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Chapter 3: What You Deserve

The weekend was sunny and fair, which Harry thought was decidedly cruel of the universe. Why did it have to be so nice outside while he was stuck indoors doing homework?

"If you wouldn’t dawdle so much over it, it wouldn’t take you so long," said Hermione. "Honestly, Harry, you’re worse than Meghan."

He got more sympathy from Draco and Ron, both of whom also itched to be outdoors in the gorgeous weather, and both of whom were having similar difficulties with McGonagall’s homework.

"I just don’t get Transfiguration," said Draco with a frustrated sigh.

"We’ve only had the one lesson, Draco, give it a chance," said Hermione practically. "You might like it by next month."

"I don’t want to give it a chance. It’s annoying, and it doesn’t make sense. Give me Potions any day. It’s straightforward; you follow the steps, you get the right result, and you get the same result every time. This kind of thing—" Draco tapped his Transfiguration notes. "—goes seven directions at once. I don’t like it."

"Like it or not, we still have to do it," said Harry, dipping his quill. "Come on, if we keep working we might be done by dinner."

With Hermione’s help, the boys had indeed finished their essays by dinnertime, although Harry suspected Ron of writing large on purpose to fill up parchment space (Hogwarts essays were measured in feet and inches rather than pages, since they were written on scrolls). However, he wasn’t about to call his friend on it; he had no wish to spark a quarrel and make himself miserable again, now that some of his homesickness was finally going away.

Sunday was glorious. Free for the moment from the looming shadow of schoolwork, the cubs played outdoors all day, chasing one another and laughing, pestering Hagrid until he threatened to cook them for dinner. When they returned to the Gryffindor common room after eating their own dinner, a new notice had been put up on the board.

"Flying lessons?" said Ron incredulously, reading it. "Who doesn’t know how to fly?"

"Muggleborns," said Hermione crisply. "They would have thought it was ridiculous to fly on a broomstick before they learned about the wizarding world and Hogwarts."

"Wonder if we can test out of the class?" said Draco quickly, cutting off whatever Ron was about to say. "You ought to get out of it, Harry, you don’t need any help flying. You can do things not even Padfoot can manage."

Harry smiled, accepting the compliment. For the first time, his godfather’s name didn’t evoke a horrid tightness in his chest.

Maybe I am getting used to being here.

He looked at the bottom of the notice and made a face. "You missed a part, Ron," he said, pointing to the line he’d spotted. "Look who we have them with."

"Madam Hooch, who else?" asked Draco.

"No, I mean what other house."

"Oh no," said Hermione unhappily. "Not—"

"Slytherin," grumbled Ron. "Just what we need. They’ll probably try and hex the brooms or something."

"Brooms?" asked Neville, who had just come down from the boys’ dorm. "What about brooms?"

"We’re starting flying lessons on Thursday," said Harry.

"Flying?" Neville paled a little. "I’ve never been on a broom before. Gran would never let me."

"Don’t worry, Neville, you’ll do fine," said Hermione soothingly. "Just don’t panic."

Harry thought his sister was being a bit optimistic. Neville had more accidents than anyone Harry had ever met, even with both his feet on the floor — Harry didn’t like to think about that much disaster-prone-ness, sitting on what amounted to a large javelin, ten feet off the ground and able to move freely. But Neville smiled and looked relieved, and Harry wasn’t about to burst his bubble.

The week passed much as the last one had. The lessons were different, of course, and the homework was just a bit more difficult, but Harry felt he was starting to get the hang of things. He now knew to listen extra-carefully to Professor Flitwick, who tended to become nearly inaudibly squeaky when excited, and he gave up on trying to listen to Professor Binns, the ghostly History of Magic teacher, opting instead to study from Hermione’s utterly precise notes.

Defense on Thursday morning was interesting, as Professor Lockhart had promised, but not in the way Harry had hoped.

"Everyone, take out your copies of Year with the Yeti," instructed Lockhart, "and turn to page 126. Here you see a picture of me, in valiant battle with the abominable snowman of the Himalayas."

