Chapter Four: Some Semblance of Normalcy

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, JKR does. If I did, I probably wouldn't be posting this story here and making absolutely no money off of it ...

Author's Note: I haven't officially thanked my beta, lady_rhian, for working with me. She's made this fic so much more fluent! Not to mention she's an incredibly talented author and I feel so priviledged to be able to work with her so personally.

Thanks, lady_rhian.

Chapter Four:

Some Semblance of Normalcy

"You aren't still waiting on Ron, are you?" Ginny asked Hermione conversationally as she bit into a chocolate.

Hermione made a face.

"Of course not."

"He's been such a prat lately," Ginny conceded.

Hermione bit into the bar of dark chocolate Ginny had given her. Perhaps this summer she would've waited for Ron, back before everything had fallen apart with Harry. She just couldn't understand it. Never had she seen any sort of Slytherin quality of Harry's ... he had seemed so much the opposite of all that. Apparently, the Hat had seen differently.

Still, she missed him. He may be a Slytherin now, but Hermione knew better than to let it affect a friendship so strong as theirs.

"I'd rather go with Harry."

"Really?" Ginny's eyes widened in surprise.

"He's at least trying," Hermione sighed. Ginny leaned closer, a concerned look on her face as she took hold of Hermione's hand.

"How is he trying?"

"Well, he still talks to me. And I think he's adjusting, but I can't know for sure. Unlike Ron, who just glares at him and refuses to talk to him."

"Mum says dad owled him, and he had been pretty down, but not that bad."

Hermione leaned back against Ginny's bed. They were surrounded by empty butterbeer bottles, sweet wrappers, and old pictures. Ginny hadn't even had to bully Colin Creevey into giving them up; he just smiled and let her have them. Hermione hadn't realized how many he had taken over the years. She picked up one of the older pictures. She, Ron, and Harry had all been studying by the lake.

She felt tears coming to her eyes. Harry and Ron were trying (and failing) to discreetly avoid her and her work schedule. A golden chain around her neck glinted in the sunlight. It must have been in their third year; she never wore necklaces, and that must have been her Time-Turner. Ron and Harry were having a play fight over one of Harry's quills; the picture Hermione snapped at them.

"Have you ever thought of owling him?" Ginny asked, gently pulling her from her reverie.

"Yes, actually. I think I'll do that tomorrow."

"I might send him something, too. As much as I'm over him, I still miss him."

Hermione doubted that Ginny was truly over him, but she knew that those two would never work. Harry was too moody to be with someone like Ginny, and besides, he'd never shown any interest in girls. Well, except for Cho Chang, and that had been pretty half-hearted. She was starting to wonder if he might be mostly gay, but then again, he had a lot to focus on right now. No time for a girlfriend.

"Do you think that Harry might be gay?"

"Do you?"

"I have my suspicions."

"Well, he could be. He's a bit of an asexual, from what I can tell." Ginny was carefully peeling the wrapper off a lollipop.

"It would make sense to me. Why do you think he'd hide it if he were?"

Ginny gave her a look.

"Do you think the Dursleys trained him to be open? He is a Slytherin now, after all. Maybe he's hiding it because it might be important later. Who knows?"

"I'm not even sure about it, so please don't tell anybody, okay, Ginny?" Hermione asked, just to make sure their discussion wouldn't get out. "He's in a bad position with things already."

"Of course not. This is Girl Talk. Anything we say now is immediately confidential."

"Like the fact that you and Dean are starting the nasty this weekend?"

Ginny sat back and mused.

"Hopefully. If all goes according to plan. We're hoping to go on this romantic date, anniversary and all, and I'm starting to think it's about that time."

Hermione shook her head.

"You're starting to sound like me. Sometimes, you just can't plan things."

"And you're starting to sound like me."

The two girls giggled a bit.

Hermione glanced at her watch.

"I've got to go study before bed. I'll see you later."

"Yeah. Goodnight, Hermione." Ginny smiled and waved as she started to pick up her trash.

"Night Ginny."

**

"Wake up, Harry."

A motherly voice called to him, sounding his name from the distance. He didn't want to wake up.

"There's someone here to see you; I think you'll like him."

"Who is it?" Harry asked, stretching out his arms to search for the person in this darkness.

"You have to open your eyes to know, silly."

Harry slowly opened his eyes, a petulant child reluctant to wake up.

"Mum! I can't see!"

Harry felt a comforting hand on his shoulder, and looked up into impossibly green eyes. A man appeared out of the darkness.

"Hello, Harry."

His long black hair looked as though he'd actually washed and brushed it for once, eyes no longer hollow but sparkling with something exuberant.

"Sirius!"

