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all harry potter, alternate universe, harry potter r, harrycentric, laocoon's children i, pg13 - r, remus/sirius, stealing harryverse

Laocoon's Children, Year One, 7 - 8 of 19
Harry stared up at his Head of House, wondering what the penalty was for getting caught raiding the kitchen and out after hours in one's first week of school. Probably fairly dire, he decided, while the rest of his brain was busy working on a decent excuse and coming up empty.

Snape's eyes drifted down to the basket he was carrying.

"Stealing sweets?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Harry felt his insides wither a bit.

"The house-elves gave them to me," Harry said, and then, desperately and possibly stupidly, reached inside. "Er...apple?"

"You, Mr. Potter, are out of dormitory after hours," Snape said darkly, accepting the offered apple and considering it, long pale fingers turning it over and over in his palm.

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed, thinking frantically.

"In the kitchens, which are not -- strictly speaking -- a permitted area for students, especially first-years."

"Yes, sir."

"Have you had enough time to formulate an appropriate lie?"

Harry stared up at him. "Nearly, sir," he blurted.

Snape gave him a slightly sardonic smile.

"You will not get far in this world, Harry, if you cannot lie convincingly. I am sure your godfather has taught you as much, though perhaps not as explicitly," Snape continued. "I hope you have risked a somewhat severe punishment for an appropriate purpose."

Harry bridled a little at the mention of Sirius, which, as always, was spoken in a somewhat belittling tone. "Would you like the lie first or the truth first, sir?" he asked.

The smile broadened just slightly. "The lie first, if you please."

"I found a valuable dish in Theodore's trunk and was bringing it back before it got broken, and the house-elves gave me a reward," Harry said, feeling that for a twenty-two second excuse it was rather a good one.

"Incriminating a rival, performing a good deed, and excusing your theft. A decent beginning. The truth now, if you please."

Harry bowed his head. "We were going to meet Neville in the infirmary and bring him a treat."

"We?"

"I -- "

"We, Harry?"

"Draco and Padma and me," Harry said wretchedly. "But it was my idea -- "

"I'm certain it was," Snape drawled. "While your originality is laudable, your purpose is questionable. Bringing a reward to the boy who blew up your first assignment?"

"We rather felt the boils and your shouting were punishment enough for that," Harry answered, looking up defiantly. Snape met his gaze easily, and Harry knew if they got into a staring contest, here and now, he would lose badly. Snape's cool, dark eyes gave nothing away.

"Five points from Slytherin for an unconvincing lie and another five for having abominable timing. Run along then," he said finally. Harry tightened his grip on the basket.

"What?"

"If you're caught by Filch you've only yourself to blame," Snape said, and turned, continuing down the corridor, robes billowing, apple still in his hand. Harry was left standing outside the kitchens entrance, dumbly staring after him.

Then, before Snape could change his mind, he ran.

***

Minerva McGonagall's quarters, like most of the Heads of House, were not too far from her House dormitories, Gryffindor Tower. On the one hand, her windows afforded a truly splendid view of the wilderness around the school grounds; on the other, the trade-off was a three and, depending on the castle's mood, sometimes a four-storey climb to get there.

She also shared a wall with the narrow stairwell that led to the roof, one of the few access points in the castle, hidden behind a painting of Galileo. Few people knew it was there and even fewer knew the password, so when she heard the portrait-door open, squeaking slightly, she pulled her robes on and peered outside. She heard light, swift footsteps on the stairs, as the portrait swung shut.

Probably some seventh years climbing up for a reunion tryst after a summer apart. Well, they could bloody well have their reunion somewhere other than the roof over her head. She found her wand and stuffed it into her pocket, locking her door behind her.

"Password, magistra?" Galileo asked.

"Eppur si muove," she said, and he bowed and swung open.

She climbed quietly to the roof, putting her head out the open trapdoor. A single dark shadow sat on the tiles, legs bent, elbows on knees. A little too well-grown to be a student, a little too thin to be anyone other than Severus Snape.

"Severus?" she asked curiously. He turned to her, the three-line mark on his cheekbone livid on his pale face, a souvenier of his part in the battle with Peter Pettigrew.

"I'm on your roof," he said, voice carefully even.

"Yes, although I confess you're the last person I expected to find here."

He had an apple. Curiouser and curiouser.

"Are you all right, Severus?"

"Quite," he answered shortly, and neatly cut a slice from the apple, eating it with tidy grace.

"Er...you're not going to fling yourself off the roof, are you?" she asked carefully. She was aware that she wasn't well-known for her tact, but tact, she felt, was highly overrated when one wasn't dealing with employers or foreign governments.

He snorted. "If I intended to kill myself I'd be much more efficient about it than this."

"Good to know, I suppose," she answered, sitting on the edge of the trap. He offered her a slice of the apple, and she accepted delicately. She waited; she found silence was usually as effective as active interrogation. It had worked on Severus when he was a student, anyway. And the night he'd come to her, before Voldemort's fall, asking for her help, though never explicitly.

He drew a breath, and ate another slice of apple, transfigured knife glinting in the moonlight.

"Have you ever..." he began, then sighed and started over. "The boy troubles me."

"Harry?"

"Who else?"

She was silent again.

"He is...very like his father. And yet at the same time, completely unlike."

"I think perhaps he's unlike what you thought of his father."

He gave her a sharp look. She shrugged. "You hated James, and he hated you. There's no secret in that. You don't hate Harry."

He didn't answer.

"Are you going to stay up here all night?"

"I'm not a student, you know, you can't give me detention for it."

"Well, if you're going to catch cold up here alone, at least try not to clatter about too much. Some of us sleep when it gets dark."

He nodded, once, and pitched the core of his apple off the roof. She descended the stairs, said a polite goodnight to Galileo, and returned to her rooms. If he did move, he was suitably silent about it; she heard nothing else before she fell asleep that night.

***

Harry arrived at the infirmary wing breathless and nearly ran into Draco, coming from the opposite direction.

