garbled, anyway. So I decided to simply stick with an English name after all. And since I wanted something to match the slight pomposity of the British 'Prophet', and there is an actual 'Herald', I thought 'The Harbinger' would have a nice ring to it.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

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**Dumbledore threatens freedom of the press!**

Our loyal readers may have wondered why we did not continue to inform the public about the mysterious circumstances surrounding the Potter heir's abandonment of his family name. The simple truth is this: we were forced to stop, due to a restraining order issued by the legal council of Hogwarts' headmaster Albus Dumbledore.

Thus we have to ask: What is the price of freedom?

Are we only permitted to inform the public about what is deigned acceptable by the powers that be? Are we to be muzzled by the arbitrary design of the high and mighty? Is there no more freedom of the press?

Should the freedom of speech, the freedom of information be curtailed by someone who should by rights be dedicated to education and its tenets? How can the public become educated, without information freely flowing? What gives one man the right to stop information?

The freedom of opinion has long been a mainstay of our society, and is indeed one privilege freely shared by everyone. So why are we being silenced? Our voice has been taken, the voice of the people. Thus we implore you: do not stand for our enforced silence. Let the voice of the people be heard. Do not let them take our freedom.

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The editorial was lengthy. It was dry, and yet oddly impassioned. And it continued in the same vein for quite some time.

Harry felt sick as he read the Sunday paper. So this was the new angle they were taking. Unfortunately, it was not even entirely unjustified. But 'not entirely' wasn't good enough. Not by a long shot. Because they couldn't claim journalistic rights now, not when they had violated every possible code of professional journalism in existence by printing that bloody article in the first place. And once again the writing was also quite insidious and underhanded, though at least it contained no attacks against him. Just against Dumbledore, who was Harry's protector.

Which therefore wasn't actually much better, come to think of it. Though at least it didn't make people stare at him.

At that moment Hermione, who was sitting across from him in the Great Hall, lowered her copy with a thoughtful expression. Then she looked straight at Harry.

"They do have a point, you know."

He wanted to sigh loudly. Or maybe even scream. Because naturally Hermione, Miss 'I shall worship the printed word, for it is holy', would be inclined to fall for their arguments. Even though her faith in the Prophet ought to have been shaken, it still was a natural tendency for her to believe anything printed. One he definitely needed her to get rid of. He felt like tearing at his hair, but instead matched her determined look, while leaning forward slightly.

"Of course. But in this case they are very much at fault not for _what_ they wrote, but for _how _they wrote it. I knew they were going to write about the name-change. Because yeah, privacy be damned and all. Everybody and their little brother always seem to think they have a right to know all about me, so I was really expecting something. And you know, I could have lived with that," he said, tossing his own paper on top of hers and crossing his arms defiantly.

"What I _can't_ live with is all the utter crap they spewed about my so-called 'reasons' for it. The insults to my family. All the nasty stuff they dared to insinuate. _That_ is what I got angry about. Nothing gives them any right to do that! It wasn't just a breach of privacy, but a direct and foul _attack_! And that has _nothing_ to do with freedom of the press! They can report what they want, sure, but it should at least be an _approximation_ of the truth_, _don't you think? So _please_ tell me what about that article was true aside from the most basic fact of: Harry bloody Potter dared to change his name?" he asked her, his voice dripping sarcasm.

Challenging her and her deep-rooted responses to authority, or what she perceived as authority.

Hermione looked taken aback at his tirade. "Uhm, okay, but still ..."

"If the only way to stop them writing such pigswill, is to stop them writing about it altogether … then freedom of the press be damned! If they can't keep a civil tongue, then they don't deserve to be heard!"

Hermione appeared torn. "I have to admit they don't practise very good journalism," she said hurriedly. "But ..."

"It's just a stop-gap measure anyway, Mione," Harry reminded her with a sigh, knowing he wasn't going to win this argument. "I doubt anything could shut them up permanently."

"Very true," she allowed. "Who knows, maybe they'll learn something from it?"

He snorted in disbelief. "Somehow I most seriously doubt that. Especially, since there seems to be someone behind this who really doesn't like me."

She looked downcast at that thought. "Has Professor Dumbledore been able to discover anything yet?"

"Not really," he replied glumly. "Though maybe we'll learn something at the hearing next week. You know, whoever it is might show up for that."

"Perhaps," she agreed dubiously, idly scanning the editorial again. "You know, I'm not quite sure the editor is totally happy with what happened, either."

"If so, why didn't he stop it?"

"Maybe they were put under pressure?"

"Yeah, sure," he said with a great deal of sarcasm, rolling his eyes. "And I'm sure the guy is also _very_ unhappy they got a lot of people reading their crap at the moment because of it."

"Well ..."

"I refuse to make excuses for them, especially since they _haven't_ apologised! Vague hints of unhappiness so tiny you need a magnifying glass for don't count, Mione."

"No, you are right," she admitted reluctantly.

He sighed. It was an uphill battle, the fight against her desire to submit to authority and the power of the printed word. He bit into his toast rather forcefully, wishing he could tear into those ingrained responses of hers instead. Or at least get her to see that trust and respect were something to be earned, and not automatically bestowed by a title or a position.

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oOoOoOoOo

"Oh, by the way, do you know what exactly a Wizard's Oath is?"

"Huh? Why do you want to know?"

"Oh, it came up recently and I'm just … curious."

She gave him a penetrating gaze, but Harry busied himself with pouring a bit more tea to avoid looking at her. He heard her sigh after a moment.

"More secrets, Harry?"

"Dumbledore's secrets, if any," he told her evasively.

"Hasn't kept you from sharing them in the past."

So it was all right to go against authority for the sake of her curiosity, was it?

He sighed as well. "So far I know nothing, okay? So there's nothing to share. Yet. But Dumbledore said he might tell me stuff in the future involving the secrets of others. He warned me I might have to take an oath in that case. Which I don't know anything about. So if you can tell me what it does, I'd be grateful."

Of course, he was also not sharing the history of James Potter and his friends that he had learned about recently. But he couldn't bring himself to tell them. It was too … personal. And still much too raw, as well. Besides, he really didn't fancy telling them that his father apparently had been a bit of a bullying jerk, and Snape not unjustified in reviling him. And that he was now going to exchange letters with the teacher. The first was, well, not exactly something you wanted to tell anyone. And the second would likely not be received well by Ron.

"Look, it's not that I don't trust you two. But if Dumbledore asks me to keep something secret … I can't betray his confidence. Not after all he's done for me this summer," he implored her earnestly. "I'm still going to share everything I can with you."

She looked doubtful. And a bit sad. His gut clenched at that, yet what could he do? Yes, they were his friends, but that didn't mean he had to tell them _everything_. Though he really needed to work on at least telling them the bits that he could and that they ought to know. At which point his conscience reminded him that maybe they needed to know about his possibly changing relationship to Snape. They'd likely feel hurt if they found out later that he hadn't told them. So he would. Just not right now. Surely he could work things out a bit first? Right now he didn't know himself how that would develop, after all.

He certainly didn't need Ron's griping about the greasy git of a potions master, while trying to make peace with his mother's old friend.

So he was doing it again. But … a few day's delay likely wouldn't hurt. He'd tell them once he'd figured it all out a bit more, he promised himself. He would. Really.

Eventually.

So instead he smiled gratefully at Hermione as she explained how a Wizard's Oath could be used to keep secrets by making it impossible for the oath-taker to talk about certain topics. This sent her off into a tangent about various other forms of oaths and contracts used by wizards. Apparently, it was one of the topics she'd been reading about during her research into Wizarding law. Guilt made him listen attentively, even though he found it rather boring. He was rescued after a while by Ron's late arrival to breakfast. Guilt also made him laugh along with Ron when the red-head reminisced again about boggart Snape in Madam Longbottom's fashion, which clearly had made a lasting impression on his friend.

He dreaded telling Ron about Snape's apology, and everything else he'd learned in the last two days.

What a coward he was turning into. He really was the chimera in Gryffindor.

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oOoOoOoOo

"Hello, Luna Lovegood?"

The Ravenclaw girl looked at him silently for a long moment, her head tilted sideways like a bird. Which set the earrings she wore swinging. The earrings were small radishes. She was also barefoot for some reason. And currently dangling her legs from the desk she was perched on, in the unused classroom they were meeting in. Since Ginny hadn't even stuck around long enough to introduce him properly to her friend, he was reduced to this awkward greeting.

There was simply no good place to meet people from other houses aside from the Great Hall, which was too public. And the library, where one couldn't talk properly. Or outside, which was impractical most of the time given the Scottish weather. Like right now, when it was raining. One could commandeer an empty classroom, but they were, well … very class-roomy. The school totally needed some other places where people could gather. House rivalry for the sake of academic challenge was one thing, but this almost total segregation was rather … stupid. Especially when it was reinforced by architectural insufficiencies.

"That's me. Hello, Harry Evans," the slender blond finally said brightly, suddenly beaming at him. She did have a nice smile. Even though her eyes were a bit glassy and unfocused.

_Why are you looking at me so strangely, Ginny? And why do you always run away when I try to talk to you?_

"So you live close to the Weasleys, I hear?"

_You wouldn't understand, Harry. _

"Yes, the Burrow is close to the village where we live. Me and my dad. I went visiting there a lot. Dad doesn't have much time for me, you see. He is a very busy man. But he loves me," Luna told him with a gentle smile that was somehow not quite … there.

_Why wouldn't I understand? And how can I, when you won't talk to me?_

"Oh. Good. That he loves you, I mean. What about … your mum?"

_What's there to say? You don't want to be my Harry anymore._

"She died a few years ago. A spell she was experimenting with backfired on her."

_What do you mean, _your_ Harry? I'm still the same Harry, just not a Potter. Nothing else has changed, has it?_

Luna's gaze left his face and started to roam about the room, never quite fixing anywhere. It was … disconcerting. Until she suddenly looked straight back at him. Though it felt more like through him. He almost flinched back from her.

_My Harry, who saved me. From him. You know. He came for me and rescued me and made me safe, my Harry Potter. _

"Oh. Sorry. So very sorry, I shouldn't have asked," he stammered awkwardly. He always had to put his foot in.

_I … of course I had to come after you, Ginny. I still would do so, you know that. _

"It's alright, I don't mind. She's always with me, you know? In my heart," Luna declared fondly with a beatific smile.

_Would you? All my life I dreamed of Harry Potter. My hero. And then you really came and made it all well again. _

"And dad does try. He's just not good with people. But he loves finding out things. And writing about them, of course."

_What do you mean I made it all well? And Ginny … you know … all that stuff in the books … that was never me?_

"Yes. So I've been told. Ehm."

_She shrugged. It doesn't matter anyway. You've gone and ruined it all. _

"You attract many Wrackspurts, Harry Evans."

_Why? How? What's so changed about me?_

"Uhm. Wrackspurts?"

_You look ... different. And you talk and act differently, too. All cool and … controlled. _

"Oh, you can't see them. But they make your thinking go all fuzzy."

_He laughed in disbelief. You did see my outbursts recently? That's hardly controlled?_

Well it would be no surprise if his thinking was fuzzy at the moment. Between talking with this decidedly odd girl, and the conversation with Ginny still running through his mind, his head felt full of fuzz.

_That's only when you get really angry. But I've seen how you play people. Like him._

"Fuzzy. Right. Ehm."

_Ginny, I'm not sure I understand you._

"You need to think more positive thoughts, you know," Luna said, and her gaze was suddenly disconcertingly sharp and penetrating. "That helps to get rid of them."

_You know, sometimes I can still hear him, in the dark. Sometimes I dream of him. And now you remind me of him, too._

"Right, I'll have to try that. Ehm. There was something I wanted to ask you ..."

_Who? Whom are you talking about?_

"You want dad to publish something for you. He'll be very happy to, I'm sure. He loves conspiracies."

_He was so cruel. But he listened. He encouraged me. And all the time he betrayed me. But he was so charming ..._

"You think this is a conspiracy?"

_Do you mean … Riddle? The diary? _

She nodded earnestly, which made the radishes dance wildly. "Of course."

_I thought he liked me. But all he wanted was to get to you. All his niceness was just fake. I was simply bait for him. Something to be used._

"So … any ideas who is conspiring against me?"

_Ginny, you are starting to frighten me._

She put a finger to her lips and smiled secretively. "Ah, but it wouldn't be a good conspiracy if it was easy to tell."

_I was nothing. Until you saved me. Only now you don't want me anymore, either._

He made a face. "I wouldn't mind a bad one, then."

_Ginny …_

"See, you really need to think positively. Learn to see the good in the bad. Or you'll never get rid of your Wrackspurts," she told him with a decisive air.

_Oh, we are here. Luna's waiting for you, so bye Harry._

"Right. So, about your father printing ..."

_Ginny, wait!_

She reached forward and patted his cheek. "Don't worry," she assured him happily, smiling brightly. "He'll print your story for you, I'm sure."

_She looked back at him, and the expression in her eyes was sad. It's too late, she told him quietly._

"Oh. Right. Thanks, then."

_He stared after her rapidly disappearing form, feeling helpless._

"No worries. Bye, Harry Evans!" And the strange girl hopped off the desk, executed a barefooted pirouette, and left him with a head full of vengeful Wrackspurts.

_._

oOoOoOoOo

Damnation. Somebody should have realised. Why didn't they send Ginny to someone like that healer Dumbledore wanted him to have sessions with? But maybe no-one had noticed, because she'd appeared so … normal afterwards. That is, if normal included being star-struck around Harry Evans, formerly Potter.

But could even a mind-healer deal with the problems of a young girl who'd been possessed by the seductively charming version of an evil wizard who clearly had no scruples? Ginny had been horribly betrayed by the person she'd spilled all her secrets to. And she'd done some pretty bad things, even though she couldn't remember doing them. It still had been her hands doing the deed. He knew he'd feel guilty in her place. Too many students had come close to dying last year.

But probably worst of all, she'd then nearly died herself. Under horrible circumstances. And the one who'd rescued her from all that … had been him. No wonder he was her shining knight. Her safety net. Quite possibly her line to a fragile sanity.

So when he stopped being Harry Potter … it must have felt like a rejection to her. He'd denied her need for safety and reassurance, even though he had no idea he was doing so.

He groaned. Consequences. Always consequences.

But it was all … fake. Only an illusion. Her clinging to this false image of the great hero Harry Potter was surely not healthy at all. And combined with her old crush on him … might turn it into a true obsession with him. Or rather with Harry Potter, the amazing hero who had saved her from the evil wizard. Just like in the stories. Last year had turned the stories real for her.

And then he'd gone and shattered them, because he wasn't Harry Potter anymore.

Harold Evans was still … Harry. But no longer Harry Potter, her hero. And apparently letting his inner Slytherin out more, combined with having learned how to steer conversations and be more self-assured overall, made him seem more like Tom Riddle.

Not a good thought, that.

There was even a certain similarity of looks between them as well.

Voldemort himself had pointed out they had many things in common.

Unfortunately his make-over seemed to have enhanced those, at least in Ginny's eyes. He groaned. This was yet another disaster.

But he also realised another thing. He couldn't really help her. This was beyond him. Yes, he could be there as a friend, a willing ear, someone to talk to. But Ginny needed _help_. Professional help, from people trained to deal with victims of shock and trauma. People who actually had a clue what they were doing. Hell, _he_ probably needed the same.

Only it would do him little good, as long as he didn't trust the therapist. Or mind-healer. Though a Muggle therapist was out of the question, anyway. They'd think he was fantasizing and insane in the first place, if he told anyone the story of his adventures. He was kind of looking forward to his fake detentions now. Maybe the healer could be helpful on that front as well. If it was someone who felt trustworthy. Trust. That's what it always came down to, in the end.

Still, he felt better with his conclusions. He'd managed to work out what was wrong with Ginny. He would talk with someone … definitely Dumbledore, maybe that healer, or even McGonagall. He probably should also write to Bill about it. One of them would surely be able to find Ginny the help she needed. And Ginny had spunk. She'd pull through. He could be her friend. Maybe they could even help each other, in the end.

So if this name change of his forced matters between them to the point that Ginny finally got real help with her problems, then he would definitely chalk one up for the plus side.

.

oOoOoOoOo

AN: Sorry to all Ginny-lovers or haters out there, but I'm trying to take a slightly different approach here. Yes, she is/was a fan-girl. Yes she has/had a crush. She was also possessed by Tom Riddle, who charmed her and used her. He would then have thrown away and killed her, if he hadn't been stopped by Harry the Hero on his proud charger with the curtains around it. Ehm. Okay, scratch the last bit. The way I see it, one reason why Rowling made her Harry's love interest was because of their shared bad history with Tom Riddle. It was simply not worked out in enough depth.