The Child Harry ran to him, arms wide and giggles escaping his mouth. But as he nearly collided with his godfather, strong hands came down and held him in place.

"Harry. Don't make this harder than it is," Sirius said, voice strained with distress.

"What?"

"I came here to warn you, not to make you forget what is happening upstairs."

"But ... but ..."

"You must forget me. But if you become too attached to this, you won't be able to carry on living."

"But, Sirius –"

"Don't live in your dreams, Harry."

Harry leveled his gaze, and suddenly, he was staring straight into Sirius' black eyes.

"You mustn't keep yourself locked away. Grieve if you must, but know you are in danger, and I don't want or need the honor of your tears. Keep your wits, and forget me."

Cruelly, Sirius disappeared, a mad cackling separating them as Harry felt his throat being screamed raw, his arms clawing for some hold on the man that Sirius had denied him, and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth was enough to wake him.

Harry coughed several times, blood dripping from his mouth. His curtains rustled, and his throat was wracked with an angry cough. Harry collapsed onto his pillows as he saw Blaise Zabini's curious face peering around the curtain.

"Bad cough," Harry rasped, turning his head to confront the Slytherin.

Blaise nodded, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

"Pleasant dreams, then."

Harry nodded, unable to speak.

As Blaise padded over to his wardrobe and opened it for pajamas, Harry pulled the curtains tightly around his bed and cast his first silencing charm on it.

**

Dear Harry,

It feels like ages since I've talked to you. Things have been so busy lately, what with our NEWTs coming up. I hardly get to talk to people in Gryffindor these days, let alone you.

You're so far away. I don't know what you're feeling, or how you are, or anything about this whole thing. I hate it! You're too far away, and there's too much to catch up on.

Is there anything interesting going on in Slytherin? I know that you were concerned about Malfoy this summer, and I'm sure you're watching him closely now. I wish we could talk face to face, I don't even know where to begin with this letter.

Is there any way that we may be able to talk in person some time soon?

~Hermione

**

Dear Harry,

Hermione and I were talking last night, and we both miss you very much.

You've always been such a part of my life that it's weird not to have you here anymore. Ron's changed so much without you. Like some sort of kicked puppy. Have you tried talking to him recently? Maybe that would help things.

Quidditch is weird without you too. I know it's been so long since you played with the team, but we all thought you were going to be back with us again this year. I miss playing Chaser; I know I'm not half as good as you at Seeker.

Ron's looking over my shoulder. Honestly, if he wants to talk to you, he should just catch you in the halls sometime and do it.

~Ginny

**

Harry Potter,

You are cordially invited to a small get-together of students wishing to celebrate the start of term. We can meet, talk in person, and find out much more about each other than we have before!

Everyone is looking forward to seeing you; you're the mystery of the year. I have a feeling that you'll be quite in vogue, once the scandal has worn off. Don't be discouraged.

The party will convene in the Potions classroom next Thursday at nine o clock. Don't be late!

~Professor Slughorn

**

"Mr. Potter?" Snape stood in the door to Harry's Transfiguration class. Harry looked up.

"You are wanted in the Headmaster's office."

Snape didn't stick around to show him the way.

Professor McGonagall nodded her head, indicated for Harry to collect his things, and turned to finish writing the notes on the board. Harry packed his things quickly, trying to ignore the whispers from his classmates.

Harry had completely forgotten about Dumbledore's meetings with him this year. Had he thought about it, he probably would have figured that Dumbledore would have given up ...

Or maybe this wasn't even about that. Maybe he'd done something ... Had Dumbledore somehow found out about his late night wandering? Would he be terribly upset? It must be something important for his class to be interrupted.

Harry's footsteps rang in his ears. He couldn't help but pick up the pace. Whatever it was, he'd have to be ready. He tried to remember everything he could have possibly done to upset his Headmaster, any rules he might have broken. Other than the wandering, he drew a blank.

Then a much worse thought occurred to him.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, a feeling of dread washing over him and settling like an ice-cold lake into his stomach.

What if something even worse had happened? What if there had been a murder, or there were plans for the Death Eaters to take over the Ministry? What if Dumbledore was dying a slow and painful death and had to get him all the help he could? What if he was being pulled out of school and taking full-time classes from the Headmaster?

The stone statue that guarded the office was swept aside as soon as Harry came into view of it. Oh god, Harry thought, trying desperately to slow down, but he couldn't, and he found himself sprinting up the steps, his trainers smacking them as he tried to get there as quickly as possible ...

"Harry, it's good to see you again."

That voice was normal.

One of Dumbledore's magical instruments was whirring genially in a corner. He smiled at Harry, who heard the statue grind back into place at the bottom of the steps. Harry quickly attempted to smooth his rather flustered appearance.