Ron slid down in his chair to conceal the fact that he was trying not to laugh. The Lockhart in the drawing had muscles about three times the size of the man in front of them, and was standing triumphantly atop the rather wimpy-looking white furred creature which Harry supposed was the yeti. However ridiculous the picture might be, though, it was still easier to look at than Hermione’s expression of googly-eyed fondness as she listened raptly to Lockhart.

"However, this mere artist’s rendering cannot possibly give you the sense of my ferocious struggle with the creature. Nor, in truth, can the written word portray it. Such a fight must be seen, must be experienced, to be believed." Lockhart bent down behind his desk and picked up what appeared to be a bundle of white cloth. "Mr. Potter, would you come up to the front of the class, please?"

Harry got up and walked forward, feeling a sense of impending doom, though he couldn’t articulate why.

Lockhart beamed at him. "It’s your lucky day, Harry. You get to demonstrate for your classmates the exact methods and procedures I used to defeat the Yeti of Tibul Bankur. Go on, robes off, and then get dressed quickly, so we’ll have time to get through them all."

Harry accepted the bundle which Lockhart shoved at him. Up close, he could see that it was not just a bundle, but a suit — a white fur suit, such as a Muggle might wear to a costume party.

"You can change in my office if you’re shy," said Lockhart brightly. "Don’t keep us waiting too long, though, learning waits for no man... or yeti..."

He chuckled at his own joke. No one else did.

xXxXx

"You did well, mate," said Ron to the fuming Harry as they left the classroom. Harry glared at him, and he flushed. "I mean, as well as you could... I mean..."

"Ron," said Hermione. "Shut up."

"Flying this afternoon," said Draco as if to himself. "Be nice to be on a broom again."

Harry thought about flying, about the glorious freedom he felt when he was airborne, and some of the annoyance and embarrassment inside him ebbed away.

"Fred and George say the school brooms are awful, though," said Ron. "Some of them pull to the left or shake if you go too high, and George swears he got one once that kept rolling over when he tried to climb any faster than a crawl. He finally gave up and flew around on it upside-down all lesson — he almost passed out when he got off."

Everyone laughed, and Harry felt somewhat better.

The flying lesson was scheduled for three-thirty, on the opposite side of the grounds from the Forbidden Forest. The Slytherins were there already when the Gryffindors arrived, spaced out oddly among the twenty broomsticks laid out on the ground. Harry suspected they’d had a look at them and picked out the best ones for themselves.

A shadow fell across Harry. He looked up.

Madam Hooch was circling above them, coming in for a landing. "What are you waiting for?" she barked even before she’d touched down. "Everyone stand by a broomstick, on the left. Come on, hurry up."

Harry picked the closest one and glanced down at it. It looked rather old, and some of the twigs were sticking out at odd angles — with a rush of longing he thought of his own sleek Nimbus One Thousand, in the broom closet at the Den.

"Right hand out over the broom," called Madam Hooch. "Now, all together — ‘Up!’"

"UP!" shouted twenty voices.

Harry’s broom, as he had expected, jumped right into his hand. Hermione took two tries, and Neville eventually had to bend down and pick his up.

"Pathetic, Longbottom," sneered Theodore Nott from the row in front of Neville. "Even Dursley can do better than that. Right, Dursley?"

Dudley Dursley looked surprised to be noticed, but nodded.

"Show him," Nott ordered. "Make your broom come to you."

"All right. Watch this, Longbottom." Dudley held his hand out over his broom. "Up, broom! Up!"

The broom made a little half-hearted leap off the ground, then fell back. Harry wasn’t surprised — Dudley looked rather skeptical that the broom would respond to him, and of course that meant it wouldn’t, Harry knew. You could say magic words and wave your wand all you wanted, but unless you actually wanted something to happen, it wouldn’t.

"Oh, come on, Dursley," snapped Nott. "You really have to mean it. Like this." He dropped his broom to the ground. "Up," he said sharply, and the broom rocketed upward into his hand. "See? Of course you’ll take a little longer to get it, you’re Muggleborn, but you can still beat Longbottom — pathetic excuse for a pureblood."

Neville blushed and turned away. Harry was about to say something he’d probably regret, but Madam Hooch had been working her way around the class showing them how to mount the brooms and now arrived at him, and he didn’t have a chance.