In consequence I can both understand the Ginny-lovers, because clearly there is a lot of undeveloped potential, and the haters, because she just wasn't as fully developed as she should have been as Harry's love and therefore appears a bit shallow. Don't forget though, that you may hate her because of all the stories out there where she is portrayed as a money-grubbing, fame-seeking, betraying harpy. Which is, however, not canon at all. So my version basically has a bit of a crush, and is still somewhat of a fan-girl at this point, but mostly she has severe psychological problems that got swept under the carpet because she _seemed_ to cope.

I'm sorry in case there are readers who don't approve of my approach, but well, it's mine. And where Ginny is concerned, there will never be pleasing everyone. Thanks for the reviews, and please, give me more. Let me know what you think of the story. I'd be really grateful!


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

.

oOoOoOoOo

"Visiting me again already, dear Harry?"

The headmaster looked up from his study of the Prophet, pushing his reading glasses up on his nose. Still, he seemed inviting enough as he gestured his student to come closer.

"Sorry, sir. But there are a couple of things I'm … concerned about."

"Oh? Do tell me, dear boy. Go on, have a seat."

What would it take to chase the twinkle away this time? He perched himself nervously at the edge of a chair in front of the headmaster's imposing desk.

"Uhm. It's just … the Prophet didn't say anything about me this time, sir, but they hit you rather hard, didn't they? So I couldn't help wonder … could they damage your reputation enough that ..." he struggled for the right words to express his worry.

Dumbledore's expression had gone from fond amusement to sobriety. Still fond, though, and Harry noted with some relief that the twinkle was yet lurking.

"You would lose my help? My protection? Never fear, even should they manage to remove me from this school … again, or any of my other offices, come to think of it … they cannot easily take away my real power. Do you know what that is, Harry?"

"Well, you know a lot. And you can do a lot of magic?"

The headmaster gave him a wry smile.

"That, too, of course. But mostly I have friends in influential places, and a lot of experience. I have been in quite a few tight situations, and I hold the willing loyalty of many souls, freely given. Yet remember this, young Harry … this loyalty may not be lightly used. And never _abused_. Therefore I must often work slowly and carefully. I cannot plough ahead and simply take what I need, nor can I rush in without due consideration and concern for all involved. But it rarely leaves me without recourse. There is always a loophole, a last minute respite, if one knows to look for it."

The gaze Dumbledore gave Harry was earnest. And very intent. He found himself nodding, absorbed in the old headmaster's words.

"This is a lesson only living can teach. Just as tight webs of friendship and loyalty are not woven overnight. Thought and observation, dear boy, are the cornerstones of success. As well as hard work and dedication. And of course an excellent network of connections," his eyes twinkled merrily. "We often overlook Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, yet both houses hold a great many success stories. More, I fear, than the houses of the obviously brave and ambitious."

"Why is that, Professor?"

"Gryffindor, as the house of the brave, often produces outstanding heroes. People on the forefront of conflict. But while the world needs heroes … it does not do so all the time. And it has often been noted that outside of situations demanding heroics, those brave souls fare … less well than their more mundane fellows. Especially war-time heroes often struggle in times of peace."

"Oh. Does that mean ..." That he would be one of those failures, only good for his brave, suicidal tendencies, and his 'saving people' complex?

"That you would do so?" Dumbledore's gaze was soft as he peered at Harry over his spectacles. "That lies in your hands, young Gryffindor. But did you not tell me the hat considered you for other houses as well? While you can be almost insanely brave," and here the headmaster surprised Harry by actually rolling his eyes in mild exasperation. "I believe you also know the value of information, and a well thought out plan? That cunning and knowledge of the enemy's weakness can be essential? You are also no stranger to hard work, I should think? And the events of the last two years ought to have taught you about the importance of having friends and supporters."

"I hope so, sir." Was he really all that multi-faceted?

"I also believe you have begun to realise the house we are sorted in does not determine everything about us, nor are we usually so shallow and two-dimensional as to hold only qualities of one?"

"I think so, sir." Yes, he had certainly started to realise that. Chimera, chimera ...

"As for Slytherin … those folks are often _too_ cunning. Or too caught up in being cunning at all costs, I should say. It can blind them to alternatives. And while ambition can be a fine thing, it can also get in the way of reaching goals. Their successes often come with a hefty price-tag attached, though they may not see it as such. But they frequently make enemies, and when you only have allies rather than friends … the cost of being at the top is often that it is dreadfully lonely being there."

Harry nodded in understanding. Because the headmaster had expressed his own vague thoughts about the drawbacks of being a Slytherin perfectly. Still, he wasn't that much of a snake. He was also Gryffindor, and he'd certainly learned all about hard work in his life with the Dursleys. Not that he loved it, but he could do it. And he had a reasonable mind, supposedly, though it probably could do with honing. That was one thing which had been damaged through living with his … guardians. Neither his hard work, nor any intellectual efforts had ever been rewarded, as they would have been for other children.

He could also put his lack of trust right at their feet. Really, they had a lot to answer for. But while their neglect had left him in a bad starting position, he could overcome it. And in doing so, he'd be the one to win. To show them and all his doubters that he was better. And he'd do so by becoming a a better student, and a better friend, and simply a better person overall.

Dumbledore seemed to have followed his train of thought. Whether it was by reading his mind, which Harry sometimes suspected the old wizard was able to, or merely his expressions. At least he was smiling fondly at Harry, and there was a look of deep satisfaction on his face. The look of a teacher, who has just managed to successfully impart an important lesson to his student.

"Have I managed to put your mind at rest, Harry?"

He straightened his posture, and looked the headmaster firmly in the eyes. "Yes, sir. Thank you," he said earnestly.

"Well, in that case … I fear there are many matters demanding my time," the headmaster told him with a sigh. "This one chief amongst them, of course," he concluded with a frown at the copy of the Prophet spread out on his desk.

"Ehm, Professor, there was one more thing ..." Harry began.

"Yes, dear boy?"

"Ehm, I found out why Ginny is behaving so strangely, sir," Harry said, blushing a bit.

Dumbledore gave him an amused smile. "I believe most of us are aware of Miss Weasley's crush on you, Harry."

Harry sighed in exasperation. "Yes, sir. But I'm afraid this is much worse. This has nothing to do with just a crush."

The headmaster put his head to the side and studied Harry carefully, his smile gone. "What do you mean?"

"It's about what happened last year, sir. You know, with the chamber? Riddle's diary?"

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, but didn't say anything.

"Well, you know, she nearly died? And before that she'd told Riddle like, everything. She'd really trusted him all year long. In return he made her do some pretty horrible things. She thought she was going insane. And in the end he was going to kill her. Like she didn't matter at all. She was all alone down there in the dark with him, slowly being drained. With the horror of being betrayed and used by the one she had trusted, and knowing she was going to die because of it. That ultimately, she was just bait to lure me there."

The old wizard looked very grave now, and Harry hurried to continue his explanation.

"That's why she was clinging to me so much. I mean, yeah, she does have a bit of a crush," he blushed again. "Probably. But mostly it's because I rescued her. I saved her. I turned into her," he sighed unhappily. "hero. The one who fixed it all. The great and mighty Harry Potter, who battled basilisks and evil wizards for her sake. Just like in those stupid books."

He turned a very rueful look on the headmaster. "Only I'm not. So when I became Harold Evans instead … well, I destroyed her hero. She'd made me into her safety-net, and I took that away. So now she feels rejected, and lost. I think it's all really hitting her finally."

This time he'd definitely succeeded in making Dumbledore lose his twinkle. The headmaster's expression was quite concerned now, and a bit shocked, too.

"She needs help, sir, _real_ help. Because I can be her friend, but I can't be her hero. I can listen to her, but I can't save her. And I sure can't fix what _he_ broke. So if there's anything that can be done for her, someone who can heal her … so she can deal with the horror?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment, and gave a deep sigh.

"I see. Or rather once again I didn't see this, to my sorrow."

"Well, there wasn't really anything much to see until recently, sir. She seemed fine to everyone. Until ..."

"Do not blame yourself, Harry. You only did what you had to, last year. You also had the wit to know this is beyond you, and come to me for help. For which I greatly commend you. And I thank you for your trust," the old wizard told him gravely, getting up to come his student's side of the desk. He put a consoling hand on Harry's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

"No, you did exactly right, dear boy," he said with a sigh. "I shall arrange for her to see a mind-healer. And I will alert Minerva to the problem. As for her parents … maybe we should wait with informing them for a little while," he added thoughtfully. "Until she is a bit better. And we have some idea what we are dealing with. I doubt a Howler would be beneficial at this point, don't you agree?" he asked with an almost whimsical look at his student.

Harry winced, remembering Mrs. Weasley's Howler to Ron last year. "Yes, sir. But you will make sure she'll be fine?"

"I promise I will set everything possible in motion. I cannot promise she will be fine … because this is something that depends largely on her own cooperation and responsiveness. But I think she will be. She is a brave little girl. She simply needs to rediscover this bravery within herself, rather than look for it … outside."

"Yes, sir. It can't have been healthy for her to cling to this fantasy of me."

The headmaster sighed. "No. Definitely not. Oh, and I think I might have an idea. Have you written to Professor Snape yet, Harry?"

"Uhm, no sir. I've been a bit distracted since I talked with her."

"Then I would suggest you ask him for his help with Ginny."

"With Ginny? Professor Snape? Why?" Harry asked, feeling at a loss. The … dour dungeon dweller seemed the last person to ask for help with a disturbed girl.

"Because not only is he well versed in the intricacies of the mind and memory, but he also has … personal past experience with Tom Riddle," Dumbledore explained himself gravely.

Harry gulped. There had always been rumours Snape was a Death Eater. Of course there were also rumours he was a vampire, which was ridiculous. But the Death Eater one …

The headmaster's eyes were twinkling. And his smile seemed for a moment almost … sinister? Or maybe just mocking. But the moment passed in the blink of an eye, and the old man was merely his usual, fondly twinkling self.

"You would know best, sir," he agreed diplomatically. "If you think I should do it … I will."

Because the headmaster had been right about spilling the secrets of his home-life to Snape. Even if the outcome had not been entirely what he'd expected. So … he would ask the man. Because Dumbledore wanted him to. And because the old wizard would likely tell Snape anyway. So this was probably intended as another exercise in trust.

He sighed. Trusting was really annoyingly hard.

.

oOoOoOoOo

"Severus? May I come through?"

"Is anything the matter, Albus?"

"I just had yet another disturbing conversation with young Mr. Evans."

Severus blinked. And found his face sneering automatically. When had that become so reflexive? He sighed and smoothed his features again.

"Of course, do step through. So what did he have to say?" he asked, striving to keep his voice neutral. He watched the headmaster step out of the floo, absent-mindedly spelling his purple robes free of sooth. They had little golden half-moons embroidered on them.

"Oh, it was mostly not about Harry himself, actually. It was ..." Albus stared off into space, before he recollected himself with a sigh and an apologetic look at his potions master. "He came to me with concerns about Miss Weasley."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "What about her? She is not being possessed yet again, I hope," he drawled with disdain.

Albus gave him a forbidding glare in return. Which was … unusual. The headmaster rarely _glared_ at anyone. Twinkled at you until you felt like going insane was an option, yes. Look at you with disappointment, yes. Glare, no. A glare meant you had really stepped over some line.

"No, but that was in fact the point of what he told me. Apparently young Ginevra is still suffering from her _first_ possession," he said, stressing the word sarcastically. "And no-one has attempted to help her deal with it."

"Oh."

It was likely guilty feelings at his oversight making Albus glare then. Combined with his own admittedly insensitive remark, given the context.

"Oh, indeed. Think about it, Severus. An eleven year old innocent girl, possessed and manipulated and _betrayed_ by Tom Riddle himself, when he was still quite charming and charismatic."

"Oh dear."

Albus shot him another glare. Severus had to admit the whole idea _was_ upsetting.

"Yes. Very much 'Oh dear'. I will arrange for her to see a specialist from St. Mungo's. But I also suggested to Harry he ask _you_ for help."

"Me? Why me?"

"Because you know the mind-arts well, and you know Tom Riddle. And this must also involve Harry, and I am not sure an outsider can understand it properly."

Severus stared at his employer and mentor in some dismay.

"From what he told me, she has turned him into her personal hero. And her safety net. So when he changed his name and appearance, and let's face it, his behaviour, too … he took that away."

"I see ..."

"And Harry was down there with her. He is the only one who fully knows what happened. And it also happened to _him_. We none of us thought he might be affected himself, but … maybe he was, too? The boy nearly died down there, after all. He is also rather good at hiding his hurts, as I have found to my great dismay recently."

"Yes. He would have made a good snake, in that regard," Severus agreed unwillingly, and frowned at the briefly amused look that passed over the headmaster's face. "What?" he snapped.

"Oh, nothing," Albus said entirely too innocently. "But in any case, if he does ask you for help, please give it. If he doesn't … she will need it anyway. But it would be good if he were to ask for it."

"Because he does not trust adults, you mean?"

"Yes. So if he does ask for help … it would be a sign he is starting to trust you a bit more."

"Very well," Severus agreed reluctantly. "Was there anything else?"

"Actually, yes. You also have my permission to tell Harry the truth of anything he might ask of you, except for the prophecy. At your discretion, obviously."

"Have you finally taken leave of your senses, Albus?"

The old wizard sighed and shook his head. "No. But the boy has managed to convince me he is far too mature for his age. So if he is capable of asking the question, and furthermore confident enough to ask _you_ … then I think he is also ready to hear the answer."

"You cannot expect me to tell him sensitive secrets ..."

"I already warned him this was serious business, and that a Wizard's oath might be demanded of him," the headmaster explained, looking very serious. "Honestly, Severus, I do believe he is ready. Think of yourself at his age, and throw the horrible experiences of his last two years into the mix."

"Yes … but … he is a Gryffindor! He does not think before he acts. The boy cannot dissemble to save his life! He wears his heart on his sleeve!"

"Indeed. That is what everyone sees of him. And yet no-one knew of the circumstances of his life at home, did they?" the headmaster pointed out with a raised eyebrow. "He also seems quite adept at winning through horrible situations, which is quite an accomplishment, given the limited resources he had? I wonder what he could have done with proper support and information ..."

Damn the old man for coming up with reasonable arguments.

"You really believe this, Albus?"

"After seeing how he dealt with learning about the situation with you and his father … yes. The boy was never what you thought him, and he has changed even further over the summer. Do toss those preconceived notions of yours aside, dear Severus. They are all in tatters anyway. I think you will be surprised by what you find," the headmaster gave him a piercing glance. "And do not forget the boy always seems to end up involved anyway."

"I still think this is a monumental mistake."

Albus shrugged and wandered back towards the fireplace.

"I leave it entirely up to your discretion. I am simply giving you permission in case you come to agree with me. So by all means, do your own assessment. I will merely ask you to be … open-minded."

He muttered a few choice swear-words under his breath and rubbed a hand over his eyes, suddenly feeling tired.

"Me being open-minded is hardly the only requirement for telling _anyone_ … a lot of the information I hold. The boy would need to learn how to be rather more … _close-minded_, if you take my meaning," he challenged his mentor.

"There is that as well, yes," the headmaster agreed with an insufferably gentle smile.

"And no doubt you would expect me to teach him _that_, too?" Severus asked with a grimace and a feeling of foreboding.

"It might be advisable in the long run, don't you think?"

Severus looked away. "Maybe. I will take your recommendations … under advisement, Albus. Do not ask more of me."

The old man smiled softly at him. "Thank you. That is all I ask. Though please, do not forget about Miss Weasley."

"No, of course not. Now you told me, it would likely not leave me in peace in any case."

"That was my thought, too. A good evening to you, Severus."

And the headmaster was gone in a swirl of green flames. Leaving him alone with the task of pulling his thoughts together again.

Merely asking, right. He snorted. Dumbledore had the annoying habit of _merely asking_ for the impossible. And quite often getting it, too.

As for the telling the brat … boy important secrets … he growled at the very thought. Still, he could test the boy. See how he reacted to learning certain truths which were an open secret anyway, just never really talked about. Like Severus' Death Eater past. If the boy ran screaming from him after learning about that, he could most happily tell Albus 'I told you so'. And if he did not … he would take it from there. After all, there was no need to burn bridges, when the river was not even in sight yet.