"Kitchen -- house-elves -- hats," he gasped. Draco stared at him. Harry leaned against the wall, catching his breath.

"Padma's on her way, I saw her on the stairs," Draco said. "This is exciting, isn't it? Mrs. Norris was after me, but I doubled around the statue of the dog on the second floor, you know, the snarly one -- " he made fangs out of his fingers, holding them up to his mouth. "Then when she came up I jumped out and growled at her -- you should have seen her run. I'm sure she's got Filch scouring the second floor."

"She has," Padma said, as she arrived, so suddenly that Draco jumped. "I watched him from the third-floor for a bit -- nearly got caught myself."

Harry opened his mouth to gasp out something about Snape catching him, then remembered Snape's gaze, telling nothing and asking nothing, and he closed his mouth again.

"Now..." Padma said softly, peering through the crack between the infirmary door and the frame, "...we just need to know where Madam Pomfrey is..."

She fell backwards with a yelp as the door opened, and only Draco's quick hand over her mouth kept the sound from carrying; Neville stood on the other side, holding the door.

"Come inside," he whispered. "Madam Pomfrey's gone for the night, she said, since I'm not in any danger."

"Then why are we whispering?" Draco asked.

"Because it's fun?"

Harry gave Draco a light shove into the infirmary, and followed the rest of them. They arranged themselves on Neville's bed, and Harry began unpacking the food. Draco beamed with pleasure when the little wizard's hats were set out on one of the napkins, and Padma took the chocolate with quiet grace; Neville sliced the bread with a quick charm (shredding one of the blankets in the process, though Padma fixed it so that you almost couldn't tell) and buttered the slices, while Harry unpacked the apples.

"It's brilliant, isn't it?" Neville asked, biting into a large slice of buttered bread. "This, I mean. You going to show us how to get into the kitchens, Harry?"

"I'm not sure I should," Harry answered, rather wanting to keep the painting-entrance a secret. "We're not supposed to be in there."

"Imagine if someone had caught you!" Padma shivered delightedly. Harry, thinking reservedly of Snape's closed, expressionless eyes, said nothing.

Talk turned to a general discussion of the castle's twists and turns: Neville's difficulty discerning doors from walls with vivid imaginations, Padma's struggles with a particularly cranky bookshelf in the library, which Harry advised she try quoting Shakespeare at before taking down a book, and Draco's adulation of the Hufflepuff dormitory, which let out through a little stairway from the cellars into a small walled garden where his House ghost, the Fat Friar, could often be found wandering.

"He's an expert on Hogwarts history," Draco said, eating the brim off of a marzipan hat. "Well, he was when he was alive, and that was hundreds of years ago, so he's been hanging about since then and keeping current."

"He seems nice," Harry agreed. "The Bloody Baron's not much of a help with anything, he just wanders around being creepy. Theo Nott says it adds atmosphere."

"I asked Nearly Headless Nick how the Baron got bloody," Neville put in, scratching his arms. "He said he never asked. I think the other ghosts are scared of him."

"Peeves certainly is," Harry agreed.

"You lived with Muggles, Harry, what are Muggle ghosts like?" Padma asked. Harry shrugged.

"Never met a Muggle ghost. They aren't all that common. There's lots of stories about them, but you almost never see one. Lots of Muggles think they don't exist."

"Weird," Neville said.

"That's Muggles for you," Draco said, a trifle contemptuously.

"They're not so bad," Neville said. "My 'dopted dad Ted's Muggleborn, you know."

"Well, Muggleborn," Draco answered, sneering a little. "I'm talking out and out non-magical Muggles."

"Some of them are awful," Harry agreed, thinking of the Dursleys, now not much more than a distant bad memory. "But they're a nice enough lot on the whole. They have to do a lot more work than we do, you know."

"Is it true you can ride a bicycle?" Draco asked.

"Sure, it's not hard once you get the trick of it. Sirius taught me."

"Ever been on a broomstick?"

Harry hunched down a little, and was grateful for Snake, twining around his neck affectionately. "Once," he said softly. "The day Peter Pettigrew attacked me."

Neville's hand drifted up to his own collarbone, and his matching scar. The four of them shared a quiet moment lost in their own thoughts, before Draco shrugged.

"I never have. Mum said it was dangerous and a sloppy way to travel, besides. Then again she thinks that about every way to travel," he added.

"Malfoy, don't take this the wrong way, but your mum's a nut," Neville said flatly.

"Yeah," Draco agreed. "She is, a bit. Anyway," he said hurriedly, "You've been on a broomstick Neville, haven't you? And Padma has."

"I've fallen off of them quite a lot," Neville grinned. "Flying's all right, but it's no great shakes if you ask me. I like the Underground much better."

Harry sat quietly, listening to the others talk. Of course he had been thrilled to get the Nimbus 2000 as a gift; it was the best broomstick out there, and everyone knew it. What he hadn't considered was that broomsticks were meant for flying on. The last time he'd been on a broomstick, he'd been chased down and slashed by Peter Pettigrew -- and Sirius had nearly died.

"You play Quidditch at all?" Draco asked Neville, who shrugged.

"Dora and I throw around a Quaffle once in a while," he said casually. "You, Padma?"

"Nah," Padma said. "That's Parvati's game. I like football."

"Football? That's a Muggle sport, isn't it?" Neville asked.

"Yeah. S'brilliant," Padma said, picking up an apple and biting into it to clear out the sugary taste in her mouth.

"Only one ball though," Harry put in. "You can't use your hands, see."

"Yep. You pass it around with your feet, and try to kick it through the goalposts. Have you played, Harry?"

The conversation devolved into the comparative merits of football versus Quidditch, with Harry in the middle; he kept silent, still considering the fact that next week was their first flying lesson, and he'd have to decide whether or not he wanted to sign up. Flying meant Quidditch, which was brilliant; Harry had fond memories of throwing fake Bludgers for the Weasley twins and going to school games with Professor Snape -- the taste of sweet roasted nuts the professor had bought for him, the roar of the crowd, the fascinating speed with which the game was played.