After a little more technical instruction, Madam Hooch stood in front of the class, all of whom were mounted and waiting. "When I blow my whistle, kick off from the ground hard," she said.

"You’ll never do it, Longbottom," hissed Nott.

"Rise a few feet, holding your brooms steady, then lean forward slightly to come straight back down."

"You’ll be stuck on the ground all your life."

"On the whistle—"

"You’re pathetic."

"Three—"

"Baby."

"Two—"

"Squib."

Neville lost control of himself and shoved off hard. He shot skyward, making a few of the girls squeal.

"Come back, boy!" shouted Madam Hooch, but Neville was obviously not able to manage his broom — Hermione had both hands clapped over her mouth as he rose higher and higher — he was about twenty feet up now — forty — sixty — Harry saw his face, white and scared, staring downwards —

Without making a truly conscious decision, Harry was astride his own broom and kicking off. "Potter!" he heard Madam Hooch yell, as if in a dream. "What do you think you’re doing?"

Harry thought it should be rather obvious what he was doing — he was saving Neville. He shot upwards as fast as he could and made it just in time to grab Neville’s wrist as the other boy lost his balance and nearly slipped off his broom. The unexpected weight almost unbalanced Harry as well, but he managed to hold Neville on — he didn’t know how long he would be able to stay on his broom —

Madam Hooch was suddenly alongside them, steadying Neville from the other side. "Good work, Potter," she said, giving him an appraising look with her hawk-like yellow eyes. "Don’t do it again or you’ll be expelled. Let’s get you back to the ground, Longbottom."

Neville nodded and grabbed hold of his broom. Then he looked down, and Harry saw his eyes widen and his face pale. Almost without warning, his eyes rolled back and he slumped over. Madam Hooch grabbed him as he canted alarmingly to one side. "Afraid of heights," she said with a note of disgust in her voice.

Something glittering fell from Neville’s pocket. Harry saw it, and time seemed to slow.

Neville’s gran sent him that, I can’t let it get broken...

Harry dived, racing the glass ball towards the ground, almost instinctively aware of how fast he was going (very) and how close to the ground he was getting (closer every second) — there were girls shrieking somewhere nearby, but he tuned the sound out as distracting — he made the grab just in time to pull his broom’s front end up before it contacted the ground with disastrous results, and he planted his feet triumphantly on the grass, the Remembrall safe in his hand, hearing the class start to cheer —

"HARRY POTTER!"

He jumped and turned around, still mounted on his broom. That tone of voice could belong to only one person.

Professor McGonagall was almost running — no, not almost, she was running without a doubt — toward them. Harry had never seen her run before. He swallowed against a feeling of panic.

I wanted to go home, but not like this...

"Come with me," she said when she had reached them. Her face was stony, and she nodded brusquely to Madam Hooch, who was just bringing her broom in for a landing, the unconscious Neville in her arms. Harry quickly handed Hermione the Remembrall and followed Professor McGonagall toward the castle.

I wonder how much trouble I’m in. Probably a lot. I might not get expelled, but I’ll probably lose points for Gryffindor and get a lot of detentions... lines, or cleaning out her office, or extra homework or something... and she’ll write to the Pack, and I’ll have to sit through one of Moony’s lectures on not being reckless and following instructions...

Harry winced. That’d almost be worse than a month of detentions.

They were inside, climbing the marble stairs, and Professor McGonagall still hadn’t said anything to him. They were heading for the Charms classroom, Harry thought, and wondered wildly for a moment if she was going to have Flitwick hex him so he couldn’t get near a broom — but no, if she was going to do something like that, she would do it herself...

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

"Of course," squeaked Professor Flitwick’s voice. "Go on, Wood."

Wood, a rather burly fifth-year boy, came out of the classroom looking somewhat confused. "This way," said Professor McGonagall curtly, and set off again.

Wood?

As in the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team?

Harry snuck a look at Wood. He knew the older boy played Keeper, and he was built for it — long arms and strong shoulders...

He looked away quickly as Wood’s eyes flicked towards him. He’s probably doing the "famous Harry Potter" bit right about now. I really wish people wouldn’t do that...