.

oOoOoOoOo

Dear Professor Snape,

thank you for your reply, though I must admit it left me feeling quite disturbed.

Though I can certainly see why nobody wanted to tell me about this side of my father's. It is not the kind of thing you want to tell his orphaned son, after all. Professor Dumbledore pointed out to me that he must have grown up later. Still, I can't help but feel badly disappointed in him. The only excuse I can come up with for his behaviour is that it's probably easy to ignore how much you are hurting someone else, if you have never been on the receiving end of mistreatment or bullying. He was the lucky one, with the happy, spoiled childhood. I wasn't. And therefore, while it saddens me to have to say it, I find it much easier to sympathise with you than with him over this.

It is fortunate I already had to wrestle plenty with feelings of disloyalty towards him during the summer. In a way, this makes it actually easier. It's tempting to put someone you have no real knowledge of on a pedestal, especially when they died defending you. Now he is still my father, with more human failings than I would have liked, but on the other hand, less of a statue of virtue. I no longer have to live up to the impossible example of heroism that was painted for me. Which is a bonus, I guess, if in a horrible sort of way.

But I would prefer to leave the matter be, aside from stating once more: I am not my father. And bullying is not something I would normally excuse. But since I did not know any better, I hope you will not fault me for trying to defend him when you did your best to tear down his gleaming image. I did not do so to spite you, but to preserve what little good I thought I had.

I hope you realise by now I was never spoiled in my life. If I have received preferential treatment here at Hogwarts, it was not because I asked for it. A lot of the trouble I got into was because I didn't know what else to do with what little information I had. As for not going to the teachers for help, well, nothing in my life ever gave me much trust in the helpfulness and support of adults.

I also don't think I am really arrogant. It's simply that I learned during my 'childhood' that it does not pay to appear weak. Presenting a strong front, no matter how fake it is, was usually the better option. And I could hardly agree with your constant attacks against my character, when I felt that it was not in fact my character at all. I realise you have to keep up appearances, but maybe you could tone down those attacks a bit at least?

Aside from that, the only thing I'd really like to ask for is a greater degree of fairness when it comes to my class-work. Did you know I had absolutely no knowledge of potions at the start of the first year? I never received the introductory textbooks Muggle-born normally get. Not that I would have been allowed to look at them anyway, since my relatives locked all my stuff away before Hogwarts. Still, it would have helped me catch up with the rest, if I'd known there was something I was missing. As it was, I had zero chance of being able to answer your questions in that first class, and I continued to struggle ever since.

I admit I rather gave up on potions soon afterwards anyway. Not only did certain of my class-mates delight in sabotaging my work (I'm sure you know who that would be), but having the teacher more or less do the same was really not encouraging. Which is a pity, since it was actually a subject I'd been looking forward to. I certainly wouldn't mind being able to rekindle that interest, if circumstances should allow it.

I would also appreciate it very much if you could tell me something more about my mother. Most people I've met who were willing to talk about my parents at all, would only really tell me about my father, and hardly anything about mum. Just about all I've learned are some very basic facts about her years at Hogwarts. My aunt never mentioned her at all, at least not in any positive way. But since you were her friend for years, I hope I might impose on you to tell me about her.

I would be grateful for continued communication in order to clear up any remaining points of misunderstanding between us. However, I would also like to request a personal meeting in the near future, if possible. Professor Dumbledore has raised a number of points which would be difficult to discuss in letters. He also recommended I should ask you for help with a problem I discovered regarding Ginny Weasley. I expect he already told you about it himself. In case he hasn't, it concerns the events of last year, and her unfortunate involvement. Again, it would be helpful if I could talk about it with you in person.

And finally, I can only say one thing: I understand. I would have preferred it if there was no need for understanding in the first place, but we rarely get what we want.

.

Yours,

respectfully,

Harold Evans

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oOoOoOoOo

He carefully looked over what he'd written. It would have to do, even though it was awkward and stilted and overly formal in parts. Still, it said what he wanted it to, and until he got to know the man better … _if_ he ever did …

Which reminded him of the secrecy spell. He took out his wand, and concentrating hard on his mental image of Snape, attempted to cast the direct version of it. Nothing. The letters refused to scramble. Password it was, then. And he'd have to leave the potions master an unmistakeable clue, but one which would only make sense to him. Which was merely hard, not impossible.

And of course, he had the perfect word. Even though it was possibly a bit cruel. But it would serve the dual purpose of reminding the teacher of the reason for his mistreatment of Harry. And why he should really stop it from now on. This time, when he cast the spell, the letters obligingly became unreadable. And his hand trembled only very slightly when he wrote a simple 'Say her name' on top of the parchment.

There. All done. He rolled it up carefully, tied the scroll up and sealed it with an uneven blob of wax. He had an hour left before curfew to take it to the Owlery. He gazed around the empty dormitory, where he'd escaped to in order to compose and write his letter in quiet … and secrecy. He considered the need to take his cloak along. But he'd been sending quite a few letters recently, so … probably not.

He went downstairs to the common room. And asked his friends if they had anything to post from the Owlery. Hermione had an inquiry to the lawyer. The twins gave him several letters, to people who'd agreed to help in their prank-crusade against the Prophet. So when he departed for the Owlery, he had several scrolls bundled in his arms. Which made for a lovely disguise … when he met no-one on his way.

He sighed. Clearly he was getting paranoid. Or possibly over-cunning, just as Dumbledore had warned.

He sent the twins' missives with various school-owls, giving the one to the lawyer to Hedwig. She landed on his shoulder and pecked insistently at his ear while he attached the rest to other owls. Apparently owls had one thing in common with house-elves … they didn't appreciate others working while they themselves languished. Or maybe it was some weird kind of possessiveness developed by familiars. He spent some time petting and stroking her before sending her off. Once she was gone, he picked the most common looking bird in the tower and gave it the scroll for Snape.

He looked out of the window afterwards. It was quite dark already, and the rainy weather kept the stars and the moon from being visible. He shivered at the thought of having to fly out there. Hopefully, they'd have a few nice days this September at least. A bit of sunshine to combat the gloom many people had fallen into would be great. Maybe he should ask the house-elves for plenty of chocolate, in case those dreadful Dementors out there were to blame for that.

And hot chocolate. The thought kept him warm as he trudged back to Gryffindor tower. With whipped cream on top. And possibly marshmallows.

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oOoOoOoOo

AN: And a bit more about Ginny. Sorry to those who don't like her. I don't plan on retelling her encounters with the healer, though there will eventually be more talks with Harry and/or Snape. Nothing excessive. I promise they will never make doe-eyes at each other in this story. In case anyone wonders about Harry's letter-writing style: by now he would have read at least a book or two about essay and letter-writing. Probably in conjunction with the Calligraphy lessons. So he would sound a bit formal and grown-up when writing to Snape, but more relaxed to friends.

Thanks for the reviews! I really appreciate them. I know not everyone liked what I did with the dual conversation, but it was simply an experiment I wanted to try. It's unlikely to happen again, especially at such length. Though I do like the idea of having repeated lines from old conversations pop up. But like this it was somewhat a problem with readability. Thanks for the kind words of those who liked my approach to Ginny, and sorry again for anybody who feels that _any_ Ginny is too much Ginny. But she simply is part of this story, too.

Oh, and personally I prefer something alcoholic in my hot chocolate. But then I'm not thirteen, and I dislike overly sweet things. So Harry can have my share of the marshmallows. I'll keep the whipped cream though, thank you very much.

oOoOoOoOo


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

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oOoOoOoOo

"Why can't you keep your stupid cat from chasing Scabbers?"

"Well, why can't you keep him in your dorms?"

"Why should I? Why can't you keep that orange menace up in yours?"

"Menace? Still better than a moth-eaten, half-dead rat!"

"You take that back!"

"It's true!"

"It's not!"

Harry groaned inwardly, and let their quarrelling wash over him. The only thing to do was stay out of it. If they let him. Sometimes they both turned to him and demanded he take a side … but how could he? Because taking the side of one of them automatically meant to side _against_ the other. So the whole stupid dispute about their pets was turning into an exercise in diplomacy. The only thing that really worked without getting him stuck in the middle was to distract them successfully. Preferably without them noticing.

Admittedly this way he was getting practise in the skills his conversation tutor had tried to instil in Harry over the summer. Unfortunately, once those two had the bit in their teeth it was bloody hard to manage them. Therefore the trick was to do it early on. Before things escalated. But this morning his attention had been on the teacher's table, as he was trying to spot Snape's reaction to receiving Harry's missive. He was so busy watching for the owls to arrive, that he hadn't paid much attention to his two friends.

Just then the owls descended upon the Great Hall in force, fortunately providing the needed distraction without his intervention. Hermione immediately gave up her argument with Ron in favour of reading the Prophet. And Ron helped Harry with relieving several owls of their burdens. Which took a couple of minutes, and by the time the owls had gone again, he had missed the arrival of Snape's mail. Harry shuffled his letters into a pile without looking at them and quickly checked the teacher again.

It was rather obvious his letter had indeed arrived. Because Snape was giving Harry a glare that rivalled his old ones in nastiness. Okay, perhaps he should have thought of a different password after all. But he refused to be cowed anymore. So he stared back as impassively as he could manage. This was rewarded, after a few seconds, by a diminishing of the glare. It was finally replaced by a resigned expression, which even had a touch of rueful to it.

Snape lifted the scroll in a kind of salute for a moment, before tucking it away in a pocket of his voluminous black teaching robes. And then he went back to eating his breakfast as if nothing had happened. Right. The teacher was hardly going to read the thing right there at the table.

All in all, that could probably have gone better. But also much worse. He'd have to wait and see what actual reply he got.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you staring at Snape? And what's with all the mail, mate? I thought the elves were still screening that?"

He reluctantly turned his attention away from the teacher and back to the mail in front of him.

"Must be important stuff, I guess. Let's see ..."

The first one was a reply from Seamus' mum, which contained all the necessary information for how best to contact the Harbinger. He passed that one on to Hermione. The next was from Dumbledore's lawyer, informing him about the date for the Ministry hearing. Which would be on Friday. He'd have to talk with the headmaster about whether he should, or for that matter, actually could attend the hearing. After all, it was during the school-week, so he might not be allowed.

Then there were several letters from people who were willing to participate in the prank-war. He handed those to the twins. They'd decided to delay their attack until after the hearing. Depending on the outcome of that, they'd either keep it fairly harmless, as a kind of warning … or hit them hard. The hearing might also give them actual _targets_. Because so far they still didn't know who was responsible for the articles. And even at the Prophet there were probably people who didn't quite deserve getting badly pranked. Probably.

The last letter was a reply from Rita Skeeter, agreeing to his tentative proposal to hold the interview on Saturday. He felt nervous just thinking about it. But she had agreed to write for him. She might be nasty, but if he could keep her from turning on him by offering her what she really craved, that was surely good? Better to bribe her with exclusive access, and get her on his side, than have her join the enemy. Judging from several old articles of hers that Hermione had shown him, she certainly wasn't someone you wanted against you. Much better to have her in your camp.

Unfortunately, this seemed like the equivalent of keeping a tank full of poisonous snakes as pets. Ah, well. He'd simply have to prove that he wasn't a Parselmouth for nothing.

He'd just put down her letter after going through it again, trying to find the pit-falls in her saccharine writing, when he spotted Ginny slip into the Hall. As usual, she avoided coming close to Harry. Before his talk with her this behaviour had confused him. Now it made him feel guilty. He watched her exchange a few words of banter with the twins on her way past them, before she sat down with some of her year-mates at the other end of the table. Which suddenly gave him an idea. Because she had a lot of brothers, didn't she? And one of them had given Harry good advice this summer.

He could write to Bill.

If she wouldn't talk with Harry, maybe she'd open up to one of her own brothers. And someone in her family should know about this. He agreed with Dumbledore that they ought to keep it from her parents for now. But her brothers ….

Now Charlie was unfortunately too far away, while Percy was … well, Percy. As for the twins with their prank-mentality … they would no doubt be eager to help, but he couldn't really see that working out. But Bill would be perfect. He was good at keeping confidences, too. He'd write Bill a letter tonight.

"Mr. Evans?"

The stern voice of his head of house brought him out of his thoughts.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Your first detention with ... me is tomorrow after dinner, Mr. Evans. At seven o'clock. Please be punctual."

"Of course, ma'am," Harry replied, looking at her earnestly. He'd caught the very slight hesitation before the 'me'. So hopefully this would be the promised meeting with the healer, and not a 'real' detention.

McGonagall gave him a searching look and a nod before she swept away again.

"What you've got detention for, mate?"

Harry stared after her distractedly. Had he forgotten to mention that? Apparently he had. He'd really gotten into a bad habit of keeping things to himself. It wasn't even as if this one was a big secret … well, maybe the healer. Actually, did he want to tell them about his 'anger-management' sessions? On the other hand, why should he keep quiet about them?

Because if it got out he was seeing a _mind-healer_ about a psychological problem, everybody would think he was a nut-case, that's why.

"Uhm. Didn't I tell you? Dumbledore gave me detentions once a week for the rest of term with McGonagall for blowing up the Great Hall last week."

"Oh, Harry! No, you didn't tell us."

"Sorry. That was on the day of the first article. When they took me aside. Totally slipped my mind until now," he explained, with an apologetic smile at them.

"Yeah, now worries. But I thought he was on your side, mate?"

"He is. But he wants me to learn how to keep my temper better in check, you know?" Harry muttered, trying to sound a little bit resentful. "He said he couldn't let me get away without any consequences at all. So he took some house points and gave me the detentions."

"Well, all things considered that punishment is rather mild," Hermione said, in an unconscious copy of McGonagall's strict tones. "And you know, learning how to be an animagus supposedly involves a lot of meditation and stuff. So Professor McGonagall should be able to help you."

"Yeah, that's what I'm hoping, too," Harry agreed readily, relieved that she'd come up with a plausible explanation which didn't involve him having to mention mind-healers. "It would sure be more interesting than writing tons of lines like 'I shall not blow up the Great Hall'."

"Repetition is actually quite a good teacher, Harry," Hermione pointed out sternly. "That's the real reason for writing lines."

"Is that so? They always make me feel horribly bored," Ron put in, snatching up a last Muffin and biting into it enthusiastically.

"Just because _you_ don't get it, doesn't mean there isn't a lesson there, Ron."

"First you insult Scabbers, then you insult me, do you have your days or did you just get up on the wrong side of the bed today?"

"You are an insensitive jerk, Ronald Weasley!"

"And you are well matched with that menace of a cat of yours!"

"Uhm. Oh, look, it's getting late. We need to get to class, guys!"

"Hmpf. Well, I'm sure not going to be late for class because of you, Ron!" Hermione said with a withering glare before she stomped off. Harry rolled his eyes, gave a dramatic sigh and a commiserating shrug for Ron's sake and followed after her. Another crisis averted.

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oOoOoOoOo

By the time they got to the Ancient Runes classroom, Hermione had calmed down again. However, she kept giving Harry odd little sideways looks that he found impossible to interpret. He somehow got the feeling she wasn't actually happy he was there, which didn't make any sense. Shouldn't she be _pleased_ he was more studious and had switched from the useless subject of Divination? In the end he just shrugged it off and concentrated on the class instead, diligently taking notes. That at least got her approval.

Afterwards they met up with Ron for Transfiguration. Only somehow he'd lost Hermione on the way, and then she was there with Ron already. He could honestly not see how she had managed to get ahead of him. At least not without being seriously out of breath. Which she wasn't. It was … a puzzle. Especially combined with that feeling of displeasure he'd caught of her earlier. Definitely something to keep an eye on. He suspected it was also connected with the increasing stress she seemed to be under this year.

At least Transfiguration passed without any trouble, and he braved the Great Hall again for lunch afterwards. Thanks to the Prophet's recent enforced silence, the other students were losing interest in Harry. Also now that classes were in full swing, homework and keeping up with assignments took up an increasing amount of their attention. He still got some stares, but it was nothing compared to last week.

Ron also provided a lot of distraction with his continuous grousing about Divination. By now Harry was quite glad he'd escaped Trelawney, who seemed to positively delight in predicting doom and destruction. And he couldn't help thinking he would have made a prime target for her. Instead it was Ron she was focusing her predictions on, and the red-head was getting really tired of her harping on about the Grim. Which was probably another reason why he was so grouchy, and less tolerant of Hermione than usual.