But he also remembered the terrible moment when Peter's curse had hit his broomstick, the fall to the ground and Remus' panicked heartbeat as he ran with Harry in his arms for safety. The splintered remains of his racing broom tumbling out of the sack Alastor Moody carried, and the frightened, closed looks on the adults' faces.

"Guess we should be going," Padma said, when the food was mostly gone. "Bet it'll be a lot harder to sneak back into the dorms than it was to sneak out."

"Might be, but everyone's gone to bed by now, I imagine," Draco yawned. "Have fun at breakfast tomorrow, I'm going to sleep all day."

"We should have a study group," Padma said, and the boys all groaned. "Well, we should. We're in all the same classes, just at different times, and it'd be loads more helpful to have four brains working on things than just one."

"Is that an offer to do my homework for me?" Harry asked with a grin; Padma stuck out her tongue. "All right, why don't we meet in the library after dinner."

"I'll do your Transfigurations for you if you write my Herbology essay," Draco offered, as they cleaned up the apple cores, bits of marzipan, and stray breadcrusts, and Harry tucked the basket under Neville's bed. He had a feeling the house-elves would come for it on their normal cleaning rounds, but if not, Neville could always bring it back to him tomorrow.

"Nah, I'd better do it myself," Harry sighed. "Might beg a few hints off you, though."

"Some Slytherin you are," Padma teased. "Won't even cheat when someone offers to do your homework for you for real."

Harry lifted his nose in the air, haughtily. "Ambition requires knowledge," he replied, trying to sound like Professor Snape and only managing to sound as though he had a mild sore throat. Padma was prevented from replying by their emergence into the hallways again. They all stood there for a moment, studying their shoes, and then broke off to go their separate ways.

Professor Snape's door was closed, when Harry passed it on his way to the dormitory, but it looked as though there were candles lit. He considered knocking on the door, to ask why he had been let go and to...say thank-you, or that he hadn't been caught by Filch. He remembered Snape's words about time, however, and waiting for the proper moment; instead he withdrew to the Slytherin dormitory, where his fellow students were fast asleep, Crabbe snoring and Blaise mumbling about lemons and quilts in his dreams.

***

"Oh, Merlin," Andromeda sighed.

"What is it?" Ted asked, as he set the breakfast table. Remus and Sirius, who had their own kitchen but seemed to prefer the Tonks', looked up from their preparation of breakfast itself. A brown Hogwarts owl had swooped in the open window and dropped a letter on the table for Andromeda, flapping to the perch to share Hedwig and Boudicca's water dish. Andromeda had slit open what appeared, from the spidery handwriting on the front, to be a letter from Neville. "Neville's gone and landed in the infirmary," she announced.

"Infirmary?" Sirius asked, eating a slice of apple. Remus stole the rest of them from the bowl under his hand, and mixed in some bananas on his way to making a fruit salad.

"Yes...boils in Potions class," Andromeda sighed. "He isn't any good at cooking, I did worry about him in Potions."

"The boy could burn tea," Ted agreed, pouring himself a cup as he spoke. "I worry about him in every class. Smart as a whip, you know, but not in your regular conventional schooling ways."

"He always forgets when to put the ingredients in," Andromeda said. Then she nearly choked on a sip of tea. "Not to worry however as Harry has come to see me with Draco and Padma and he left Snake to keep me company and he says he's going to come back this evening because he knows where the kitchens are," she read aloud. "Sirius, your godson is corrupting the boy."

"Sounds to me like he's feeding him up," Sirius answered. "Not to mention teaching him run-on sentences. Did you tell him where the kitchens are?" he asked Remus, who froze in the middle of a bite of banana. "You did!"

"We knew early enough, and I never saw you yelling at Persephone Wellwright for telling us," Remus protested.

"I do hope Harry won't get into trouble for that," Andromeda said. "I suppose if you get a letter from the Headmaster you'll know."

Sirius sank into his chair at the table and rested his head in his hands. "I thought Dumbledore was done yelling at us when we graduated, and then I was sure he was done yelling at us when we moved to Wales..."

"He's certainly a product of your parenting," Ted said with a grin. "Oh, dish me some of that -- lovely, thank you Remus."

Remus set a bowl of the fruit salad in front of Ted and one near Sirius' elbow. He glanced at Andromeda, who shook her head. "He's all right though -- Neville I mean -- isn't he?" he asked.

"Oh, he seems cheerful enough," Andromeda answered. "Then again it's very hard to tell with Neville. He seems to take everything so lightly -- I don't know if it's to keep us from worrying, or because he really doesn't care that he's spent the night in the infirmary."

"Well, obviously Harry's looking out for him," Sirius said approvingly.

"That's true, though I think Harry narrowly missed the same fate, Neville says here they were partners," Andromeda said. "Ted, perhaps we ought to get him some sort of educational aide."

"Like a tutor?" Ted asked. "It's only been a week..."

"I was thinking more like a study guide of some sort. Oh -- perhaps a Remembrall. That'd be useful, wouldn't it? He could keep it with him when he's brewing potions and then if he forgets to add something it'll tell him straight off."

"Never thought those were very useful," Sirius said. "Now, a thing that tells you what you've forgotten -- "

"Desk calendar," Remus murmured.

" -- that'd be much more handy." Sirius took on a thoughtful look, as he meditated on the subject. "I'll bet it wouldn't even be that difficult. You'd have to modify the charms a bit, but the essential spell's already on the thing."

Remus saw the look in Sirius' eyes, and sighed. "Shall I pick up a handful when I go out, and you can have fun blowing them up while you try?" he asked.

"I almost never blow anything up," Sirius replied haughtily.

"Going shopping, are you?" Ted asked. "Pick up one for our Neville, then, we've an account at most of the shops in Diagon Alley."

"Job shopping," Remus answered with a smile. "But I'm bound to go into quite a few shops at any rate, so it's no trouble."

"Looking for a job?" Andromeda asked. "Surely you don't actually need one?"