"There is no need to be so worried; you are not here to receive any sort of punishment."

Harry closed his mouth, trying not to seem as confused as he really was.

"Do you like Earl Grey? Because I feel rather in the mood for it myself." Harry nodded, a bit dumbfounded. "Have a seat."

Harry quickly pulled out a chair and sat down. Dumbledore set to work conjuring a teapot.

"Professor?" Harry asked, after a pause.

"Yes?"

Dumbledore handed him a steaming cup.

"You're not angry?"

Dumbledore's eyes took an indescribable look.

"I am not angry with you, but I am severely disappointed in myself."

Harry sipped his tea, allowing it to slow his heart. It was scalding hot, but he really didn't mind. He isn't angry.

"I apologize for the temperature; I must say that I always have it warm. Keeps an old man alive, it does." He smiled cheekily, and Harry couldn't help but notice that the hand that was offering the teacup was burned black.

"Oh, no, I enjoy it."

Dumbledore twinkled at him, and Harry could do nothing but hide himself behind his teacup.

"Professor, if you don't mind my asking –"

"What the news has been lately?" Harry furrowed his brow. That had not been what he was going to ask, but an important question.

"Absolutely nothing. Though Professor Snape is climbing within the Death Eater ranks, he still is not privy to Voldemort's plans. It appears that he is waiting to make a large attack, but does not know where it would be best to strike at the moment."

"Oh. Okay. Thank you."

Dumbledore took a long drink from his teacup, and Harry tried not to fidget in the old man's presence. Finally, the tea finished, and Harry, obviously not making a move to further the conversation, Dumbledore looked over his half-moon glasses and spoke.

"I should have listened to your needs last year. I am sorry that I did not respect or trust you enough to know what you needed from me, and I should not have kept information from you. Especially information so important."

Harry nodded, thinking he knew where this was going.

"When I dropped you off at the Weasley's home this summer, I told you that I would give you private lessons. Do you remember this?"

"Yes, Professor."

"That will not change. I cannot tell you when or how often they will be, but I will let you know in good time."

"Thank you, Professor."

The mug in Harry's hands felt heavy and warm.

"Now for the second reason I've called you up here."

Harry looked up at the old man, startled at the sudden change of topic.

"I have received the papers due for your independent study, and I could not be more supportive of your choice. Celtic magic will, inevitably, help you to understand Voldemort in a way you would never have dreamt of before."

"So you approve?"

"Yes, and I suggest you get started right away. There is no time to waste."

"When do you want my first research paper?"

"The Friday after the Masquerade. You will be interested to know that the Masquerade is actually one part of an ancient ritual; rather, that it's the newest part. Samhain is the ritual the Celts and other ancient, pagan wizards used to welcome the New Year and burn the tragedies of the previous year. It will come at a prudent time for you, I find, and so I would like Samhain to be your first research paper." Dumbledore looked at Harry, his fingers steepled on the desk and his eyes piercing Harry's. After a moment, he started to dig around in one of the drawers on his desk.

"What are you looking for?" Harry asked, leaning forward slightly to try and see the contents of one of Dumbledore's drawers.

"Your Independent Study file. Ah yes! Here it is!" Dumbledore pulled out a violently purple file folder with Harry's name on it and took out a stack of paper. He handed it to Harry, who recognized his own handwriting.

"This copy is for you to keep. And I think it would be best if your research papers were handed directly to me; we will have to forgo another teacher's interference in this instance."

Harry looked through the folder and found that Dumbledore had added some things to it. He realized it would be rude to search through everything, so he pointedly closed the file and let it rest in his lap. He tried not to fidget. So many new things had been introduced to him at once, he was having trouble keeping up. He shouldn't lose focus. He had to learn to think on his feet, and so he tried to remember what it was that he really needed to ask. There was one question he simply had to ask ...

"Professor Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore put his master file away and looked directly at Harry.

"Why did you decide to re-sort us this year?"

Dumbledore thought for a moment.

"Truth be told, it wasn't my idea. The Ministry thought it best that Hogwarts return to some of its old ways. Last years' OWL scores weren't quite in rank with those from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, and the Ministry thought that maybe it was because of a deviation from original Hogwarts tradition. One must understand that at one point Hogwarts had been the leader in magical education in Europe. They thought it would be best to resurrect part of our history, and in doing so, return to our old standards. At least in theory."

"And you agreed?"

"During such suspicious times as these, we need all the unity and trust we can get. Re-sorting can help lead to that. And I had a feeling that some people had been incorrectly sorted in the first place."

Dumbledore inspected Harry over the rims of his glasses. Harry tried once again not to fidget.

"But you must know it's only brought up more bad feeling."