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oOoOoOoOo

There he was. Finally! His godson, flanked on one side by the red-headed boy he'd seen with the rat in that photo, and on the other by a girl with hair that had … personality. The kids were obviously on their way to Hagrid's hut, passing by the green-houses without giving them more than a glance.

Sirius had managed to get on school-grounds without any trouble, much to his surprise. He'd expected the tunnel from the Shrieking Shack would have been closed off after Remus no longer needed it. But no, it was still open, and now provided the animagus with a perfectly easy way to get into Hogwarts. It was almost anti-climatic. No challenge at all.

The real challenge turned out to be the soggy weather, which kept the students indoors over the weekend. It also made his hide-out a miserable place, because it was cold and the moisture got into his fur, which was unpleasant to say the least.

Still, far better to be soaked in freedom than dry in Azkaban. And the cold caused by autumn weather in Scotland was infinitely preferable to the cold caused by Dementors.

On Monday morning he returned to lurking around the green-houses. This gave him a good view of the students going to Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, which took place down by Hagrid's hut. And now after lunch he'd finally spotted his quarry. Well, at least his godson. There was no sign of the damn rat. But if the traitor was pretending to be a pet, he was no doubt hiding out in the kids' dormitory.

Where it was warm, and dry, and safe. And the damn rat deserved none of that. Sirius snarled in anger.

Which was a mistake, because the red-head heard him and looked in his direction. The kid then paled impressively, making his freckles stand out starkly, and started to hyperventilate. He croaked something which had the other two whip their heads around and stare at Sirius, too.

"That's not a Grim, Ron. That's just a large … black … dog," the girl said loudly, trailing off as she heard what she was saying.

His godson had grabbed the red-head's shoulders and was patting him on the back, trying to calm him down. But his gaze was on Sirius, and there was a frown on his face. Followed by a glimmer of recognition in those green eyes. He certainly didn't look happy to see Sirius, and the animagus' sharp eyes didn't fail to notice how the kid surreptitiously slipped his wand from his sleeve.

This was not good. He didn't want to get attacked by his godson. Fortunately the red-head chose this moment to actually _faint_, which distracted his two friends enough that Sirius managed to slink away. By the time they checked for him again, the dog-animagus was well hidden behind the green-houses.

Really, it was almost comical that someone should _faint_ at seeing him. But he couldn't get over the wariness James' son showed when confronted with him. Of course the kid didn't know who he was … though he'd hardly react any better if he did. If Harry knew who Sirius was, all he'd see would be the betrayer of his parents, and a mass-murderer. And unfortunately it looked like he wouldn't be able to ingratiate himself with the kid as a dog either.

Ah, well, that was his first plan shot down then. And since the cowardly rat was staying inside, he would eventually have to brave the castle itself.

Or maybe find some other students to cozen up to. Preferably some Gryffindors. Yes, that might work. Surely not every Gryffindor was afraid of dogs, or thought he was a Grim. He let his tongue hang out in a doggy grin. Seriously, kids these days. Mistaking him for a Grim. And _fainting_!

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oOoOoOoOo

Dear Bill,

I hope it is okay that I write, but you said I could. Anyway, a lot has happened since school started. I am sure you have seen some of the fallout yourself. We are trying to figure out who is behind it, and make it stop, but the main damage is unfortunately done. On the plus side, I am really finding out who my friends and supporters are. And that there are more of them than I thought, and people willing to help me.

Fortunately, that number still includes Ron and Hermione. I rather messed up by not telling them. Hermione didn't take it too badly, but Ron was another matter entirely. He was pretty hurt, and I am not proud of that. And I really, really should have told Ron about ditching Divination. I have never felt like such a cad before. He has mostly come around again by now, though. In a way that horrible article in the Prophet actually helped with that. Guess that is one silver lining, at least.

Anyway, back to the main reason I am writing to you. I have already told Dumbledore about this, and he will take care of getting her to see a healer and stuff like that. But I feel someone in your family should also know. However, I am not sure your parents could deal with this as it is. You see, it is about Ginny. You know how I 'rescued' her last year from the Chamber? Well, it seems that because of this, she saw me as a kind of hero. As her personal saviour. And so when I changed my name and my looks, it affected her. Badly.

Because I don't think she has gotten over what happened to her last year. I mean, she was possessed by Tom Riddle. That is Voldemort's real name, in case you didn't know. She told his old diary all her secrets. In return, he made her do so much horrid stuff. I suspect she also blames herself for the attacks on the students. I know I would in her place. I mean, it is really lucky no-one actually died. That could have happened so easily. And she nearly died herself, too.

Bill, I fear she is a real mess. She only seemed so … normal afterwards, because she clung to me as her hero and saviour! But now I am not anymore, and I don't know what she is going to do if she doesn't get help soon. Proper help. I will try to be there for her, but what do I know about this kind of stuff? On top of that, she has taken to avoiding me like the plague. So there is not really much I can do, since I can't undo the changes to myself. So please, if there is anything you can think of ...

I feel a bit guilty about this, too. I know it wasn't my fault, as such, but if I had remained Harry Potter …

Well, it wouldn't have fixed things for her. So maybe it is actually better this has happened. It is just that I feel I should have noticed something earlier. Then again, no-one else did, either. And I am not trying to blame your family here. But you had such good advice for me in summer, that I hope you can help her as well now. I also think she respects you, so maybe she will listen to you.

Dumbledore thinks we shouldn't tell your parents just yet, or at least not until we know what exactly is wrong and how to help her. I believe he is right about that. Your mum tends to be a bit … excessive in her reactions. I don't think Ginny needs that right now. And while she is at school they couldn't do anything for her anyway, so best not to worry them for now? But as I said, one of you ought to know, and I feel that you are the one most likely to be able to help, too.

So altogether this last week has been rather stressful. I hope we will get a handle on things soon though, and that it will all quiet down. By the way, have you heard from Dumbledore yet about the Chamber? It would be great to actually see you in person.

Anyway, take care, and I hope I didn't ramble on too much.

Hoping to hear from you soon,

Yours sincerely,

Harry Evans

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P.S.: Thanks for talking me out of taking Divination! From what Ron tells me about it, it is really useless, and the teacher is a horrible twit on top. She keeps predicting a Grim for him. So today when we spotted this big black dog on our way to Care, Ron actually fainted! Can you believe that? And I am enjoying Runes so far, so I am glad I made the switch.

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oOoOoOoOo

AN: In case anyone wonders about the excessive (and somewhat aggressive) quarrelling between Hermione and Ron: There is the good old Scabbers/Crookshanks conflict, but Hermione is also stressed because of the time-turner (and until she settles into a bit of a routine with it she will continue to be so) and because of Harry (she is researching law for him in her free time). Ron, on the other hand, is stressed because in this story _he_ gets picked on in Divination, he worries about Scabbers, and he is also still unsettled because of the whole thing with Harry keeping things from them.

And poor Harry … constantly thinking about how he shouldn't keep so many secrets … and yet he keeps doing so all the time. I can't help myself, though. It just keeps happening! But at this rate, he is definitely going down the very slippery Slytherin slope. Especially when you add in all the (more or less subtle) manipulations of people he pulls. What can I say, I simply prefer my versions of Harry to be more thoughtfully Slytherin and less horribly impetuous Gryffindor. He can still be brave and heroic with the best of them. Just, you know, _after_ thinking things through a bit.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

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oOoOoOoOo

The last students of the day had finally left the classroom. Severus Snape let the door fall shut behind them with a heavy thud that echoed through the dungeons, steadying himself against the door-frame with one arm. He remained standing like this for long seconds, his mind on estimating the time he had between now and dinner.

Enough. Sufficient to read what ... Evans had written in reply to Severus' attempt at an apology. The letter had been burning a hole made of curiosity and uncertainty in his robes all day long.

But he had not permitted himself to look at it until now, when he had some peace and quiet at last. And most importantly, privacy. He certainly had not wanted to read it at breakfast, where any … reaction it might provoke would be visible to all. Nor hurriedly between classes, much less, Merlin forbid, _during_ classes. Unfortunately, on Mondays he had no free periods until just before dinner. Normally he spent that time making a start on reducing the sizeable pile of student's weekend assignments, but today … he had something else to look over.

He finally released his hold on the door-frame, straightening up and stalking through the empty classroom. Everything looked safe enough, and the house-elves would come in later to clean up in preparation for the next day. Sometimes he had students do that, for detention. But today he had handed any detentions to Filch, not wanting to waste his time with watching over rebellious teenagers. Normally he did not mind putting them in their place and making sure to drive the lesson home that they should not misbehave, but … not tonight.

He passed through the door that connected the classroom to his office, where he first pulled out the letter, setting it down on his desk. Next he went to his drinks-cabinet, permitting himself a tumbler of golden liquid that gave off an enticing smell. He inhaled the aroma deeply before taking a fortifying sip. He then turned around, put the glass carefully next to the scroll and sat down in his comfortable chair. And glowered at the innocent looking scroll with its broken blob of cheap sealing wax.

Damn the brat.

How dare he.

Though he really only had himself to blame. Maybe he should not have told the brat about his friendship with Lily. But … he had seen no other way to explain himself. Maybe Dumbledore was right and Evans _was_ more mature than Severus considered him. Because he certainly had picked a loaded … word as the password for the spell.

Something that would be instantly obvious to Severus, yet only have meaning for him. A name that the brat _knew_ would be painful … but also remind his teacher of why they were communicating in the first place. And the brat was definitely aware of what he was doing. That had become very obvious the moment he just stared back coolly when Severus glared at him at breakfast.

So either … Evans had changed that much over the holidays … or he had always been like this, and had simply hidden it well … or he, Severus, had been too blind to see what was there … or rather been blinded by old hatred.

Or all those reasons, possibly.

He sighed in vexation, finally picking up the scroll and letting it unfurl. Which exposed a page of scrambled, meaningless lettering, with one short legible phrase added on top. He stared at it with a bitter smile, before he took out his wand to deliver the required tap. Speaking her name. Lily.

He watched impassively as the letters resumed their proper form. At least the boy's new Calligraphy skills made sure the _form_ was pleasant to behold. The content, however …

He started to read slowly.

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oOoOoOoOo

Severus was picking moodily at his dinner, alternating bites with discretely watching a certain Gryffindor. He knew he was lousy dinner-company tonight, and after a couple of abortive tries Minerva had given up on him and was talking with Albus instead. Fortunately, his other side was free today of any company expecting conversation. He cast an experienced eye along the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was holding court as usual. Overplaying that 'wound' of his for all his worth. He kept his disgust at the boy's overdone act off his face, instead merely nodding coolly when a few of the students looked up to catch his eyes.

He took another bite of tonight's excellent roast, but the food simply could not hold his interest. His restless gaze once again returned to its preferred quarry.

There was one thing he had definitely learned from the boy's letter.

Which was the fact that Lily's son certainly had the fine art of successful emotional blackmail down pat. Because you did not come out and say: 'If you love me, you will do this for me'. Or: 'This is your fault, you owe me'. You simply did not _accuse_ openly. That was … much too crude. Obvious. Inelegant. Nor did you make _demands_. Instead you stated your grievance in an inoffensive way, and then made a request, or even merely hinted at something you wanted.

And then you piled on the guilt-trips for good measure.

Of course, it possibly required a Slytherin to catch all that. But in Severus' eyes, the boy had clearly accused him: _You_ spoiled potions for me. _You_ never gave me a single chance. _You_ let others pick on me, and have been totally unfair yourself.

Followed by the well-placed guilt-trip of reminding Severus what miserable guardians the boy had, who were certainly not providing him with a supportive environment. And how Hogwarts continued to fail him by not making sure he even _had_ the required learning materials.

So yes, he owed the boy more fairness. Or scratch the 'more', he simple owed him _fairness_. And in all fairness, the support the child had been missing so far. After all, Severus had simply assumed 'Potter' had been too lazy to even crack his books open. Yet now that he knew the boy never had those books to start with … the onus was clearly on Severus.

Since the boy had made it obvious that he would like to start afresh with potions … perhaps some remedial lessons might be in order. Both as a good cover for talks … and for real. He could make sure the boy finally knew all the basics properly. And do so in an atmosphere actually conductive to learning. He probably would never have been able to do that for James Potter's son … but teaching Lily's child actually held an appeal. And _Mr. Evans_ seemed very much his mother's son these days.

As for telling him about Lily … that would be painful, yet fitting penance, in a way. And possibly something where they might also find common ground.

He realised he had been staring at the boy too long when he found the Gryffindor looking back at Severus, one eyebrow raised in obvious question. Which would not do at all. This was not like him, to be so distracted by his thoughts. But never let others see your weakness, indeed. So he simply inclined his head minutely and returned his attention to his plate, devoting the next minutes exclusively to finishing the rest of his meal. Afterwards, he eschewed the usual sticky desert for a simple tart apple.

While his fingers were occupied with removing the core and cutting it into neat slices, his gaze wandered back to the Gryffindor table.

Just in time to see the twin-terrors walk up to their little brother, where they proceeded to put on quite a show. Something must have happened, because both of them put their hands dramatically to their brow, assuming an expression that would have done any swooning maiden proud. After which they both promptly pretended to faint.

The know-it-all immediately started chiding them, while Mr. Weasley the younger looked highly offended … and also close to tears. At least to the experienced observer, most people would merely have seen him go red in the face and look apoplectic. Evans appeared to be trying to stop the spectacle … though there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Which he was taking pains to hide from his friend. James Potter had never hesitated with laughing at his friends, for all that they stuck together like bad apples otherwise.

At that point the twins 'revived' themselves … and repeated the whole show.

"Oh dear, what are they doing now?"

He really did not envy the witch her duty as head of Gryffindor. They tended to be loud, boisterous, and far too undisciplined. And when you added someone like the twins into the mix … it was a real disciplinarian's nightmare.

"I have not got the slightest idea, Minerva, but surely there is nothing unusual about the twin-terrors making fun of their brother?" he pointedly asked his colleague, never taking his eyes from the unfolding drama.

Because said brother seemed to have had enough, and was currently attempting to throw himself at the twins, hands raised in fists. His face was red, and screwed up in a grimace. His two friends were trying to restrain him, while the twins simply laughed at their brother's struggles. Something unpleasant twisted in Severus' breast at observing that scene. He did not want to have to see himself in Weasley's place, of all people ...

"You should go break that up," he told her harshly. "Please feel free to assign the terrors detention with me … tomorrow evening. It is high time those two were taught there is a fine line between pranks and good-natured ribbing, and bullying."

He heard the scrape of a chair beside him as the head of Gryffindor got up from the table.

"As long as _you_ realise that bullying can take many forms, Severus Snape," she said, lingering for a moment behind his chair.

"Yes, Minerva. I think I do so … now."

"Good. In that case I _will_ take you up on your detention offer," she said firmly, sweeping off to sort out her unruly Lions.

He stared after her, and involuntarily his eyes sought out Lily's son again. For he really was that. Not much of a Potter at all. The boy was also proving to be quite subtle, and underhanded in a way which would have made a Slytherin proud. Although it pained Severus to admit it, Lily's son was humble instead of arrogant, as well as fairly quiet and polite. And not someone who enjoyed the pain or humiliation of others.

The boy also knew how to present his thoughts, which had been altogether far too mature. The letter had told him many things, though some had only been inferred from what the boy had _not_ said. What he certainly had not said was that he forgave Severus. The boy had merely offered his understanding and sympathy. There were also strong hints that it was entirely up to _Severus_ to prove that he wanted to do better, and earn the boy's trust. Well, he had not expected to be forgiven outright, had he? Still, it was obvious he was being given a chance.

All in all, young Mr. Evans showed that he clearly was not stupid. He also demonstrated far more subtlety and understanding than Severus had given him credit for. Not that he had ever given the child any credit, of course. Which also meant Albus was possibly right about him being ready to learn … more. Which would be … interesting. However, by now he seriously doubted the boy would run screaming after learning his teacher had been a Death Eater. Potter might have done that. _Evans_, he suspected, was more likely to try to subtly blackmail him.

Just then the eyes of both twins snapped up to the teacher's table, both staring at Severus with open mouths and expressions of surprise. He smirked back at them, picking up one of his apple-slices and biting into it with some relish.

They paled simultaneously. Severus' nasty smile grew wider. He was looking forward to that detention.

Normally, detention had no effect on those two habitual miscreants. But he rather doubted any sons of Molly's would want to be considered as _bullies_. That gave him something to work with.