Sirius growled, and Remus grinned at him. "No, not really -- I've my savings from the past few years, which comes to a remarkably tidy sum when one isn't paying rent, but I like to keep busy."

"And your...condition?" Ted asked delicately. "It doesn't harm your chances?"

"Considerably, but then I'm fortunate in that I don't have to take the first job that comes along," Remus said, watching Sirius -- who had once nearly strangled him for starving himself when he couldn't find regular work. "Working as a shop attendant, you know, the hours vary. If all else fails I'll rob Sirius and start a new bookshop."

Sirius dropped his eyes to his breakfast, face carefully blank. "Dunno that I want another one," he said. "When Sandust burned..."

Silence settled over the table, until Remus finally rubbed his forehead and spoke again. "I'll pick up a Remembrall for Neville and a few for Sirius, and if the charm works he'll have the most unique little toy in school. Any other errands need running?"

"Oh -- I have a few things, if you're going by the grocer's," Andromeda said, rising to find the shopping list in the kitchen.

"Oi, Pads," Remus said softly. Sirius looked up at him. "You alright?"

"Useless worry. Must be turning into you," Sirius said, with a small grin, as Remus ate a grape and smiled back.

He returned from his expedition that day with three job applications and half a dozen Remembralls. He said the cost of the things was outrageous, but one of the applications was to Schaeffer's Scholars' Emporium where he'd purchased them, and they weren't the only items in the sack he carried up to the attic. While Sirius happily poked the Remembralls with his wand, muttered reverse-engineering incantations, and ran down to pilfer textbooks from Nymphadora's now-abandoned bookshelf, Remus quietly unpacked bookmarks that told you which page had that quote you wanted to reference, a packet full of sugar-quills to send to Harry, and a set of architecturally-shaped blocks which stuck to each other in whatever order you placed them and changed shape on request.

By the time he'd finished a rather good model of the Pantheon, complete with little statues, Sirius had blown up three of the Remembralls, lacerated himself twice, and gone downstairs again for some of Dora's leftover costume jewelery for some insane reason Remus couldn't fathom. He was just starting on the job applications when Sirius let out a whoop, and a few loose bricks in the Pantheon came undone.

"What've you done now?" Remus inquired, wondering if it was permissible to list one's landlord as a character reference. A small, glittering object arced through the air and he caught it, reflexes moving before his conscious mind had time to think. It turned out to be a little marble, much smaller than a normal Remembrall, with red mist just beginning to fill the centre.

"I kept trying to shrink it without actually thickening the glass any," Sirius said. "but it's all right, because the thick glass magnifies the projection -- see?" he held up another small marble-sized object, and pointed it at the wall. In hazy red letters, the words Your Anniversary appeared.

"Did I forget our anniversary?" Sirius asked.

"I didn't realise we had one," Remus replied. "Would you like one?"

"Not really."

"Me either."

Sirius shook his head. "The point is, what's the good of a Remembrall for Potions if you have to pick it up every time you think you've forgotten something? This way -- "

"Oh blast, I was supposed to get eggs for Andromeda," Remus exclaimed, looking down at where the red light was spreading across his palm.

"Moony, do pay attention."

"Deepest apologies, Padfoot," Remus said, setting the marble carefully in the centre of the pantheon and folding his hands to look up at Sirius. "You were saying."

"Quite. This way, see, I've put it on a chain..." he demonstrated, popping the little marble into a rather industrial-looking chain bracelet with one badly bent-out link, "It's always touching his hand and all he has to do is look down and it'll tell him what he's forgotten."

He strapped the chain around his wrist, and the smaller words "Haircut 1pm" appeared on the back of his hand. "Bugger, it's past one already, isn't it."

"It's a good idea, though I think the temptation to use it during one's final exams might be a bit much," Remus observed. "Still, can't hurt to send it to him, and if it's taken away, well, at least we tried."

"Trust Snape to spoil our fun from a hundred miles away," Sirius said, unstrapping the chain. "I'll throw in a note to be careful with it. Let's go show Andromeda," he continued, as excited as any child with a new toy. Remus gave him an indulgent smile and followed him downstairs, pocketing the other miniature Remembrall as he did so. It was difficult to imagine Sirius as an inventor of educational toys...and yet it would be an awfully interesting thing to demonstrate when he turned in his job application.

As he descended the stairs he heard Andromeda laugh with pleasure and Ted's dismayed groan of "I was sure I'd remembered that!"

---

Time seemed to pass quickly at Hogwarts; the weekend vanished almost as soon as it had come, and before Harry knew it, the first flying lesson was fast approaching. He still hadn't decided whether to sign up or not; it would be a terrific waste if he never learned to use his Nimbus Two Thousand, but every time he thought about flying, he remembered the crunch as his broomstick shattered under Peter Pettigrew's curse. He suspected that, like the look in Sirius' eyes when he saw Harry's cupboard at the Dursleys' house, it was something which would stay with him all his life.

He thought of writing to Sirius about it, or, more sensibly, to Remus; Sirius would understand, he was sure, but Sirius might shout a bit first. He had nearly decided to write Remus, the morning of the first lesson, when Marcus Flint, the slightly crooked-toothed, cowlick-haired captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, clapped him on the shoulder as he passed.

"Going to learn flying, are you Potter?" he called over his shoulder. "Try not to fall off, eh?"

Harry, bewildered, kept moving towards the Great Hall, when Theo Nott appeared with Crabbe and Goyle trailing him like extremely ugly puppies.

"Finally decided to sign up, Harry?" Theo said.

"Sign up?"

"For flying lessons! You lost me two sickles, I had a bet on with Parkinson that you'd chicken out completely," Theo said. This did not sit well with Harry, who paused as he moved towards the entrance to the Great Hall. Tacked up outside the door were the sign-ups for first-year flying lessons; he'd stopped every day to gaze at it and finger his quill thoughtfully before moving onwards.

There, at the bottom of the list, in a scrawl that certainly wasn't his own, was a name not dissimilar to Hamg PoHer. Or, if one looked closely, Harry Potter.