Professor McGonagall turned into an empty classroom and peremptorily ordered Peeves, the castle’s resident poltergeist, out. Harry ducked as the mischievous spirit passed close over his head, and a wave of Professor McGonagall’s wand closed the door behind him.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood," she said. "Wood — meet your new Seeker."

Wood’s face lit up. "Professor — really?"

"Oh, yes," said Professor McGonagall with a definite nod. "His family told me how good he was on a broom, but I quite honestly didn’t believe them until I saw what he did just now."

Harry stared at her. Of all the possibilities of what could happen to him, this was one he hadn’t considered. "But, Professor—"

"I know, Potter, first years are not allowed their own broomsticks. We shall find a way around that. Talent such as yours should not be allowed to go to waste. He caught a thing about the size of a Snitch with his bare hand after a fifty-foot dive," she told Wood, who looked as if he’d like to ask someone to pinch him, except that he didn’t want to wake up. "Exactly what we need — I couldn’t look Severus Snape in the face for weeks after that last match with Slytherin, why Weasley had to go and get himself injured in the entrance test for that dragon preserve I’ll never know..."

"You’re just the build for a Seeker, too," Wood told him, looking him over. "Nothing against Charlie Weasley, of course, he was wonderful, but he was just a bit bigger than I like in a Seeker — you’ll be excellent, Potter, light and speedy, perfect for Snitch-catching..."

Fireworks seemed to be going off in Harry’s head. It was all he could do to keep from grinning like an idiot.

"I shall be contacting your family to arrange for you to have access to a broom, Potter," said Professor McGonagall, getting Harry’s attention again. She smiled slightly. "Your reprobate of a godfather now owes me a favor."

Harry wanted very much to laugh at this description of Sirius, but wasn’t sure if it was the best of ideas in front of his Head of House.

"You are, of course, excused from flying lessons from now on," Professor McGonagall went on, "and I want to see you training quite hard, or I may change my mind about punishing you." Her smile grew reminiscent. "Your father would have been proud of you today. And your mother would likely have been annoyed with you."

xXxXx

"You disobeyed an elder, and for this you are rewarded?" asked Siss. "Eggling, it strikes me that your people do not make much sense at times."

Harry laughed. "I can deal with a little ‘not-making-sense’ if it means I get to play Quidditch."

"Yes, I can hear the happiness in your voice. Will you take me with you when you fly? I have always wondered what it would be like to soar as the birds do."

"As soon as I get my broom, it’s a date." Harry sat up on his bed at the sound of pounding feet.

The door of the first year boys’ dorm flew open, and Ron, Hermione, and Draco pelted in.

"Harry, are you all right?"

"That was awesome, mate!"

"Were you expelled?"

"How many detentions do you have?"

"Is she writing to the Pack?"

"What happened?" finished Hermione in a sudden silence. "You look… happy."

"Is anyone else around?" asked Harry, looking behind them.

"No, everyone else went to dinner," said Draco. "Come on, Harry, spill."

"You’re not allowed to tell anyone," Harry warned them. "It’s a secret until November sometime."

"Stop playing with us and just tell us already!" Ron exploded.

"I’m the new Seeker for Gryffindor."

Silence reigned.

And I wish I had a camera. Hermione, Draco, and Ron were standing side by side, all wearing exactly the same expression of open-mouthed disbelief.

"They look like baby birds waiting for their mother to return with a worm," Siss commented from her usual place on Harry’s shoulder.

"Seeker?" said Ron finally in tones of astonishment. "But first years never—"

"I know." Harry grinned. "I’m the youngest player in a century. That’s what Wood said, anyway."

"But if you can’t have your own broomstick—" Hermione began.

"McGonagall said not to worry about it, that she’d work something out with the Pack." Harry scratched his forehead, thinking. "She also said Padfoot owes her a favor now, but I don’t see how…"

"Oh, Harry, you’re so innocent," said Hermione pityingly. "Don’t you know Padfoot’s wanted to see you play Quidditch for Gryffindor for years? The whole Pack has, really. And now you’re on the team a year ahead of schedule — and it’s because of McGonagall. She’ll probably collect by making Padfoot come in and give a lecture or something."