It was high time that instead of seeking ineffectual revenge against past bullies, he worked against present ones. Which included keeping not-quite-yet bullies from going over that line. His eyes went over the Slytherin table again, especially lingering on Draco and his sidekicks. Maybe a few lessons would not come amiss there, either …

And he ought to keep a closer eye on several other members of his house as well. The good old threat of: 'do not draw attention to us, if you wish to consider yourself a Slytherin', fortunately still tended to work on most of them.

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oOoOoOoOo

"Ah yes, Minerva. Just the witch I wanted to speak to," Albus said with a charming smile, offering the woman his arm as he caught up with her in the corridor.

Minerva gave him a suspicious look but allowed him to lead her towards his office.

"What are you up to now, Albus? It's not as if you haven't been talking to me all during dinner?"

"Me? Oh, nothing. Nothing at all," he replied quietly, suddenly feeling all his years.

She stopped and turned to face him, looking concerned.

"Are you all right?" she asked, obviously catching onto his mood.

"No. Sadly not. Because once again, I did nothing. And saw nothing."

"Whatever _are_ you talking about?"

Albus sighed deeply and shook his head, simply gesturing for her to precede him up to his office. Once there he started to pace restlessly. Fawkes trilled softly from his perch, sensing the distress of his wizard.

"I am talking about the fact that once again, I have failed one of the children. Namely, young Ginevra Weasley."

"How … I mean, what is going on?"

"Nothing new, really, which is the bad thing about it."

The witch crossed her arms, looking irritated with his continued dithering. "Explain yourself," she ordered curtly.

"Of course, Minerva. It is just … recently I keep discovering my own failings … and how badly I hurt someone because of them. Or rather that because of my … ignorance of pertinent facts, someone continues in pain when they should have received help."

Minerva's brow wrinkled in confusion. "But whatever is wrong with Miss Weasley?"

He gazed at her sadly, pausing in his pacing to scratch the crooning phoenix behind its crest.

"It took Harry to find out she is still suffering from last year's happenings. Consider this, the poor child wrote to _Tom Riddle_ all of last year, and _you_ know yourself what kind of twisted mind-games he was capable of even when he was young ..."

The witches' eyes had grown wide in horror, and her hand rose to her throat in an unconscious gesture. "Oh, Albus ..."

"And then, of course, he also possessed her and forced her to attack other students. Leaving her only blanks in her memory. In the end he nearly killed her, too." He suddenly focused his gaze on her sharply. "Tell me, what made us assume she would simply bounce back from all that with no help whatsoever?"

A shocked gasp was his only answer. He turned his eyes away again, and resumed his interrupted scratching of the burnished red-gold feathers.

"Yet we all noticed … nothing. For which dear Harry now blames himself as well, because apparently she managed to compensate her hurts by turning him into her hero. Her personal saviour. But all his recent changes robbed her of that. And thus the boy feels guilty."

"The poor bairns ..."

"Yes, Minerva. They are. Because we all neglected to think just how traumatic this must have been. For both of them, really, because while Ginevra was being manipulated, Harry had to deal with being thought the Heir of Slytherin and perforce, the perpetrator."

"So what are we to do now, Albus?" her voice sounded desolate.

"Well, Harry is already going to see Healer Oakley in his detentions. I believe he starts tomorrow? Excellent," the old wizard declared at her nod. "I considered putting him on Ginevra's case as well, but after Riddle I suspect it might be easier for her to unburden herself to a female. I will arrange for this, but I need you to assign her … extra tuition, or something. A time when she can meet with her counsellor without attracting attention for it."

"Aye, the poor girl does not need everyone to know she is having to see someone."

"Exactly, Minerva. For the time being, we will also not inform her parents."

"Why-ever not? Surely Molly ..."

"Is probably not the best person for Ginevra at the moment. Especially since she did not say anything to her mother until now … and given how … strident and over-mothering Molly can be."

The witch pursed her lips thoughtfully. "You may be right. Yet we cannot keep this from them indefinitely ..."

"I had not planned on doing that. Just for a few weeks. Until we know what we are dealing with, and Ginevra has become a bit more … settled."

"Oh, all right. Was there anything else you want me to do … ?"

"Keep a close eye on them, please. Most of all make sure neither of them is harassed, especially Harry. After that deplorable article ..."

"Aye. He hardly needs more on his plate. I shall do my best, but he is not easy to keep track of ..."

"I am quite aware of that, Minerva. Nor does he trust you overly much at this point, I fear."

She looked chagrined. "I dare say I deserve that. I will do what I can. But let us hope Miss Weasley does not attempt to make herself scarce, too. Distancing herself from everyone would be the worst thing she can do."

"I know. Sadly, that is what she is doing at least where Harry is concerned. Still, all we can do is provide what help we may … now. And be more observant in the future."

"Aye. I really should keep a closer eye on the whole of my house, but … there is never enough hours in the day, Albus!"

"Maybe we should finally hire a secretary to deal with most of the paperwork," the headmaster mused.

"I have only been telling you that for _years_!"

He coughed uncomfortably. "Well, the Board of Governors has been adamantly against funding such a position."

"How much would it really cost to pay for a secretary, given that we could include room and board for free?"

"Actually … probably not all that much," he speculated.

"So go and hire yourself a private secretary! I believe you can easily afford one."

"You know … I might just do that ..."

"Do so. And then I am going to happily pile most of the deputy's work, which seems to be _all_ paper-work by the way, on whoever poor person you pick."

"In that case, why don't I leave the hiring up to you?" he said, smiling innocently at her.

She sighed resignedly. "Oh, all right, you old conniver. As long as I get to reap the benefits!"

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oOoOoOoOo

"Ah, Remus, good of you to come," Albus said softly, gesturing invitingly at one of the comfortable armchairs in front of the fire-place.

"Of course, headmaster. It was no trouble at all. What did you want me for?" the young teacher asked with a smile, settling down in the indicated chair and accepting a cup of tea gratefully.

"Oh, nothing urgent, dear boy. But I fear I need to … give you a word of warning."

Remus blinked in surprise, setting his cup aside carefully. "What about, sir?"

Albus sighed, turning his face away and fiddling distractedly with his beard.

"Harry … " he began a bit hesitantly. How did you tell a man that the son of his best friend might not react well to being told about his father, because he had just found out said father was anything but a saint while growing up?

"There is nothing wrong with him, is there?" Remus asked with evident concern.

The old wizard drew a deep breath … and exhaled it again. "No. No, there isn't. Not as such. But … Harry … has recently learned a few things about his father … _and_ his father's friends … which cast him in … less favourable light than previously."

Remus' face grew blank. "I assume Snape told him?" he asked tonelessly.

"Severus did, indeed, tell Harry certain things … in an attempt to explain himself and _apologize_ to the boy," Albus pointed out, feeling uncomfortable. His loyalty was decidedly divided in this matter. "However, I was then forced to confirm everything Harry was told," he added with a forthright look at the younger wizard.

Remus blinked again. "You were?"

"Yes, because _nothing_ Severus told him was anything but the simple truth. Nor did he even say that much more than he has been saying about James Potter all along. Just … that you used to gang up on him. And that he used to be Lily's friend, and lost her to James. And … that he nearly died because of you. He did _not_ tell Harry the details of that," he added quickly at seeing the horrified look in the other's eyes. "So your … furry secret is safe."

"However, since Harry himself sadly has plenty of prior experience with bullying, as he was his cousin's preferred victim … who apparently loved to gang up on Harry together with his friends … he is not likely to take his father's side in this."

"No," the younger man said faintly. "Likely not. And … from that perspective what we did … was really not so good. Not that we ever thought of it as bullying," he added, flushing uncomfortably. "But I can see how Snape would have thought it as such. We rather did … gang up on him, didn't we?"

"Indeed," Albus said, looking just as uncomfortable. "And the truth is, I am quite at fault in this matter, too. Because I should have reined you lot in more. But I fear I simply saw some high-spirited young men enjoying their lives in times of hardship when I looked at you. I could not bring myself to spoil that … innocence … and thus I did not think enough of the one who was your … victim. I also knew of your troubles, Remus, and how much you valued their friendship. But … I still should have done something."

Remus cast his eyes down. "Yes. You should have. Just as I should have stopped … a lot of it. Especially since I was the one you made prefect."

"It was indeed my hope that you, the most sensible of them, could keep them in line, but ..."

"Those two were never very good at listening to reason, were they?" the young teacher said sadly.

"No. And lamentably … your actions may have helped drive Severus into Voldemort's camp."

Remus paled. "You really think that?" he asked, clearly horrified at the idea.

Albus sighed unhappily and shrugged. "There is no telling. We could play the 'what-if' game until the end of eternity and still never _know_ for sure. But if he had not felt so alone and hopeless and _angry_, because you constantly picked on him and lost him his best friend ..."

He met Remus' miserable gaze.

"We did that, didn't we?" the younger man admitted quietly.

"It might have happened anyway. But I fear you may have helped it happen, yes. And quite a few things would have turned out differently, if Severus had stayed away from Voldemort."

"And Harry … knows all this?"

"He certainly knows you lot rather hounded Severus, and that he feels James stole Lily from him. Now given that Harry was always painted a somewhat … heroic picture of his father ..."

Remus grimaced. "At best, he would feel disappointed," he speculated. "At worst … "

"I do not believe you need to fear the worst. However, when he comes to speak with you, as I believe you invited him for tea?" Albus asked, continuing after receiving a nod in confirmation. "Be aware of this and do not try to tell him happy stories of his father's many pranks. They would likely not be received well at this point."

"But what do I tell him?"

"Most of all … the truth. You might start by telling him about Lily, because you knew her as well, after all. And if you tell him about James … make him human. Show him as a human person, with failings, but also good points. Tell Harry how he turned out later. After he grew up."

Remus nodded slowly. "I see what you mean. How likely is Harry to trust my word, though?"

Albus gave him a measured look, fiddling with his beard again.

"You might have to earn his trust, I fear. I told him you were the least to blame for what happened, but … "

"I understand. I will simply have to do my best, I guess. Thank you very much for the warning, headmaster," Remus said, getting up from the arm-chair and looking around with a lost expression, as if wondering where he was. "You have given me a lot to think about ..."

"Take care, Remus. I have every confidence in you."

"Yes, well, I am not sure I am worthy of it, sir. I seem to have discovered a few failings just now."

"Yet you have the wisdom to recognise the fact."

"I guess so. Well, if that was … all, I should take my leave."

"Yes. Good night, Remus."

"Good night, headmaster."

"It's _Albus_, dear boy."

But the young teacher just gave him a pained smile before he left the office.

.

oOoOoOoOo

AN: I am rather in two minds about the twins … which I guess is fitting since there's two of them. On one hand, many stories make them out as good, supportive friends for Harry. The kind who come up with useful inventions and will stand at his side against all comers. I don't mind those versions of the twins. But I always want to throttle the purely prankster's versions, because I personally consider a lot of pranking to be really bullying. This is also the reason why I am not terribly fond of the Marauders. At least not until they do_ a lot_ of growing up.

Of course there are kinds of pranks that are essentially harmless and fun, especially if they make people laugh 'with' you, rather than 'at'. But the line between the two can be so very thin. And even the most harmless, well-intended prank can hit someone where it hurts. Being embarrassed and laughed at can be incredibly painful, especially for an insecure personality. And when someone gets constantly targeted, especially for reasons such as 'because they exist' … that is just plain wrong. It will also leave a lot of damage, which is why my sympathy tends to be firmly with Severus, even though he made a lot of bad decisions and does not really turn into a very nice person.

As always, many thanks for the reviews! I may not respond to all of them, but I do read and consider (and treasure) every one of them!

oOoOoOoOo


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

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oOoOoOoOo

Dear Mr. Evans,

I am sorry if I caused you unnecessary pain or confusion, it was not my intention to add to your burdens.

However, I truly saw no other way to explain the past, which unfortunately continues to echo into our present. Personally, I usually prefer a harsh truth to a sugar-coated lie. Unfortunately, that did not stop me from lying to myself, and blinding myself to reality. I continued to dwell on the hurts of the past, and thus projected them into the present. It is strange how we sometimes cling to something even though it only offers us pain. But letting go of old resentments, and hate, appears to be much harder than we would think.

Try to do differently from me, Mr. Evans. I know your life has not been the best, and I fear I only added to that. But please, if you are willing to take any advice from me at all, then do not become like me. Look forward, and make something out of your life. Do not let past grievances poison your present and future, like I allowed mine to do. Do not let unresolved pain turn you into the very thing you hated. In this, we are but animals, who blindly lash out at any perceived attacker when we are hurt. I deceived myself in believing I had my past hurts under control. Instead I ended up passing them on to another who was not deserving of it.

And yes, I realise by now you are not your father, and that indeed much of what I perceived about your character was nothing but my own wilful misconceptions.

As for your requests, I find them perfectly reasonable. Though dredging up those memories remains somewhat painful, I would be happy to tell you about your mother. Especially since her sister apparently failed to do so. Knowing how she used to be as a child, this is not really a surprise. She was unpleasant even then, spiteful and harbouring jealousy and resentment. I often wondered how Lily and Petunia Evans could be sisters. They were so very different in character even then. Unfortunately, time and circumstances seem to only have made Petunia worse.

I would also be quite willing to assist you in finding interest in potions again, and would suggest regular remedial lessons. These would additionally allow us to meet without arousing suspicions. I find myself chagrined to learn how woefully unprepared you were for your start in my class, due to the failings of your guardians and the school itself. Unfortunately, my blindness towards you made me think you lazy instead, which did not help matters any. It also kept me from seeing your struggles for what they really were.

In order to arrange a first meeting I would propose a faked detention. I suggest you create a minor altercation with Mr. Malfoy in the next few days, which should not be hard to do. This will allow me to give you a detention, which I assure you, will not be a real one. As I mentioned in my last missive, I need to present a certain front outwardly. Which means, unfortunately, that I will have to continue my apparent regimen of dislike and unfairness towards you.

However, the actual gradings are private, and points taken can easily be restored. I also suspect that insults which we both know to be ridiculous would not cause you real distress. Thus we should be able to work out something suitable for public interactions. In this, we can also count on the headmaster's aid. After all, if I am 'forced' by Albus Dumbledore himself to treat you better, nobody can accuse me of uncharacteristic behaviour. Especially if I am seen gritting my teeth and being spiteful behind your back. The headmaster's orders could also easily explain why I would agree to tutoring sessions.

As for Miss Weasley, Professor Dumbledore has indeed already informed me. However, I would appreciate your input before I attempt to speak with her. I fear that aside from herself, of course, you are the only one with any real idea of what exactly happened to her.

Sincerely,

Severus Snape

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oOoOoOoOo

Harold Evans learned something important that morning. Just because no-one else can _read_ your letter, doesn't mean they can't _see_ it … and get curious about it.

Which may lead to them getting annoyed at you when you don't satisfy that curiosity straight away.

And even more annoyed when you continue refusing to tell them the contents of the letter despite all their pleading.

And it gets much worse when you don't even tell them who it is from, and why it is unreadable.

Especially when the person asking is someone insatiably curious, and willing to use the 'but we are your friends, Harry!' argument. Followed by a well-placed: 'don't you trust us?'.

Which also means you can't just tell them to shove off and get lost. Not when you are already on somewhat shaky ground with them, what with not having told them other important things recently.

So when you still refuse, as politely as you can manage, trying to argue that this is simply a _private _matter_, _until you eventually lose your patience and tell them outright you simply can't tell them yet and to leave it be, _please_ …

They may end up not talking to you, and storm off in a huff. While your other best friend will give you a slightly hurt look and trail after her, leaving you to go to class alone.

.

The moral of the story?

Either don't keep secrets from your friends, or if you do, _do not let them find out there is a secret_ in the first place.

At least not until you are good and ready to tell them about it. Preferably in a way that will diffuse any hurt or anger at not having been told earlier.

This also means that if you want to keep your mail private, keep it hidden altogether.

Another lesson learned from this was: even when your name is now Evans, and not Potter, people still assume you do not need any privacy. Unfortunately, this number also includes your best friends, who in fact will assume so even more, though they may allow you secrets from other people. Just not from them. You are their friend, therefore … you ought to share everything with them.

But when they bring up the 'why won't you trust us' argument, the question wasn't only about you trusting them, but also them trusting you. Trust in a friendship had to go both ways. And it wasn't only about trusting your friends with secrets.

It was also about them trusting you to do the right thing, and to know what to share and what not. To be able to act and think on your own. To actually be able to judge for yourself.