"Malfoy," he muttered under his breath, recognising the uneven, childish handwriting. An arm draped itself across his shoulders, and Neville grinned at him, slapping his back.

"Don't look at me," he said. "I didn't put your name down. Can't back out now though. It'd be dishonourable."

"I'm allowed to punch Draco in the head though, right?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, well, you could," Neville allowed, "so long as it was the front of the head and not the back of the head, so he could see you coming. That's chivalry," he added. "Making sure the other chap knows what you're up to."

"That's stupid," Harry replied. "If I'm going to punch someone, I'm not going to tell them so first."

"Slytherin," Neville said, with a roll of his eyes as they entered the Great Hall.

"Gryffindor!"

"See you at flying practice!" Neville cried loudly, leaving Harry to walk to the already-crowded Slytherin table alone.

"Suck on it!" Harry called back.

"That's the spirit, Potter," said a fifth-year girl with straw-coloured hair and shifty dark eyes. "Gryffindors are good for two things -- being insulted and being defeated."

There was a titter of laughter around her, and Harry stared at her with what he hoped were impassive and Snapelike eyes.

"And good for telling the truth, and good for standing up for their mates, and good for helping each other out," he added. "Good for quite a bit, really," he said, in a more thoughtful manner.

"Mind your tongue, firstie," she snapped.

"I bet if you let Oliver Wood help you in Charms you wouldn't be getting letters from your parents about your marks," Harry said, in his most polite voice. "I hear he's top of the Gryffindor-Slytherin class in Charms."

"Oliver Wood is a Quidditch-mad git," she said fiercely.

"Watch how you talk about Quidditch," Marcus Flint said, and the girl fell suddenly silent. "And you, Potter, no lip to the fifth years if you want to survive to be one. Don't think just because you're going to be riding broomsticks means you're anything more than a pipsqueak of a first-year with a funny scar."

Harry's nerves settled a bit now that he'd made some trouble for the fifth-year who talked about his friends that way. With a nod to Flint, he set to eating, though the food was dry and tasteless in his mouth. He was going to have to get on a broomstick this afternoon and try to fly; not his broomstick, since that was a secret, but a broomstick nonetheless.

It was times like these that made being the Boy Who Lived difficult; everyone would be watching him, expecting him to be brilliant -- or expecting him to fail, if they were particularly jealous. He'd heard the expectancy in the tone of the editorial Remus sent him about his going into Slytherin; bad enough Sirius' letter had been falsely cheerful and polite and full of platitudes about the House of Black being Slytherin, as if Harry didn't know what Sirius thought of the House of Black. His letters since were better, but Harry knew he'd somehow hurt his godfather, and now he had to be good at everything, to make Sirius proud again.

Draco, a few tables away, caught Harry's eye and gave him a hesitant, timid grin; Harry scowled, and stabbed his egg viciously with his fork.

***

It was a beautiful clear afternoon by the time they trooped out of the school and down to the smooth, level field near the Forbidden Forest, where the flying lessons were being held. Neville and Padma flanked Harry firmly, as if daring him to try and bolt; Neville must have figured it out somehow, since he hadn't confided to either of them just how terrified he was. Draco ran ahead, school robes flying out behind him as though he were already on a broomstick. It was the sort of day Sirius used to say was perfect for flying, usually while looking longingly at his then-earthbound motorbike. The sort of day Harry would go down to the river and draw, or skim stones and fish with Padfoot, while Remus drowsed over a book on the bank.

There were two neat rows of broomsticks already laid out, and Harry cast an experienced eye over them; it might have been two years since he was a part of the Wizarding world, but once he had been as expert as any eight-year-old could be about broomsticks, from endless hours reading Quidditch magazines with Ron. Ron was there, in fact, and gave Harry a friendly wave from the knot of Gryffindors following him.

"Come to learn how to fly properly, Weasley?" came a taunt from behind Harry, and he turned to see Theo arriving. "Reckon you've never seen a broomstick as nice as these old school brooms. You probably have to use some old straw broom your grandmother handed down to you -- "

"Shut it, Theo," Harry ordered, and Theo looked surprised; Harry imagined he hadn't noticed him, and the dismay in his face spoke volumes. "None of us have got our own brooms now, anyway," he said. "So it's all down to skill, isn't it?"

"I'd be careful how I talk, in that case," Padma added. "Weasley boys always make Quidditch team."

Harry saw Ron flush, out of the corner of his eye, but Hermione Granger had stepped up next to Padma, and crossed her arms. "And if we're all equal, Nott, then that means if he flies better than you, he's just more talented, doesn't it?"

Theo sneered a bit. "Staunch defenders," he said, though he didn't say it as loudly as before. "Do you always get girls to speak for you, Weasley?"

Ron surged forward and Neville and Draco caught him by the arms; Harry had his wand out to hex Theo before he knew what he was thinking, and only the arrival of Madam Hooch stopped him. She was a tall, graceful woman, with short, feathery grey hair and peculiar yellow eyes; they reminded Harry of a hawk -- one that was circling prey.

"What's this, what's this?" she demanded, and Harry shoved his wand back in his pocket, while Neville muttered a warning of some kind in Ron's ear. "Right then, places please."

Neville, one hand still on Ron's arm, guided him into place, and the rest of them formed up; only Draco, dusting himself off after scuffling with Ron, was still in the middle, straightening his tie.

"Places, please," Madam Hooch repeated, and Draco looked up, yelped, and slid shamefacedly into the only empty space -- between Harry and Susan Bones, who gave him a quick smile.

It was a vaguely familiar process to Harry, when Madam Hooch explained it: simply hold your hand out over the broom and say "up!" in a firm, commanding tone. He'd done it for his own broomstick, years ago, and once or twice one of the Twins had let him try starting theirs.

Harry's voice cracked the first time he tried, and he looked around embarrassed, but only Parvati had managed to get her broom in the air on the first try. He swallowed, licked his lips, and said "UP!" louder than he meant to --

And the broomstick smacked into his hand.