Ron looked incredulous. "No offense, Hermione, but what would he lecture on?"

"Practical Defense skills," said Hermione promptly. "He was an Auror before everything happened. He could be again — Madam Bones from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement contacted him about it — but he wants to keep on—"

"Doing other things," Draco interrupted firmly. It was the first time he’d spoken since Harry’s revelation, and Harry realized he didn’t know what his brother thought about his sudden membership on the Quidditch team…

"Well, if he did give a lecture, I’d go," said Ron.

"Someone call the Daily Prophet," said Hermione, pretending to faint onto Harry’s bed. "Ronald Weasley wants to do something school-related."

"Oh, shut up," snapped Ron. "Just because I’m not a super brain like you—"

"I get a few perfect scores on my homework and suddenly I’m a super brain?"

"No, you’ve been a super brain for years. Now we’re just somewhere where it shows."

Harry caught Draco’s eye and jerked his head towards the far side of the room, away from the bickering Ron and Hermione. Draco nodded and followed him.

"Draco, are you mad at me?" asked Harry tentatively. "I didn’t ask for it, honestly I didn’t, and I know we were always going to be on the team together, but it’s only one year—"

"Harry, shut up." Draco was looking out the window. "I — don’t quite know how I feel," he confessed. "I’m happy for you, truly I am, but I’m also really, really jealous. But I think that’ll go away soon. Don’t worry, I’m not about to stop speaking to you or anything. But I… can’t help wishing it could have included me somehow."

"I wish that too," said Harry, and meant it. Quidditch wouldn’t be the same without Draco, or, for that matter, without Ron. Ever since he had met the red-haired boy, his dreams of Hogwarts had included Ron in everything as a matter of course. He’d always known he wouldn’t share Quidditch with Neenie — Hermione, he corrected himself mentally. Better learn not even to think the other one, or it’ll fall out of my mouth in public and she’ll beat me up for it later. But the other boys had always been there in his imaginings, Draco showing off with the Quaffle as he loved to do, Ron —

Harry realized he didn’t know what position Ron would like best to play — the other boy switched around a lot in their pick-up games instead of sticking with one position preferentially as Harry and Draco did. He was about to ask when his stomach growled, and he remembered it was dinner time. "Is anyone else hungry?" he asked instead.

"Starving," said Ron promptly. "And they’ve got steak and kidney pie tonight, I smelled it on my way in. Last one to the Great Hall’s a broken broomstick!"

xXxXx

"How can you eat that?" Ron asked Draco, who was attacking a large bowl of peanut butter fudge ice cream.

"I like the contrast. The sweet and the salt together is what makes it good."

"Oh, so you like sweet and salt together."

"I think I just said that."

"Why don’t I help you, then." Before Draco could realize what his friend was doing, Ron had picked up the salt shaker and salted Draco’s ice cream.

"Oh, that’s just nasty." Draco took a spoonful of the ruined ice cream and plopped it on top of Ron’s apple tart. "See how you like it."

Ron was about to retaliate with his goblet of pumpkin juice when Hermione bounced a raisin off his nose. "Oy, what was that for?"

"Challenge one cub, challenge all," said Harry, adding a bit of his treacle tart to the mess on Ron’s plate. "Neenie — Hermione, sorry — can I have those if you’re not eating them?"

"Be my guest, you know I hate raisins."

"Then why are you eating oatmeal raisin cookies?" asked Ron.

"Because they’re very good if you take the raisins out."

"Hello, Potter," said a voice Harry wasn’t interested in hearing at the moment.

"Hello, Nott," he answered politely nonetheless, looking over the table at the Slytherin boy, flanked as usual by Crabbe and Goyle.

"What’s the matter, can’t your family come and pick you up yet?" Nott sneered. "Or are they — unavailable tonight?"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," said Harry coolly.

"Oh, I’m sure you don’t." Nott leaned closer. "Very clever of them, keeping it out of the papers that way. Couldn’t have the authorities knowing what kind of — person — has a hand in the raising of Harry Potter. It’s illegal, you know."