Unfortunately Hermione, brilliant Hermione, _was_ a know-it-all. And worse, because she _was_ brilliant, she tended to think she always knew better than others. But while she had more book-learning than most, and was admittedly very intelligent, that still didn't mean she wasn't sometimes wrong in her judgement. She just didn't like to admit this to herself. She also didn't deal well with things that refused to be neatly compartmentalised. Or went counter to her world-views.

As for Ron, he was horribly insecure. So when Harry kept things from him, of course it made his friend feel bad. He could understand that, empathise with it even. On the other hand, Ron's very … volatile and insecure nature was what made Harry not want to tell him everything in the first place. Because Ron couldn't be trusted not to blow up, and maybe spill something in a bout of jealousy and anger. Ron also held strong opinions, and his insecurity made him want others to share his views. Because he felt threatened when they didn't.

Which meant neither of them was particularly good at dealing with people who disagreed with them, or refused to share information. And it was worse when it was him, their best friend, who did that.

But it was hard for him as well. He had no problem denying other people. Just not his friends. Because, well, they _were_ his friends. They'd been through some pretty horrible things together, and they had stood by him. They deserved more from him. A lot more.

Just not everything.

He simply couldn't tell them everything. Maybe it was his more Slytherin nature that thought it normal to have secrets, and not share everything. Or maybe it was because of his rotten life that he couldn't do so easily. He was simply more … private. Sharing things didn't make him feel _closer_ to others. It mostly made him uncomfortable instead. In his eyes, people who wanted to know everything were not demonstrating their interest in him, Harold Evans, they were simply plain nosy. Or worse, they wanted to find his weak points.

He hadn't grown up with open-minded parents who supported curiosity and asking questions. Or with a family where everybody lived so much in each other's pockets that keeping things hidden was a laughable concept. No, he'd literally been _raised in a closet_.

He'd grown up as the hidden shame of the Dursleys, and had been taught to hide himself and their neglect away so as to not draw attention to his freakishness. He'd also learned to keep what little treasures he called his own a secret … or risk having them taken from him. He'd learned not to tell … because telling led to punishment and loss.

You didn't overcome this kind of conditioning in a mere two years, especially not given how life at Hogwarts had treated him.

Maybe he needed to make them understand his nature better. Which would be hard, without revealing more of his past to them. Ironically, this gave him a greater appreciation of Snape and what the teacher must have felt at having to spill his own past to Harry. But … he could hardly expect his friends, raised so differently, to understand him without telling them why he was the way he was.

He just didn't really want to, most of all when everything else was already threatening to overwhelm him. It was hard to keep a balancing act when everybody kept pulling at him. And he didn't quite feel up to the risk of exposing his past, when he didn't even know if it would do any good. When he had no assurance they would even be able to understand him. Or whether it would change anything.

So for now it was probably best to simply wait until it blew over. Hermione would talk with him again, the very curiosity which had sparked their disagreement would see to that. And Ron … his insecurity at being kept out of the loop could be eased by sharing other things.

Still, in the long run he needed them to understand, or this kind of thing would keep happening.

He rather wished, however, that someone had written a book on: 'Your secrets and you – how to manage having best friends as well.' Because it seemed almost impossible to manage both at the same time.

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oOoOoOoOo

There was a cat. A big, ginger cat. Staring at him, where he was lying hidden in a bush between the greenhouses.

If the idea hadn't been so ludicrous, he could have sworn it knew he wasn't really a dog. Because it then moved closer and … cuddled up to him. Which was downright bizarre behaviour for a cat. No way any cat would do that with a dog. At least not any cat he'd ever known.

But they might do that with a human.

So this was obviously not your average cat. Very likely it was someone's true familiar. And those could be unaccountably perceptive. They certainly tended to be more intelligent than their normal brethren. Still, it was extremely strange to have a cat cuddled up to him, especially since it was now … purring.

It was rather sad to think this was the first time in over twelve years a living body was willingly cuddled up to him. Which reminded him again of just how much he had lost thanks to the sodding, traitorous rat.

Rat. He sniffed delicately at the cat's fur, not wanting to get a claw in his nose. There was a hint of rat about its scent. Like it had been around one. What were the chances this one belonged to a Gryffindor? Not that it would help, of course. The cat could hardly bring him the damn rat, even if he could make it understand what he wanted. Or do anything else to help him, really.

However, the purring was nicely soothing. He started to doze off, indulging in dreams of what he would do when he finally caught the traitor ...

Until his new companion abruptly sank its claws into him and raced off. Startled, he followed his instincts and gave chase, without thinking that this would bring him right out into the open. He came to an abrupt halt when the cat stopped in the middle of the pathway and arched its back, hissing loudly.

"Ah, there you are Crooks. Hermione was looking for you this morning. And your new … friend must be Ron's 'Grim'," a young female voice said from behind him. He spun around to face a slender red-haired girl, who looked rather amused. Despite that, there was a vaguely sad air about her.

"Seriously, sometimes I wonder how that brother of mine made it into Gryffindor. He should be a Hufflepuff with how credulous he is at times ..."

This looked amazingly like the answer to his prayers. Not only did the girl seem friendly enough, she also wore a Gryffindor tie. In fact, if he wasn't mistaken, she was actually one of the Weasley brood who were unwittingly harbouring the damn rat. He put his head to the side, letting his tongue loll out, and tried to look winsome.

"Dunno how you got here," she continued after contemplating him for a long moment. "It's not as if dogs are allowed as pets. You must be from the village, aren't you?" she asked, carefully extending a hand for him to sniff.

After a moment of faked hesitation, he moved closer and did so, finishing by licking her hand with his wet tongue. She giggled and rolled her eyes.

"You sure don't seem feral. No collar on you, though," she added thoughtfully, checking his neck. Something to maybe rectify. If he could make her believe he belonged to someone in Hogsmeade …

He woofed at her to distract her, poking her in the shin with his nose. "But if you have a family, they sure don't feed you very well," she commented. "Small wonder Ron thought you were a Grim. From a distance you look quite the fright. We'll have to do something about that."

He sat down in front of her, looking up hopefully. "That got your attention, huh? You sure seem like an intelligent dog. Well, in case you're still around later, I'll grab some sausages for you at lunch."

He tried hard to appear enthusiastic. "Good dog," she said, patting him tentatively on the head. He gave her his best soulful look, wagging his tail. Given his recent diet, he was not going to argue with a chance at sausages. "I hope I'll see you later then, dog," she concluded, unconsciously wiping her hands on her robe. Well, his fur wasn't exactly dry. "Right now I gotta go to class."

Well, it looked like he ought to forgive the cat the earlier clawing. Sausages and a possible in with a Gryffindor … what more could he ask for?

.

oOoOoOoOo

Hermione still wasn't talking with him, and Ron was sticking with her. So Harry ended up spending lunch talking with Neville instead. That in itself was hardly a burden, despite Neville's tendency to talk about plants. But he could almost feel the disapproving looks his two friends kept throwing him, though when he tried to catch their eye they would look away. Which didn't exactly make him feel better.

And that was the reason why he'd gone to the library by himself after the last class, instead of up to the tower. He badly needed a way to sort out the impossible problem of how to keep his friends while keeping stuff from them.

Unfortunately, there was still not much he could think to do but out-wait their snit. And hope this wasn't the last bristle that had kept the broom afloat. Though even if this incident wasn't what broke their friendship … there would likely be more in the future. He wanted to keep his friends, but he also knew he would end up keeping increasingly more things from them. To reconcile both seemed impossible, as Hermione had a knack for discovering things. Which was great when they were looking into some puzzle together, but bad when Harry was the one hiding something.

He simply couldn't tell them everything, or at least not yet. However, he wasn't sure if they could accept anything less than 'everything'. If they could remain his friends despite knowing he kept things from them.

And his budding peaceful interaction with Snape definitely came in the 'not yet' category. It was all still too new. Too full of insecurities, and not knowing where things were going. His friends' likely reactions would not help with that at all. Because if they found out about it too soon, Hermione would be all gushing about giving Snape a chance and how good it was for him to apologise and everything. While Ron would be doubtful about the 'greasy git's' sincerity, and sprout dire warnings and how nothing good ever came from a Slytherin. Along with reminders how badly the bat had treated Harry in the past.

Harry honestly didn't need another thing where he was torn between their differing positions. The continued quarrels about their pets were quite enough already, thank you very much. Sometimes it was amazing the two of them managed to get along _at all_.

He listlessly ran his hand along the shelving, not really seeing the books themselves. For all he wanted to keep his friends, they tried him badly at times. It was all such a balancing act, and he was already feeling so stressed because of everything else …

And he had the 'detention' after dinner. It probably wasn't the best idea to come to the first meeting with the Healer all wound up and upset. Much better if he went down to the kitchens to grab something there, and tried to forget everything for a little while. The antics of the house-elves should provide some distraction, and they were bound to offer him something he liked for dinner. Yes, much better to avoid his friends for the moment.

After the detention he'd have something new to tell them about, which hopefully should overcome the rest of Hermione's determination to stay cross with him. Add another apology, and maybe remind her he didn't ask to read _her_ letters …

His absent-minded walk along the shelves had brought him to the section on magical creatures, and he found his fingers caught on a book. He took it down and looked at the spine. It proclaimed itself to be about 'Mystical Beasts of Magic'. Interesting.

The Care class yesterday had already reminded him of those 'Wrackspurts' Luna had spoken of. They had sounded rather improbable, and frankly the girl had appeared a bit … out of it. Nice, but definitely not all there.

Well, he had some time on his hands. It was still too early for dinner. Reading about the fascinating animals magic had created, or wizards had imagined, was always a good way to pass the time. As well as a good distraction.

.

oOoOoOoOo

And now it was just shy of seven o'clock, and he was standing outside McGonagall's office. Most of him, that was. His cowardly stomach was once again hiding out in the Slytherin dungeon. Or maybe it had been left behind in the kitchens instead … but no, he was definitely not feeling hungry. The rest of him knocked on the door anyway.

"Come in," McGonagall's voice told him.

He tentatively opened the door, squeezing inside. Feeling very uncomfortable under the stern gaze of his head of house, which softened when she took in his uncertain posture. She was seated in a comfortable chair in front of the fireplace.

"Be at ease, Mr. Evans," she said, sounding almost gentle. "Let me introduce you to Healer Richard Oakley, from St. Mungo's. He is going to help you with … getting your temper under better control."

That was a nice paraphrase for 'you have serious anger-issues'. He looked at the man sitting next to her, middle-aged, nondescript appearance, light brown hair … and the warmest brown eyes Harry had ever seen. He also bore a gentle smile, and exhibited no sign of the usual 'oh my goodness, it's Harry Potter, let's go swamp him' behaviour Harry had grown to hate.

"Good evening, Mr. Evans," the Healer said quietly, in a pleasant baritone voice. "I am pleased to meet you, and hope I will be able to provide you with assistance."

Harry found himself shaking the man's hand, giving him a somewhat strained smile.

"Good evening, sir," he replied softly.

"Now I will leave you two gentlemen to your discussions, as I fear I have plenty of work calling me," McGonagall said with a rueful look at her paper-laden desk. "Please, do not mind me."

The witch nodded at them amiably, got up and moved over to said desk. She began to work with admirable concentration, apparently paying them no attention. Harry followed the Healer's gesture to take the chair she had vacated.

"I have been informed about … certain happenings," the man began delicately, shrugging lightly. "I also read the Prophet. I wish to express my sympathy … and that I understand you are under a lot of pressure."

"Yeah," Harry agreed cautiously. "It's not like I _wanted_ to blow up. It's just ..." he broke off, digging his fingers through his hair in beginning frustration. He hated talking about his problems. And the man was a stranger … even though he seemed rather nice on first impression. Dumbledore had also proven to be a pretty good hand at picking capable tutors Harry could get along with during the summer. So maybe this one would work out, too.

"Sometimes, everything gets too much?" the Healer suggested calmly. "This is hardly something which differentiates you from other people. However, most of them live nice and boring lives. Therefore this may never come to trouble them. Or if it does, it is usually easier to sort out."

"Yes, but I'm not normal! I'm Harry bloody … Potter, even when I'm not, and everybody wants something from me!"

"Indeed, Mr. Evans. That is unfortunately the price of fame. Which makes it even worse, I believe, since you do not actually seek that fame?"

"Heck no, I'd love to get rid of it if I could! All it ever does is give me trouble. And stupid attention that I _hate_! I really just want everybody to _leave me alone_!"

"And of course, those who desire fame themselves, cannot comprehend that you don't?"

"No, why would they? People are so bloody _blind_ it's … "

"Very frustrating, Mr. Evans. I understand," the Healer said, still in that sympathetic, calm tone of voice in which he had led Harry to shout out his frustration. He blinked in surprise, suddenly realising how loud he had gotten. He darted a glance at McGonagall, but the witch was not even looking at them.

"Can you really?" he asked doubtfully, his anger deflating.

"Do you think you are the only one who gets angry? Or frustrated? Who feels mobbed and overwhelmed, and out of their depth?"

Harry shook his head, but he couldn't help feeling strangely resentful. This was his anger. His problems. He did not want them … lessened in comparison with others. Which, when you really considered it, was actually a rather stupid thought.

"I can understand because I have seen this in many forms, to different degrees, in my patients. You are not the only one, though your case is certainly worse than most. Because you do have a … unique position in our world. However, any good observer of human nature learns to extrapolate," he was told earnestly, and those warm brown eyes held his gaze firmly. They were … non-judgemental. Understanding. Comforting. And yet they did not pity either.

"We like to think ourselves singular … but our problems, as well as our ways of dealing with them, do follow _patterns_. They are not the same from case to case … but they are _similar_. Outwardly you may have little in common with say … a housewife overwhelmed by having to deal with all the problems of a constantly feuding family, and gossiping neighbours who criticise her every last little move. But at the root, there may be quite a few common patters," the Healer explained patiently. "Can you see that, Mr. Evans?"

"I … think so," Harry said slowly. The Healer did have a point. It was rather similar in a way … and a lot of the difference was in degree.

"And having the same kind of problems as others, does not devalue yours. When I compare your troubles to those of other people, it is not to make yours seem insignificant or unimportant in comparison. It is to show you the common _pattern _of behaviour. And because the solutions others have found to deal with similar problems might help you as well. If you can work out how to adapt them to yours."

Harry found himself nodding. That actually did make sense.

"I think it would be very good for you to be able to … vent, Mr. Evans. Preferably to another person, of course, and I would be quite willing to fill that role. Especially as I may be able to provide you with some of the fruits of my experience. If you find that too hard, however, you might try writing things which trouble you down on paper."

"All right," Harry said, biting his lips.

"You do not trust easily. But paper does not judge. You do not need to trust it, either. It might also be a way for you to let me or others know about something troubling you. It can be a good first basis for a discussion."

"Yeah. I know. I've already done … something of that kind. Sort of."

It might also be the solution for telling Ron and Hermione why it was so difficult for him to let them know stuff ...

"Another way to vent would be for you to find a room where you are undisturbed, and imagine yourself shouting at someone. Or everyone, really. Especially, if you feel yourself getting close to losing control. Silencing spells are a real blessing in that regard as well," the Healer added with a suggestive wink.

"So … I should … vent?"

"You certainly should not try to bottle it all up inside. Invariably, objects under pressure tend to explode. The same is true for people, I have found," the man's smile was wry. "It is much preferable to let the pressure off before it becomes a problem. A good long rant, be it to a person, on paper or even to thin air is therefore often quite beneficial."

Harry nodded in agreement. The talking to someone was a challenge … though given how easily the Healer had gotten him to talk earlier, maybe not all that much. But the rest he could certainly do. How often had he wanted to just scream at the world in the past?

"Also … the more you express your feelings, the more likely you are to discover the underlying problem causing them. Because rage and frustration are _symptoms_. You can learn to control them, at least to some degree … but that will not cure what really troubles you."

Harry felt dismayed at the thought. But it was true, of course. It wasn't as if a Mind-healer could just wave a wand and everything was all right. Though a small part of him might have hoped for that. Still, it was obvious the man was quite insightful, and he seemed … nice. Someone he wouldn't mind being able to trust. And so far he hadn't even suggested Harry spill his secrets, much less demanded such a thing.

"Now since dealing with the actual causes will unfortunately take time, and you wish to prevent your anger from escaping your control again ..." the Healer continued delicately.

"Yeah. I don't want anyone to think I'm crazy or out of control."