"Cool," Draco said enviously, and straightened his shoulders, trying again. Across from them, Neville and Hermione both managed to get theirs to float, and grabbed them firmly.

The wood was smooth under his hand, worn down by hundreds of Hogwarts students before him. Harry swallowed bile, remembering his old broomstick.

"You look ill," Blaise whispered. "Something wrong?"

"Bad eggs at lunch, I think," Harry whispered back.

"Don't throw up on me."

"You're all heart, Zabini."

Madam Hooch was moving up and down the rows, showing students how to sit a broom properly, correcting grips, and reassuring Draco, who was having a bit of difficulty holding onto his.

"Boy sits a broom like a natural," Sirius had said, his enormous, capable hands holding the broomstick steady and Harry with it. Harry remembered a warm palm on the small of his back, and the unequaled sensation of freedom when Sirius finally let him fly.

"Yes, you're quite a natural at this, Mr. Potter," Madam Hooch said. "Just adjust your hands a little, there -- Ms. Abbot, come see how Potter's done it."

Harry, finding himself already astride the broom, held carefully still as Hannah and Draco both inspected his grip. He could feel the broom's impatience to be aloft, and it was all he could do to keep his feet on the ground, desperate not to fly until everyone else was.

Then Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and everyone kicked off, Harry a little after the others. Susan and Draco both shouted in pleased surprise when they found themselves more than ten feet off the ground, but Padma rose with a steady calm that Harry envied; Ron and Neville seemed just as composed.

"Come up then, Harry!" Neville called, as Harry hovered a few feet below the others, calculating precisely how high he could go before he would break something when he fell.

If he fell. If he fell.

Which he wouldn't. He was James Potter's son and Sirius Black's godson. He could feel the weight, even now, of Sirius' little Remembrall in his pocket. He set his jaw and rose another few feet, until he was level with Draco, who was kicking his heels in an effort to go higher.

Madam Hooch showed them how to move forward and backwards, how to rise and drop and steer simple curves, seemingly everywhere at once as she steadied uncertain flyers or stopped Crabbe and Goyle from flying into each other on purpose. Harry, who spent most of his time trying to hover just out of sight of Madam Hooch until he felt more secure, noted with pride that Ron actually was flying circles around Theo, who seemed to have stalled out somehow, like a boat with no rudder or oars.

"Look, Sirius!" he'd cried, rising above the hedges but looking only at his godfather, who had crossed his arms and was staring up at him approvingly. Down below somewhere, Ron and Ginny and the twins were running around underneath him, cheering.

"Aren't you having fun, Harry?" Draco asked, pulling up next to him. "Look, even Neville's enjoying himself..."

Harry glanced over to where Padma was steadying Neville after a near fall. Neville grinned and gave him two thumbs up, then grabbed frantically for the broomstick again.

"I think I'll finish up," Harry said. "Coming back to earth with me?"

"Not on your life! Come on Harry, it's great! You've hardly moved. You race me and you'll see."

"Draco, I don't really want to -- " Harry stopped; Draco had plunged his hand into Harry's pocket and come up with three sickles and the miniaturised Remembrall that Sirius had sent him when Neville's remembrall-bracelet had arrived (to much acclaim; Harry had already written to Sirius with demands for five more).

"Give that back, Malfoy!" Harry shouted.

"Without hands now," Sirius had said, and Harry had held his arms out carefully to the sides like a tightrope walker, feeling coiled power in the magic that drove the broomstick. He balanced perfectly, and Sirius smiled down at him, approval in every line of his face.

"Come and get it," Draco said, with a wicked grin, and raced off on his broom. Harry shot after him without thinking, weaving through the rest of the flying students as Draco dodged between Hannah and Goyle, then rose up above the crowd.

Dimly, in the background, Harry heard Madam Hooch shouting for them to come down and join the class again, but he was concentrating on Draco, Harry gaining speed as the other boy's broom began to, for lack of a better word, sputter. Draco turned suddenly, still clutching the Remembrall tightly, and Harry was right on his tail; another sharp turn, to the left and up forty-five degrees at the same time, but Harry was taking his lead from the way Draco's broomstick-bristles pointed, and didn't hesitate to follow.

"Catch me!" Draco called, over his shoulder, and Harry ducked tighter against his broomstick, inching up on the other boy. Now he was level with his bristles, now with his shoes; he reached out and grabbed Draco's robe.

Draco, surprised by the sudden movement, shouted and jerked; both brooms skewed sideways and Harry saw Sirius' tiny Remembrall slip through Draco's fingers.

"You dropped it!" he shouted at Draco, who looked stunned.

"I'm sorry!" Draco answered, but Harry barely heard it; he pointed his broomstick nearly straight down, remembering to grip with his knees and crossed ankles as he'd seen a Gryffindor Quidditch player do once, and dove after it.

For a minute the world went away, and there was just Harry, matching speed with a tiny glass ball, and a blur of blue that was the sky, a blur of green that was the grass, and suddenly stone -- he was skimming the outside wall of the castle, the masonry barely six inches from his knees.

It was like the one time Sirius had opened up the motorbike on the roads just outside of Betwys Beddau; Remus would have killed them both if he'd ever found out, but when they hit ninety miles an hour the wind stole your breath and every curve was an adventure waiting to happen, and Harry had never felt so alive.

Like that.

Only better.

He saw windows flashing past and heard paper rustle as the wake of his speed blew late-summer air through the windows; all this he remembered later, because at the moment his entire being was focused on the little glass ball....

Six feet from the ground and he pulled up, leaning over to snatch it before it impacted, and the speed he'd already had took him thirty or forty feet before he skewed to a stop, and hovered, the Remembrall cool in his palm.

The sudden lack of wind in his ears made the world seem very silent, as he realised what he'd done. Most of the other students were on the ground; Draco was descending slowly, looking stunned.

What he'd done had probably broken about half a dozen school rules; disobeying a professor, for a start. He looked around for Madam Hooch, and saw her standing, frozen in amazement, near the front gate of Hogwarts.