Beside him, Hermione made a small sound and drummed her fingers on the table. Harry flicked his eyes down to her hands and saw that she had made the Marauder sign for "I understand."

"I still don’t know what you’re talking about." Harry carefully directed his voice to both Nott and Hermione.

"Would you like me to explain?" Nott made it sound as if he were talking to a five-year-old who was asking why the sky was blue.

"Yes, I think I’d like that very much."

"Not here, though," said Nott, glancing around. "Too many… undesirables." His eyes lit on Ron. "Meet me at midnight in the trophy room. I’ll explain then."

"And if I don’t?"

"Why wouldn’t you?"

"It’s against the rules to be out of our dorms that late. I could get in trouble."

"So could I."

"Swear wizard’s oath," said Draco suddenly. "Swear you’ll show up."

"Oh, if you insist," drawled Nott. He raised his right hand. "I, Theodore Nott, swear to be in the trophy room at midnight tonight, on my honor as a wizard. Happy now, Black?"

"Yes. Very."

"See you then, Potter." Nott turned and went back to his table.

"Would either of you care to explain why you’re forcing me to break school rules?" demanded Harry.

Hermione squirmed uncomfortably and looked at Draco.

"Harry, if we were home, we’d be denning tonight," said Draco. "Right?" he asked Hermione.

Hermione nodded.

Harry counted in his head and realized full moon was indeed tonight. He shrugged. "So what?" he asked. He didn’t see why it mattered if Nott knew they all slept in the same room occasionally.

"Harry, why do we den?" asked Hermione pleadingly. Her eyes flickered to Ron, and she began drawing designs in the crumbs on her plate. A series of crescents, Harry saw, getting progressively fatter and fatter until a full circle was achieved…

"You think he knows about Moony," Harry said, suddenly comprehending.

Draco nodded, his face grim. "He must. That’s the only reason he’d say things like that."

"How did he find out?"

"His father probably told him," Hermione said, crumbling a cookie in her hands.

"How did his father find out, then?"

"Same way Lucius Malfoy did," said Draco with bitterness in his voice.

Harry growled a little. "Wormtail."

"You know, I don’t understand a word you’re saying," said Ron a bit plaintively. "If you want me to go away, I will."

"No, it’s all right," said Harry, rubbing his forehead. "Sorry, Ron. That was rude."

"Can you tell me what’s going on?"

"Nott knows a secret about us," said Hermione, choosing her words carefully. "It’s not a problem for us, but it could cause problems if other people know about it."

"What do you think he wants with me?" asked Harry.

"Probably wants to blackmail you," said Draco. "Make you do something or give him something."

"Or get you in trouble," said Hermione. "If Filch caught you out of bed that late, you’d be in huge trouble. And after you just broke a rule today — I know Professor McGonagall let you off, but she might regret it if you break another rule tonight…"

"But I have to go," said Harry. "That oath…"

"Is only binding on Nott," interrupted Draco, grinning. "You didn’t swear, Harry. You don’t have to go anywhere."

"But I said I would," objected Harry.

"No, you didn’t," said Hermione blithely. "Nott just thought you did. You didn’t agree to anything, Harry. You don’t have to go."

"But…" Harry looked at Ron, his last hope to see what he was trying to explain.

"Tell me if this is true," said Ron, looking at Draco and Hermione. "They never agree on anything."

"Almost never."

"So when they do agree on something, it’s probably really important. Right?"

"Right."

"And they both agree you shouldn’t go meet Nott tonight."

Harry sighed. "All right, three to one. You win. I won’t go."

"He was probably going to set you up anyway," said Hermione as they left the Great Hall. "Bring Filch with him or something like that."

Harry stopped, struck by an idea. "He’ll be mad when I don’t show up," he said. "He might try to get revenge somehow."

Draco winced. "Hadn’t thought of that. What should we do?"

"Play him at his own game," said Harry, feeling a smile starting. "He’s oath-sworn to be there tonight. What if Professor McGonagall just happened to find out he was going to be there?"

"Points from Slytherin…" sing-songed Ron, grinning.