"Therefore, aside from prescribing you regular doses of _venting_, in some manner of your choosing," he continued, and the corners of his eyes crinkled into a multitude of laugh-lines. "We will spend the rest of today's session with me introducing you to some relaxation and meditation techniques."

"All right," Harry agreed readily. That kind of thing he had expected, after all.

"Of course, if you could bring yourself to write something down about the feelings troubling you, and actually let me read it, it would be helpful. However, it is entirely up to you," the man told him gently. "I will never _pressure_ you to talk. And I know trust needs to be earned," he added. "But right now, if you could please lean back comfortably, and relax your posture so that your shoulders are not drawn up and your chest can move freely. I believe we shall start with some basic breathing exercises ..."

.

oOoOoOoOo

"I wish to speak to you tonight about the line," Severus began, frowning at the two miscreants in front of him.

"What … line, sir," one of them asked when he did not immediately speak further.

"The line, the very _thin_ line, between pranking … and _bullying_," he continued, raising forbidding eyebrows at them. "Between making others laugh with you, and laughing at others. Between creating entertainment for everyone … and entertaining yourself at the cost of the humiliation and rage of others."

They blinked in unison, looking surprised. Clearly, that was a new thought for them.

"And what would your mother think, if she learned she had raised a pair of _bullies_?"

"We aren't bullies!" one of them exclaimed, sounding quite offended. Good. It was the ones who did not care who were beyond hope.

"Not yet," he allowed. "Or at least not … deliberately. But as I said, the line is thin. How would you rate what you did yesterday? Reducing your own brother to rage? Almost to tears? Humiliating him in front of everyone?"

"But ..."

"No buts. He obviously did not enjoy it. He was not able to laugh about it. You _hurt_ him. He will likely forgive you, being your brother. But you planted a seed of resentment in him. Beware the fruit of such resentment, Messrs. Weasley."

"We don't understand, … sir," the other said truculently. "What are you trying to tell us?"

"Resentment can turn friends against each other. It has turned even brother against brother. Tell me, does your brother deal well with humiliation? Does he not have his share of insecurities? One instance will hardly have great impact, no. Yet constant repetition might wear down even the greatest brotherly love. And tell me, would you like to be in his shoes? Would you swap with him?"

"But he is our brother!"

"And that makes him a free target for humiliation?"

"Aren't there plenty others, and in your own house, _sir_, that you ought to have this kind of talk with?" one of them asked, his tone approaching insolence. Their looks were also rather accusing. They clearly said, shouldn't you look at yourself?

Admittedly, he was indeed guilty of crossing the line. Still, his motivation had been old rage and hatred stirred up by a too familiar face. They did not have that excuse. With them it was simply familiarity that bred contempt … and that the youngest Weasley was 'just' their little brother.

"No doubt. And I _will_, never fear. However, at the moment it is your actions which are in question. Past attempts to correct your behaviour have clearly failed. Because it is obvious by now there is no punishment that can _deter_ you. Any corrective measure, in your case, clearly needs to be of a directly educational nature. You need to be confronted with the _results_ of what you do."

He paused, giving them a long, measuring stare until they dropped their eyes, looking discomfited.

"Before you, you will find the detention books of all your Hogwarts years, Messrs. Weasley. They contain all your detentions, as well as the _reasons_ given. You will go over them and find all cases where you pranked someone … and were caught. No doubt there were many more such instances, but these will suffice as an example."

Their expressions turned puzzled. Clearly, they did not see this as punishment at all. More like a trip down memory lane, if he judged them right. Reliving past glories.

"And then you will consider, for each and every instance, the effect your prank had on the victims. You will deliberate for each case whether it actually could be considered harmless and fun for all, or if there was any … malicious element. And if there was, how it affected your targets. And whether they really deserved it."

That clearly took them aback. He sighed inwardly. Self-denial was such a lovely thing … until someone made you see the error of your ways. But he saw it as part of his own penance to make sure these two didn't follow too far in the Marauder's footsteps. Because that could not end well. They were in many ways still innocent … but also immature. And thus they had likely never considered the possible results of what they considered fun and harmless.

"In short, you need to consider the _consequences_ of your actions. Once you are finished, we will then go over each and every case … together. And for every one where I cannot agree with your assessment, or find shoddily done, you will write me lines. Quite a few of those."

They paled.

"So I would recommend you take this serious. Because, Messrs. Weasley, it is important you learn this now … before you go too far."

"Too far … sir?"

"Have you ever considered that already people may try to butter you up and play nice with you to avoid becoming the victims for your pranking," Severus suggested coldly. "What name would you give to that?"

They exchanged a long glance, and this one was decidedly uneasy.

"So far you have not committed deliberate blackmail, or extortion, no. At least as far as I know. In fact, you had better hope I never learn that you _have_, because you would not like the result. And yes, that _was_ a threat."

Their expressions turned mutinous. But they needed to consider this possibility as well. Before it happened, however unintended.

"Should I really turn a blind eye to that kind of thing?"

"You do it for your own house, … sir," one of them protested.

He gave them a malicious smile. "Oh, no. I do not. I merely attempt to ensure the offenders_ never do so again._ However, I try not to have any of my snakes publicly accused or punished. Most of the time. If I learned of something truly heinous ..." he trailed of suggestively, giving a dismissive shrug. "Think of it as one of the benefits of being in house Slytherin, the reviled. The suspect. The untrustworthy. Any misdeed committed by a Slytherin tends to be blown up out of proportion, does it not?"

They nodded, unwillingly. But they did have a brain, they could see where he was going.

"In order to stay afloat in the at times hostile climate of Hogwarts, which distrusts one of its houses … someone needs to protect them. And guide them. Most of them are capable of learning. Unfortunately, there are always … exceptions," he shrugged again, indicating wordlessly that some cases were simply hopeless.

"Needless to say, some of those also come with a package of powerful and influential _relatives_. Which means they cannot be dealt with quite as they should be. As well, our esteemed headmaster is sometimes too lenient. A fact the two of you are quite familiar with, I believe," he added, crossing his arms and leaning back with a suggestively raised eyebrow.

This time the look they shared was rather sheepish.

"Therefore, do not accuse me of favouritism when you profit from it yourself. And now, I believe you have work to do," he concluded, looking pointedly at the detention books.

.

oOoOoOoOo

"Hermione? Would you say that you trust me?"

She sniffed a bit, but her expression turned uncertain.

As expected, she could only hold out for so long. He'd gotten pounced on as soon as he returned from his 'detention'. She had wanted to know all about it. It had been a bit tricky to avoid talking about the Healer's involvement, but after all McGonagall had remained in the room with them. So it was mostly a matter of using the right pronouns. And well, not exactly telling _everything_, of course. But he had spent most of the time learning those exercises, so there was still plenty to talk about.

Hermione was clearly taken with the idea of participating and helping with them. Ron, on the other hand, wasn't. However, the red-head had been bought off with the offer for an opportunity to trounce Harry at chess. And Hermione's insatiable curiosity was really the bigger problem anyway.

Time to make use of her current good-will and throw back the 'don't you trust me?' argument.

"This," he took out Snape's letter and shook the scroll in her face with a light scowl. "Is something I need to work out myself. Something you don't need to concern yourself with. I will tell you about it at some point, but right now you simply couldn't help me. So you need to trust me that I know what I'm doing. And I need to know you can accept there are some things I can't … or won't tell you."

"But we are your friends ..."

"And that means I don't get to have _any_ secrets from you? Do you two tell me _everything_? Do I ask you to share everything that happens between you and your family? All your thoughts and hopes and fears? Every little problem you have? Do I ask to read your mail?"

Hermione had the grace to actually blush. "No, but ..."

"I'm not you, I understand. I'm Harry no longer Potter, who still has no right to privacy. Well, let me tell you this now, Hermione. I didn't go to all the trouble to change my name to maybe, just maybe get a bit of privacy from the 'public' … to have to deal with friends who feel they are entitled to every last piece of me."

"This is hardly the same ..."

He interrupted her again. "Of course it isn't. And as your, hopefully, still friend I will share a lot of stuff with you. But as I said, there are some things I need to deal with myself. This has nothing to do with you, really. And if I told you, it's quite likely that Ron and you would turn it into another Crookshanks versus Scabbers dispute. Because I can't see you agreeing on it. Frankly … this," he waved the scroll at her again. "Is hard enough without my two best friends putting me on the spot as well. I don't want this to become another battlefield where I'm caught in the middle!"

He could see her fighting with her curiosity. But she had no real argument against his reasoning. Now to add some outright pleading ...

"Mione, I really, really don't need you involved in this. I promise I will let you know about it once I've sorted things out. But if I told you now, it would just complicate things needlessly. There is nothing about this you can help me with, okay? So will you please _trust me_ and let me handle this without interference and without constantly badgering me about it? _Please_?"

She finally nodded, if clearly reluctantly.

"Now, how about we get back to the discussing the meditation exercises?"

That got her enthusiasm back up … and gave her a fresh target to focus on.

"Of course, Harry. I'll ask my parents to send me some books on meditation tomorrow. You know, at least if we do them together, you won't forget about doing them."

He sighed. So much for her trusting him to get things right on his own.

.

oOoOoOoOo

AN: I am aware that Severus will come across as hypocritical during the detention. However, the scene is from his point of view, and he is still at least partly in denial about his own behaviour. He certainly doesn't like to think of himself as a bully, either. Getting faced with the reality of his unjust handling of Harry has started him thinking, though. The more he actively tries to prevent bullying in the students, the more he has to consider his own behaviour. And that it is not only Harry he was treating wrongly. So it is going to be a progress.

I would like to state that I have no pretensions to a psychology degree. Everything I had the Healer say is simply drawn from my own observations of human nature. I myself had fairly bad anger-issues for several years, and eventually managed to work through them. In those days I filled endless pages with ranting, which my then boyfriend used to call 'my angry writings'. Honestly, nowadays I tend to cringe when I find and read some of them. Because they are that bad. Still, it helped. However, none of the insights I offered here are in any form professionally trained advice.

Thank you for the reviews, some of which were quite detailed thoughts on bullying. While what I write are generally my own thoughts, at times they are filtered through a character's viewpoint. Snape and the twins are especially difficult characters in that regard. Because none of them really set out to be bullies, yet they do step over the line at times. And it is hard to say exactly how much they are aware of it.

However, for me the important question is: what would they do if confronted with the reality of what they are doing? Would they be able to change, or continue with their behaviour? Would they make amends, and apologize, or shrug it off and think themselves in the right?

In any case, do not forget one thing. None of these characters actually exist. They are not real people. They were born as the brain-children of Mrs. Rowling, and then went through a multitude of re-incarnations at the hands of thousands of fan-fiction writers. And all of those writers gave them their own spin, their own interpretation. This is mine. I attempt to create versions of the characters which make sense to me, but I may easily get it wrong. I simply hope my readers will like what I am doing with them.

oOoOoOoOo


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

.

oOoOoOoOo

Another day, another breakfast. This time without ... interesting mail, though.

Well, actually that was not quite true. Of course there were a few more letters for the twin's impending campaign. Oddly enough, the two pranksters were very quiet when he talked with them this morning. Almost … subdued. They kept darting furtive glances towards the teacher's table, or more exactly, towards Snape. It made him wonder what the man had said to them during their detention yesterday. For once, it seemed to have left an impression on those two.

Hermione received a letter as well, which looked to be from Mr. Brandon the lawyer. However, it came to her directly, and so he made a point to _not_ enquiring about it. She would tell him if he needed to know anything it said. He could trust in that … if only because she wouldn't be able to help herself. Whatever it was about, it left her looking very happy. Almost … bouncy. Certainly excited. And since whatever she'd asked the lawyer was very likely connected with Harry's problem with the Prophet, her reaction was rather promising.

But Harry just gave her an indulgent smile and concentrated on his breakfast. She looked disappointed. He simply smiled harder, pointedly not looking at the letter in front of her. She pouted. He ignored it. Some lessons needed reinforcing.

Most of his thoughts this morning were on Snape's letter from yesterday, however. It had been mostly … confirmation. Further apology, as well as agreement to Harry's requests. Which was welcome, of course. And no startling new revelations for once, for which he was thankful. The letter itself had caused him trouble enough yesterday, though he had only himself to blame for that. It also needed no reply at this moment in time. Maybe after their talk. But Snape should know if Harry started something with Malfoy what was going on. If not … well, it was all a kind of test.

And that was the stage they were currently at. Testing the waters. Testing each other. Trying to find out more about the other, while reluctant to give too much away. Only Snape wanted Harry to understand, and possibly forgive him, so the teacher would have to open up to some degree. But since Harry wanted to be understood as well … it was the same, really. Especially as he also wanted to know things only Snape could tell him. So they were in the same boat.

He was also curious about how Snape planned to create a way for them to enact a believable charade of ongoing mutual animosity … while still changing things in reality. He probably should ask the teacher to lay off his friends a bit, though. It would not do for them to become a target instead of Harry … at least no more than they were already. And Neville … the poor guy might do better if he wasn't always such a nervous wreck. Maybe Harry could convince Snape to go a bit easier on him …

While pondering this, he kept an eye on Malfoy at the Slytherin table. Increased activity now indicated his target was about to get up. Time to get this show on the road then. He couldn't help the smirk which crept onto his face at the thought that he'd been _asked_ to start something with Malfoy, and that the guy would have no idea he was being used. And asked by the Slytherin head of house no less. How delicious.

.

oOoOoOoOo

Severus had been watching both Evans and Malfoy unobtrusively for a while now. So when the young Slytherin got up from his table, he was instantly on alert, ready to intervene in case Evans made a move. He had to admit the Gryffindor put up a reasonably convincing display of frantically checking his book-bag before springing up and hastening towards the doors of the Great Hall … where he all but collided with Draco.

The result was certainly quite predictable.

And it was entirely in character for a certain strict potions master to get up and descend on what looked like a nascent fight. Purely to break things up, of course, and assign unfair detentions and point-losses to Gryffindors. Just like always.

"... where you're going, Scar-head. You nearly hurt my arm again, you bumbling savage," he heard Draco whine, cradling his 'injured' arm protectively and looking down his nose at Evans.

Who was currently bent over picking up a few books he'd spilled in the near collision. Which also conveniently hid the grin the brat was sporting from his opponent, but it was perfectly visible from the angle Severus was approaching them. By the time he nearly reached the two boys, Evans had straightened up again … and also had his expression back under control. The Gryffindor offered Draco a saccharine sweet smile, which somehow seemed to instantly enrage the blond. Apparently he had encountered the smile before.

"Sorry, Mini-Malfoy," Evans said in soft, honeyed, and to Severus' ears entirely dishonest tones. "I wouldn't _dare_ do anything to aggravate your most _honourable_ war-wound. It was so totally undeserved, too," he added with a sorrowful expression and a sad shake of his head. "I mean, all you did was not listen to the teacher."

"Don't call me that," Draco almost screamed, going red in the face.

Severus thought he should probably intervene right away, but he also wanted to see this played out. Because it promised to be amusing. So he slowed his approach, though he was sure Evans had noticed him. But then the brat would have been watching for him.

"How about Hippogriff-fodder?" Evans suggested in a perfectly friendly tone of voice. "Which you _bravely_ managed to avoid, of course. Quite heroically, too. And you totally didn't carry on like you were dying, either. Your father must be so proud of you. You really bring honour to your family-name," he concluded gravely, nodding sagely.

Whoever had tutored the brat over the summer had done an excellent job. The young Malfoy heir appeared totally at a loss. But then, Evans' words were an unexpectedly masterful display of nasty barbs partly sheeted in almost but not-actually compliments. All delivered in a contradicting concerned and friendly tone of voice.

He wished Draco could manage something like that. Unfortunately, unlike Evans, the blond really _was_ as spoiled and arrogant as Severus had always accused … Potter of being. As well as much too used to being deferred to. Hanging out with his two imbecile book-ends did nothing to foster any sense of subtlety, either. So this rather clever use of conflicting signals had him stumped. He clearly did not know how to retaliate. At least not verbally.

Therefore the young Slytherin resorted to the true and tried: when words fail, hex them. And once he had his wand pointing at Evans, it was time to step in ... fast. Severus also noted with some disapproval that Draco's wand-hand was shaking with rage. And that red was really not the best complexion for the blond.

"Is there a problem, Gentlemen?" he asked in a bored drawl.