Professor Snape was standing next to her, looking breathless and somewhat rushed, as though he'd just come running from somewhere.

"Oh, bollocks," Harry whispered. He wasn't sure whether he ought to go to them, or wait for their wrath to descend. Either way, he'd better get off the broomstick. He lowered himself to the ground, slowly, and the full impact of what he had done didn't hit until his toes touched soil.

He'd done it. He'd flown above every other student in the class and done a dive that would have made Sirius whoop with joy. And he hadn't been afraid at all.

No, it wasn't him -- Draco had made him do it.

That boy needed a serious talking-to.

When he touched down, Madam Hooch seemed to snap out of her shock, and began to descend the steps, moving faster the closer she got. Professor Snape was on her heels; she stopped when she reached Draco, while Snape continued past her. He came up short in front of Harry, staring in a way that made Harry distinctly uncomfortable.

"Show me," he ordered. Harry held out his hand, and the little Remembrall glittered in the sunlight. Red light on Harry's palm showed the words Don't Break School Rules. Harry thought he saw Professor Snape's lips twitch slightly.

"That dive," he said, with an odd sort of urgency. "How high were you when it began?"

"I don't -- " Harry swallowed. "Above the spire of Gryffindor Tower at least."

"And by the time you reached the ground..." Snape's gaze intensified, eyes almost sparking, until he abruptly turned away.

"Madam Hooch," he announced. She looked up from where she was haranguing a terrified Draco. "I will deal with Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, if you prefer."

She looked relieved. "As you wish, Professor Snape."

Snape caught Harry by the arm, not too roughly, and hauled him forward; Harry tossed his broom to Neville as they passed and Snape hooked his other hand in the crook of Draco's elbow. He led them swiftly up and into the entryway, stopping just before the second set of doors that let out onto the courtyard.

"Get out of here," he said to Draco, releasing him. Draco stared up at him, confused. "Thank your surname and go," Snape snapped. Draco looked as confused as Harry felt, but he scuttled away, with a backwards look of sympathy for Harry. Snape led Harry onward, muttering to himself. "Never in ten years at Hogwarts -- might have killed you both -- lucky not to be expelled -- "

At least, Harry thought, it was probably a good sign that Snape was talking about not expelling them.

They stopped in front of the History of Magic classroom, and Snape threw the door open, leaving Harry outside while he stepped in.

"Professor Binns, I wonder if I might borrow Flint and Bole," he said, and Binns waved the two boys on. Snape shut the door behind them, and the two bewildered fifth-years stared at Harry, who realised he probably looked even more windblown and disheveled than usual.

"Bole, you're fired," Snape said, without preamble. For some inexplicable reason, Bole looked relieved. "Please inform Stimpson you are to replace him as Beater, and he can find something else to do, preferably something which requires little movement and no skill."

As Bole left, apparently to track down Stimpson immediately, Snape turned to Marcus Flint, who was now eyeing Harry with more shrewdness than Harry was accustomed to seeing from him. Snape's hand thrust Harry forward, towards Flint.

"Potter will be your Seeker," Snape said bluntly. Harry nearly swallowed his tongue.

"Is he any good, or just a golden boy?" Flint asked. Snape looked as though he'd like to slap the Quidditch Captain.

"Slytherin plays to win. I would not handicap you with an idiot, if I had another choice," Snape growled. "The boy did a dive from Gryffindor Tower and caught this -- " he held up the Remembrall, " -- at the bottom of it."

"He's built for it," Flint allowed. Harry, through a haze of surprise, decided mildly that this might not be a compliment, but Snape's words drowned out most rational thought -- Potter will be your Seeker. "He'll need a decent broom -- "

"I've got one," Harry blurted. Both of them stared at him. "My godfather..."

"Black," Snape said, almost resignedly. "Breaking the rules as usual. What is it then? A Cleansweep of some kind?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand," Harry said shyly. Flint goggled at him.

"With a broomstick like that he doesn't need talent," he said.

"Thanks," Harry managed, scowling.

"I want him ready to win at the first game," Snape said to Flint, ignoring Harry for the moment. "If you need special accomodation, notify me at once."

Flint's smile turned slightly predatory at that, but he nodded.

"Back to class with you," Snape said, and Flint ducked back into the classroom. Snape and Harry stood there, both slightly breathless, for a moment.

"Professor," Harry said finally.

"What is it?"

"Are you going to punish Malfoy?"

"No."

"What did you mean when you told him to thank his surname?" Harry pressed.

"You are to practice hard," Snape replied. "Don't think because you're about to become the youngest Quidditch player in a century that you can slack off. You'll be playing against larger, faster, and quite possibly smarter opponents."

Harry realised he wasn't going to get an answer, so instead he settled for "Yes, sir."

"You've been spared a punishment. I'd appreciate it if you didn't noise the fact about. Tell Mr. Malfoy to do the same."

"Yes, sir."

"Go find him, now," Snape continued. "Flint will notify you about your first practice session."

And he walked off, towards the stairs that would lead to the dungeon, just as classes began to let out all over the castle. Harry stood in the hallway, bumped and buffeted by the crowds, before dashing off towards the Great Hall, to find Draco and share the good news.

***

Dear Sirius,

Thank you for your letter yesterday and the spare quill Remus sent, I don't know how I lose them so quick. I think Nevilles been nicking them off of me. Tell Remus hi and that I'm writing a letter to him next so he shouldn't feel left out, but this news could not wait and I am very glad Hedwig is here because she fly's a lot faster than the school owls and I'm not allowed to go to the postoffice in Hogsmeade.

This afternoon I had quite a grand adventure and you will never guess whats happened...

***

"Warugh!"

Sirius ducked as a letter came flying at his head in the middle of the crowded restaurant, and an exausted Hedwig landed on the white-linen-covered table, flapping a little and immediately wandering over to Remus' soup. Andromeda nearly spilled her wine.

"Goodness," she said. "What's Hedwig doing delivering mail here?"