The four raced up the marble staircase towards Professor McGonagall’s office.

xXxXx

Harry couldn’t sleep that night. Even with Siss and his lion tucked in with him, the emptiness of the bed bothered him. He missed the rich warmth of the den, the sight and sound and feel and scent of other living, warm-blooded beings around him. His senses seemed abnormally acute, able to hear everything, from Dean and Seamus’ quiet breathing to Neville’s squeaky snores to Ron’s slightly more raucous ones —

Harry frowned. There was something missing. Draco’s sleep breathing pattern, which he knew as well as he knew anything, wasn’t there.

If we both can’t sleep, Neenie probably can’t either.

Coming to a decision, Harry rolled out of bed.

"Eggling, where are you going?" asked Siss sleepily.

"I am going to take my blankets downstairs and sleep by the fire. Would you like to come?"

"It will be cold up here without you. I will come."

Harry picked up the snake from her coil on his pillow, set her on his shoulder, and started stripping his bed as quietly as he could. Draco’s head appeared between his bedcurtains.

"Den in the common room," said Harry under his breath. Draco nodded and disappeared again. Noises of sheets being removed came from inside his curtains.

"Harry?" said a sleepy voice. He turned to see Ron sitting up in bed, squinting at him in the bright light of the full moon pouring in through the dormitory windows. "What’re you doing?"

"We’re going to sleep down in the common room. You can come if you want."

"Why?"

"It’s just something we do at home."

Ron considered this as Draco emerged from his bed, a large shapeless bundle over one arm. "I’ll come," he said finally. "Should I bring my blankets and things?"

"Yeah, we’ll need them."

Ron pulled the covers from his bed with quick efficiency. "Mum makes us strip our own beds at home," he explained as the boys descended the dormitory stairs. "Less work for her."

A brown bushy head popped out of a tangle of sheets in front of the fireplace as the boys approached. "I’ve been waiting ages. What took you so long?"

"We had to think of it first," said Harry, dropping his blankets next to Hermione. "Why didn’t you just come and get us?"

Hermione yawned. "I would have in another few minutes," she said sleepily. "But now I don’t have to."

There on the floor of the Gryffindor common room they taught Ron how to build a den, and crawled into it, staying a little farther from each other than they would at home out of respect for the newcomer, who might be uncomfortable with their ways at first.

But he will learn. He will be Pack. Harry was sure. One day he will sleep entangled with us and never think of it as strange. On that day — that night — he will truly be Pack.

"Be welcome, all, to this den-night," said Draco, inaugurating the night with the beta’s traditional words. "We are Pack now. Pack together."

"Pack forever," answered Harry and Hermione, with Ron an awkward second to their glib recital.

"Who will tell a story?" asked Hermione, taking up the role of alpha female, since she was the only girl in the group. "Who will remind us of what it is to be Pack?"

"No," said Harry regretfully, for he loved den-night stories. But it was late and they had Potions in the morning. "No stories tonight. It’s too late. We need to sleep."

Everyone nodded.

"We’ll need to be up early, too," said Ron, punching his pillow into shape. "To get this cleared up before everyone sees us." He had obviously been a bit surprised to see Hermione waiting for them, but had accepted her part in the sleeping arrangements with good grace. And he was right, Harry realized. They didn’t need the talk that being found asleep in front of the fire with a girl would cause.

"I bid you good night and fair dreams, then," said Harry, hearing in his mind Moony’s voice saying the same thing, or Danger’s voice speaking for him. "May this night rest us all, and we rise in the morning stronger for it."

"May it be so," answered the others.

The Pack.

My Pack. I’m an alpha now.

And I can’t ever forget it.

What I do affects them.

Harry rolled over and gazed into the flames. Thoughts of Moony and Danger lingered, grew stronger, moved in interesting ways.

They can call fire. It serves them. The way it served Godric Gryffindor and his children. And Danger gets her powers from the Founders…

A dreamy voice echoed inside his head, words blurred by time or forgetfulness. One word came to the fore: "thank."

"Thank you, Godric," Harry murmured on the edge of sleep.

His eyes closed. He did not see the effect his words had brought about.

But there was an effect. Sincere gratitude always has an effect.

Seldom, though, is it quite so visible…

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