Draco turned around fast enough to almost lose his balance, his red face paling at seeing his head of house bear down on them with a cold expression. Because Evans, who was expecting Severus, had not drawn his wand and was simply watching with a mildly curious look. Which meant Draco was currently threatening an unarmed opponent ...

"Have you been provoking Mr. Malfoy again, Evans?" Severus asked the Gryffindor with a sneer.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I did not expect him to get so upset when I praised his bravery in the face of a rampaging Hippogriff," Evans replied in a conciliatory tone of voice. Not a bad move actually. Insulting someone further while apparently apologizing ...

"Is that so? And what of your name-calling?"

"You mean the Mini-Malfoy? But I mean he is, Sir. And he _totally_ looks like it, too," the confounded brat told Severus with an innocent widening of his eyes and a beatific smile.

Those green eyes of Lily's. With that same innocent expression his friend used to wear when caught with her hands in the proverbial cookie jar. Time seemed to stop for a moment.

"Mr. Evans," Severus finally said sternly, getting himself under control with an effort and scowling ferociously to hide his moment of emotional disturbance. "That will be a detention tomorrow after dinner for your insolence!"

"But what about Malfoy?" the brat had the gall to whine. "He pulled his wand on me!"

"And ten points from Gryffindor for daring to question a teacher, Evans. Now get going before I make it more!"

The brat gave him a rebellious look but scampered off quickly, his two friends catching up with him, casting enraged looks back at Severus as they did. Evans turned back as well for a moment … and flashed him the briefest of smiles. Severus almost groaned. He was doomed. Somehow this most annoying Gryffindor seemed to have lost all fear of his teacher. A consequence of being his mother's best friend as well, no doubt, he reflected glumly as he returned his attention to the other guilty party.

Who was smirking gleefully at the prospect of Evans' detention, his good humour restored since his head of house had once again tilted the odds unfairly in the Slytherin's favour. Or so he thought. Fortunately, one could give detention … without giving detention. Officially, that is. Draco's evening was not looking very promising at all … he just did not know it yet.

"Mr. Malfoy? Please come see me tonight after dinner in my office."

.

oOoOoOoOo

"Oh, Minerva, there was something curious I noticed in today's paper."

"Yes, Filius?"

"Why does Hogwarts offer a secretarial position all of a sudden?"

"Well, you could say that due to some recent … discoveries, Albus has finally become convinced we really, badly need to reduce the drain on our time that the headmaster's and deputy's position are ..."

"How would a secretary help with that?" Severus asked, resuming his seat beside the two.

"They can take care of all the dumb paperwork," she pointed out with a shrug. "Which seems to be increasing all the time, what with new Ministry regulations this, and the Board demanding information about everything that. Plus this will be a secretary privately hired by Albus, who could use some help with the mail from the Wizengamot and ICW as well."

"In short, you both finally realised you cannot do everything yourself," Severus summarized with obvious sarcasm.

"I realised quite a while ago, thank you, there was simply not much I could do about it. Well, I mostly realised it," she added with a rueful twist to her mouth.

"Miss Weasley?"

"Aye, Severus. Her and Mr. Evans. Unfortunately, you don't know what you have overlooked until it comes to bite you … and a lot of what I did not notice was due to too much work and too little time for some of my obligations."

"And there is no-one you could hand over some of those?"

"Who? Who could take over the deputy who would not be just as burdened as me as a result? And there is currently no other possible candidate for the head of Gryffindor on the staff. The only even remotely suitable graduate of Gryffindor is Remus … who is unfortunately not likely to last more than this year, thanks to the curse."

"Aside from all the other reasons keeping him from it ..." Severus pointed out sardonically.

The witch made a face at him but continued: "Aye. But since Albus has finally caved in to the inevitable, I should hopefully soon be able to rid myself of most of this ridiculous paperwork at least."

"I wish they would not keep blocking the hiring of a few teaching assistants … who could also double as tutors when needed ..." Filius put in with a sad shake of his head. "We spend far too much time with grading papers which could be more fruitfully used otherwise."

Minerva shrugged and folded up her napkin, preparing to rise. "You need not convince me, I would welcome such a thing with open arms. Between the Board and the Ministry, we are so hedged in … both with what we can do, and what we are allowed financially … it is quite depressing at times. And unfortunately, while Albus is a dear, he is simply too overworked and frankly … too set in his ways as a teacher to really notice some of the problems."

Filius Flitwick had a speculative gleam in his eyes as he pushed himself off his chair as well. "Maybe we should follow your example and push harder ..."

The witch smiled at him. "Well, at the moment would seem to be a good time for change. It appears some of the foundations of Albus' believes have been shaken … therefore he may finally be willing to accept some more … unorthodox solutions."

"Ah. Well, I wish you the best of luck with your hiring … and I will get back to you on that suggestion," the head of Ravenclaw said over his shoulder, walking off briskly.

Severus looked after him, his head tilted sideways in contemplation.

"Why do I have the premonition you may just have set off a very Ravenclaw kind of revolution?"

"Oh dear. Well, it will be a thoughtful and introspective revolution then, at least."

"And all the more terrifying and unstoppable for it, Minerva dear."

The witch laughed lightly and gave her colleague a smile that was almost fond. "But you know the worst, Severus? Ultimately it's all due to Mr. Evans changing his name."

"Well, it only takes one small stone to start an avalanche rolling ..."

"Aye. I wonder where this one will stop," she mused. "It even seems to have swept _you_ up, Severus. Not long ago you'd have been up in arms at the mere mention of Mr. Evans' name," she concluded, giving him a thoughtful look.

He sighed and made a rueful face. "Yes, Minerva. But then he was Mr. Potter. I find Mr. Evans to be … more tolerable. And more interesting as well."

"So you gave him detention because you suddenly find his presence desirable?"

"Maybe?" was all he offered, walking away with a smirk on his face.

.

oOoOoOoOo

"Come in, Mr. Malfoy, and close the door," Severus told the boy coldly.

Draco looked startled, which turned to apprehensive when he saw his teacher's equally cold expression. Nevertheless the boy complied and came to stand before his teacher's desk, shifting nervously.

"I find myself … disappointed at the behaviour you display, Mr. Malfoy. You continue to fail at most qualities that should be inherent in any Slytherin," he began in scathing tones which Draco clearly had not expected.

"But, Sir ..." Severus' sharply raised hand left the boy open-mouthed.

"Sit. And do not interrupt me," he told his student harshly.

Draco took the chair in front of the desk rather uncertainly. He clamped his mouth shut when Severus gave him a harsh glare.

"You, Mr. Malfoy, sadly lack _cunning_. You scheme, yes, but your schemes lack finesse. Neither are they usually very successful, are they? I believe I need not point to far too many instances where you aimed to get … Mr. Evans in trouble, only to fall into your own trap. And you may _not_ count those cases where I had to step in to rectify matters for the sake of keeping your father … unaware of your failures."

He gave the little prat another penetrating stare that made him shrink back in his chair. The boy's expression was a cross between bewildered and indignant. But he visibly wilted under Severus' glare.

"Furthermore, you lack _subtlety_. A Slytherin does not use a Bludger unless every other method fails, Mr. Malfoy. Much better to dangle a Snitch in front of the target and let them seek their own doom. A proper snake also does not preen in the limelight, but works from the shadows … another concept which seems to escape you," he continued, speaking softly while moving up to the boy and circling around behind his chair. Draco clearly had to fight against the impulse to twist around and follow Severus with his eyes.

He finally stopped right behind the boy and spoke into the young wizard's ear with quiet intensity.

"In fact, the only Slytherin attribute you appear to have aplenty is _ambition_. Which is a fine thing … but only if it is backed by those other qualities. You, by contrast, seem to rely entirely on your father's name, your father's influence and your father's money."

Severus straightened up again and returned to stand in front of the now clearly upset young man. He leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms and staring broodingly at his victim.

"However ... you are still young, Draco. You can learn to do better. To be a proper Slytherin. You can yet learn cunning, and subtlety. To be truly clever and manipulative. You can still acquire finesse and dignity. If ..." he told the boy calmly, his voice now gentle and reassuring.

"If?"

"If you understand this is not something _your father_ can buy for you."

"Oh."

Draco looked taken aback. But there was a glimmer of understanding in his eyes as well.

"Oh, indeed, Draco. As long as you believe _your father_ will fix everything for you, that you only need to dangle his name to win any confrontation, you can never become your own person. And you will ultimately fail at being a Slytherin, as well," Severus said, putting what intensity he could marshal into his voice. "Do you want to be remembered solely for being spoiled? Do you wish to stand in your father's shadow forever?"

"But ..."

"Draco, you need to start being _clever_. To think matters through all the way, and not merely until the first outcome which appears favourable. You also need to start _observing_ those around you. Look to those in our house who are successful and admired. Who are popular and sought after through their own efforts, and not because of _their father's_ name. And much as this might pain you … learn from those who best you," he finished softly, never allowing the boy to break eye-contact. "No matter what house they are from. No matter what their age, or blood-status. In this, the only thing which matters is their minds_, _and what they do with them."

"In order to be cunning, to be clever, to outwit others, to succeed with your plans and to achieve your ambitions … you need to start using your _intelligence_, Draco," he continued earnestly. Willing the child to understand. "And learn some good sense, too. I know you are not stupid. You are quite intelligent. Sadly, those hanger-ons of yours do not challenge you in the slightest. You were brought up with a golden spoon … but this has done you no favours, sadly."

"But surely it is better ..."

"To have nothing to challenge you? To always be told your are the best, merely because of your birth? Those who get given everything, never learn to strive. Or to succeed on their own merits. You are _spoiled_, Draco, and thus your life has always lacked the things capable of developing character and strength."

"Which are?" the boy asked, blinking in bewilderment.

"Hardship. Challenge. Having to succeed by yourself. Everything was always done for you. You never lacked for anything. And sadly this has left you rather … weak. Because you lacked the crucible of challenge to temper yourself in."

Draco just looked at him helplessly.

"I know this is hard to take in. But as long as you persist in thinking it is _your due_ that things work out your way, and that your very birth entitles you to anything … you will fail. You will fall. And the landing may well break you."

"So you are saying I have to … suffer, Sir?"

Severus sighed, resisting the impulse to roll his eyes. "No, Draco. But you need to open your eyes and look reality in the face. And reality is rarely nice, or accommodating. You need to learn to stand on your own feet. You can do that through observation, and emulation, though the best lessons are admittedly usually learned through suffering and pain. However, most of all you need to start _now_, before it is too late. Before you no longer have _your father_ to shield you, in case you fail."

He finally uncrossed his arms and moved back behind his desk. Taking parchment, quill and ink he set these in front of the boy.

"I want you to think about what it truly means to be a Slytherin. And then consider in which way you do … or do not … embody these qualities. And how you might express them better. As well as who, in our house, should be your role-models. And what about them you should emulate."

He nodded towards the writing-implements on his desk. "You have two hours. And afterwards … we shall discuss your efforts, Draco."

He really hoped it was not too late for the boy already. Too spoiled, too used to getting his way. Too brain-washed, as well. But at least he _had_ brains … it would be up to Severus to coax some original thoughts from it. And maybe incite another kind of rebellion in the younger Malfoy.

.

oOoOoOoOo

"Just your luck mate, to run into Malfoy. And the greasy git naturally had to give you detention, too," Ron commiserated, bending down to refill Scabbers' food bowl. "He's probably been waiting to do that."

Harry fought back a laugh. Of course Snape had been waiting to give Harry a detention. But if Ron knew exactly _why_ … he might have a stroke. Unfortunately, Harry had no clue how to slowly reduce Ron's resentment and dislike of the teacher … when said teacher wasn't going to act all that differently towards them. So one day the red-head would be getting quite a shock. It seemed almost inevitable. He turned sideways on his bed, watching absent-mindedly as Scabbers crept out from his latest hiding place to sniff at the bowl before tearing into his feed.

Harry had to admit the old rat really looked under the weather this year. He'd taken to hiding all the time, though fresh food brought him out fast enough. Scruffy, shifty-eyed, altogether unpleasant in appearance … it made him appreciate Hedwig all the more by contrast. Even Crookshanks was way more attractive a pet than Ron's moth-eaten rat. But ... it was Ron's rat. He couldn't really fault his friend for being upset with Hermione over it. No matter how measly a pet the rat was.

"Yeah, well, you know how he is," he replied vaguely.

"Unfair, that's how he is," Ron pointed out indignantly, jumping up on his bed and laying back to glare at the ceiling.

Harry simply shrugged. "Tell me something new," he said dismissively. "Some things never change. Anyway, I have to head back down. Hermione wanted to tell me something."

"I'll come with you," the red-head offered immediately.

"Nah, don't bother, mate. It's just something to do with the lawyer, I think. And the hearing on Friday. You know how she can lecture on that kind of stuff. Bound to be boring."

"If you're sure? I should start on that stupid homework for Divination anyway."

"How's that coming along?"

"She wants us to _predict_ things," Ron explained with a pained look. "Seriously, that woman is totally barmy. Be glad you're out of there. Though I don't envy you the Runes class. Much more work."

"Yeah, well, I quite like it. It's really interesting. And I don't much fancy coming up with predictions for my own death," Harry said with a grin.

His friend rolled over and punched his pillow in frustration. "Don't remind me. Still, gotta do this," he muttered mournfully, grabbing parchment and a quill from his chest of drawers.

"I'll help you when I come back up," Harry promised, getting up and heading for the door.

He descended the stairs slowly, scanning the common room for a certain brown-haired witch. Or someone hiding behind a book. He found both at a small table across the room. As he made his way over to her, he got greetings. And cheerful waves. And people inquiring how things were going. It was such a contrast to last year, when he was the new Dark Lord. Not that he cared much for the _attention_. But at least it was _positive_ attention. He could live with that one.

"Hermione?"

The witch in question looked up at him when he said her name. Still with that gleefully smile. In fact, she'd been in an excellent mood all day long. Which was especially nice after being given the cold shoulder treatment all through yesterday.

"Harry," she acknowledged softly, shuffling over to make space for him next to her. He obediently took the seat beside her, while she retrieved a couple of books and the lawyer's letter from her book-bag.

"So what did you want to tell me about?"

"Oh, you're going to like this," she answered happily. "Though you'll have to check with Professor Dumbledore. But I can't see him object to it ..."

"Come on, you've been teasing me about it all day long," he told her with a smile.

She sniffed. "Your own fault for not _asking_," she said a bit testily.

"So I didn't want to _pry_?"

"Look, I'm sorry I was so … nosy yesterday. But you've turned really secretive this year!"

"I know. And I am sorry for that. It must be frustrating for you. But … I can't help it."

"Can't or won't?" she challenged him.

Harry sighed and gave her a wry smile. "A bit of both, probably. It's just … I will tell you more once I've sorted things out a bit. Everything's going so haywire at the moment, it's impossible at times. Please be patient with me," he finished with an imploring look.

"I'll hold you to that, Harold Evans," she said in a good approximation of McGonagall's stern tones. "Now … I've been looking into laws pertaining to family-honour ..."

.

oOoOoOoOo

AN: Sorry for the cliff-hanger. Well, actually not really. Sometimes you just need a good cliffy or two. It will also remain a cliff-hanger until I'm ready to pull this particular rabbit out of the hat. So … soon. (A word trademarked by various computer game companies promising releases/upgrades/information/new patches and similar. Soon, that is.)

Don't be too irritated with Hermione though, I mean, it's not her fault. As she does not actually exist. It's me, the author, who was making her be so nosy! But yes, I completely understand these feelings of irritation with certain characters one can get when reading a story. However, as some pointed out, Harry is growing up faster than his friends. With his background, I just see him as more mature. Let's face it, being protected and sheltered is good in some ways … but can be detrimental in others. And both Hermione and Ron had a very protected and sheltered upbringing compared to Harry. Merely sharing in some exciting, if dangerous, adventures together doesn't level the playing field all that much in this regard.

The problem is that Mrs. Rowling created a trio of friends who have, frankly, vastly different mind-sets and characters. And not actually much in common. To be honest, I don't quite see how they could have become such utterly dedicated friends in the first place, but that's just how it is in canon. Since I do not want to write a bashing story, however, it is instead largely up to Harry to get his friends to grow up more as well. Because he is the one with the head-start. Fortunately, they want to stay his friends, too, which gives him something to work with.

As always, many thanks for all those thoughtful reviews! They are really appreciated. I probably should start answering them individually, though, instead of trying to address them shortly here, especially if I keep getting such excellent detailed ones.

oOoOoOoOo


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Harry Potter, Friendship, Mystery