"For the time, yes, perhaps it has. The students of Hogwarts have learned to associate themselves with their Houses, and have only allowed themselves to grow in line with the attributes of their House. You were, as you so often are, an exception to this trend," Dumbledore explained, leaning forward on his desk. "But you must remember, you are not the only exception. Zacharias Smith was also resorted into Slytherin, and Padma Patil into Gryffindor. There are several other students who have had to make the same adjustment as you have, but yours is an exceptionally intriguing case."

Harry nodded, but his brows furrowed in confusion.

"But why me? I'm just as much a Gryffindor, probably more of a Gryffindor, than I am a Slytherin," he said, trying desperately not to sound whiny.

"You are growing away from your old habits; it is not unlikely that you will find yourself becoming more ambitious and cunning. Slytherin can help you with this. What were the Hat's words when it first sorted you so many years ago?"

Harry thought for a moment.

"And Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness ..."

"Yes. Very interesting words, those. Surely there must be something positive with your rapid switch of atmosphere."

"I suppose," Harry muttered grudgingly, and Dumbledore chuckled.

"I'll help you." He leaned back in his chair once more. "They do keep you on your toes, don't they?"

"Yes, I suppose they do ..."

"And they are giving you valuable insight into your enemies. Perhaps you will be able to make some allies in Slytherin."

"Allies, sir?"

"Not all Slytherins are evil," Dumbledore stated, a playful twinkle lighting his eyes. "You are a prime example."

Harry brooded, staring into the dregs of his tea.

"Slytherin will help you in ways you cannot possibly know now. But you must first allow it to help you; don't fight new ways of life simply because you were more comfortable in Gryffindor."

"I'll try not to."

"Good boy. Now, would you like another cup? Because I certainly would."

The old man looked down at his teapot, but noticed his wristwatch in the middle of preparing the tea things.

"My goodness, look at the time!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "If you hurry, you may just catch your last class of the day. Thank you for indulging an old man, and hurry out of here!"

**

Harry had been able to catch Charms, and Flitwick had nearly fallen off his podium for shock. He spent the hour practicing silent charm-casting on his quill. When the class finally ended, Hermione smiled at him.

Immediately upon pushing into the Slytherin Common Room, Crabbe looked up at him.

"So what did Dumblebum tell you, Potter? That you make the worst Slytherin in Hogwarts?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm surprised by your sudden wit, Crabbe. I'll have to put that line in my journal. 'Note to Self: Today has not been a total waste, for I have finally gotten Crabbe to speak in complete sentences.'"

Crabbe swallowed and glared stupidly at Harry.

"Well ... sod off!"

Harry sighed loudly and trudged up to his dorm. He slammed the door behind him and threw his bag onto his bed. He grabbed his broom and decided to go for a quick fly. He took off his outer robe and left it on the bed. Completely ignoring Crabbe and Goyle as he walked back through the Common Room, Harry headed off to the pitch.

He was met with many odd stares as he made his way out, but could hardly be brought to care. At least these stares did not warrant a response; had the curious stares and giggling girls from the train ride to Hogwarts returned, he would have been much more annoyed. As it was, Harry didn't really feel he had to deal with any of these people.

When Harry finally reached the pitch, he burst into the air, letting the wind whip his hair out of his face. He recklessly went through his Seeker's warm ups, diving and tumbling and rolling without restraint. On the western end of the pitch, a group of third years were playing three-on-three; Harry took care to avoid them. He soared up above the pitch, about where he normally stayed during matches, and breathed in the thin air.

God, it had been too long since he'd flown. Really, it had only been about two and a half weeks since he and Ron and Ginny had run practice games. He tried not to think of it. He was supposed to be relaxing.

Harry didn't know how long he flew. It felt like forever, and he finally left the pitch when the light was fading away. When Harry stumbled into the Slytherin shower rooms, he saw the Slytherin Quidditch team assembling in the locker rooms. Harry diverted into the shower, turned on some warm water, and started to rinse the sweat off of his body.

"Well, if it isn't Potty. Good on you for showering, by the way, your Gryffindor smell is starting to make the dorm difficult to sleep in."

"What? Just too damn good, is it, Malfoy? I'll make a point to sneak into the Gryffindor shower rooms after flying from now on."

Harry smirked as Crabbe made a strangled noise and hit Malfoy's left arm. Malfoy shot him a nasty glare before hoisting his Nimbus 2002 over his shoulder and leaving the changing rooms. Just before he walked out the door, he turned back to Harry.

"And you can forget training yourself in as a Chaser; you'll never play for my team."

Malfoy then left and took off into the air.

Harry took note of the glare he'd shot Crabbe for hitting his arm. His left arm.