Sirius plucked the letter off of his steak, and turned it over in his hands. "Harry must have told her it was important."

"It's his second week of school; if it's not from Hogwarts itself how important can it be?" Remus asked, sighing and pushing his soup towards Hedwig.

"It's not very good soup," Nymphadora told the owl, who hooted and continued to worry a bit of cooked chicken she'd found in the bowl.

"You know kids," Sirius said. "Everything's life-and-death when you're eleven."

"Excuse me, sir..." said a waiter, hesitantly. "We don't allow owls in the establishment..."

"Of course, I'll just send her home -- " Remus lifted Hedwig off the tablecloth and she took the hint, ruffling her feathers in annoyance and flapping off out of the restaurant again, through the wide, open windows that looked onto Sosi Alley, the dining district above Knockturn Alley and Gringotts Bank.

The other patrons were staring.

"Everything all right?" Ted asked, worriedly, as Sirius' face drained of colour. He was gripping the letter and reading intently, but he didn't look upset; if anything, he looked jubilant. After a second read, he folded it slowly, and tucked it -- steak-juice stain and all -- into his pocket. He signaled the waiter.

"Champagne, please," he said. "Quickly."

"Sirius, stop indulging in melodrama," Remus ordered.

"Wait for it," Sirius answered, with a vague grin in Remus' direction.

"He's gone bats," Nymphadora whispered, to her father.

"He's been bats," Andromeda answered.

"Quiet," Sirius said, as the champagne arrived. He poured five glasses, then held his up.

"To my godson," he said with a grin, "The new Slytherin House Team Seeker."

Nymphadora grinned gleefully and lifted her glass; Andromeda and Ted followed with theirs a second later, but Remus just sat and stared.

"Seeker?" he demanded. Sirius drained his glass and grinned. "Harry's a Seeker? For the House team?"

"Says so in his letter. Says Snape appointed him himself. I told you the boy was a natural! I told you that broomstick'd be a good investment!" Sirius said jubilantly.

"He's a first-year," Ted put in. "How on earth did he get on the Quidditch team?"

"He's my godson," Sirius said, proudly. "Of course he made the team."

"But he's a Slytherin!" Nymphadora observed. "Does this mean we have to start rooting for Slytherin to win games?"

"Oh dear," Remus murmured.

"We won't worry about who he's playing for right now," Sirius declared. "Come on then -- " he filled his glass again. "To Harry!"

This time they all lifted their glasses in unison. "To Harry!"

Sirius took the letter out and passed it to Remus, who read it and smiled. "Good for him," he said warmly, now that the shock had passed. "He can catch a Snitch and fly a broomstick, even if he hasn't yet mastered apostrophes."

"I'm having that letter bloody framed," Sirius answered. "Look, Andromeda, see right here. Professor Snape says I'm the youngest Quidditch Player in a century and Padma says hes right, so I shall probably get tossed about quite a bit because all the other Seekers are much bigger than I am, but I'm not afraid of a few bruises."

"Good for him," Nymphadora said.

"He's going to get killed," Remus added. "He'll probably enjoy it though." He paused for a minute. "James always did."

"The bigger the bruise, the better the fame," Sirius replied. "I remember."

"I wonder what Severus thinks of James Potter's son playing for Slytherin," Andromeda mused.

"They're bloody lucky to have him, that's what he'd better be thinking," Sirius retorted. He gestured for another bottle of champagne. "But we are not going to think about rooting for Slytherin tonight. Tonight," he said, gesturing for the waiter to pour this time, "we are going to celebrate!"

"Remind me to pick up some Pepper Up on the way home," Remus murmured to Nymphadora, who grinned at him.

"You'll need it when I show him the Slytherin pennant I'm going to give you two," she agreed, and Remus laughed.

By the time they reached the Portkey-doorway to Tonks&Tonks, Remus was half-carrying Sirius on his shoulder, and Andromeda's cheeks were cheerfully pink; Sirius and Ted were animatedly reliving the Quidditch matches of their youth, and Nymphadora had nipped down to the late-night grocers to pick up some Pepper-Up, a handful of Sickles pressed into her hands by a relatively-sober Remus.

Irene, Andromeda's assistant, was just locking up, and she grinned and stood aside to let them enter as Dora scurried back, waving the packet cheerfully. She led the way inside and clattered up the stairs to deposit her purchase in the kitchen. Andromeda and Ted followed more sedately, and they could hear Irene locking the door after them and her footsteps down the pavement. Just before Remus reached the staircase, Sirius skewed ahead of him and wrapped one arm around his waist, beaming.

"Hiya Moony," he said, and kissed Remus' nose. Remus wrinkled it and rubbed at the tickling sensation; Sirius hadn't shaved before dinner, and his chin and cheeks were rough. "Hey!"

"Hey what?" Remus asked, the champagne affecting him just enough to stop him caring that they were necking at the bottom of the stairs.

"Nothing," Sirius answered, and kissed him thoroughly. Remus tasted champagne and kissed back; when it ended, Sirius pulled him a little closer, hands straying lower on his back, and Remus realised if they weren't careful they were going to end up performing indecent acts in the stairwell. He glanced sideways and saw Andromeda watching them from the stairs, a small smile on her face.

"All right, Andromeda?" he asked softly, and she coloured a little more. Sirius glanced up, grinned, and nuzzled Remus' cheek. Andromeda descended the stairs and kissed Sirius on the forehead.

"You can know a thing," she said, "and never really know what you're going to think of it until you see it."

Remus, unsure, held Sirius' head against his neck and smiled faintly.

"I'm glad you make him happy," she said.

"Me too," Remus answered.

"What're you going on about then?" Sirius demanded, into his throat.

"Nothing, Sirius," Andromeda said, turning to go. "Come upstairs, before you make a spectacle of yourself."

"Wasn't making a spectacle," Sirius said.

"Sirius, you've got your hand -- " Remus began, hoping Andromeda hadn't seen that.

"Oh." Sirius looked sheepish, then -- in a nearly unparalleled feat -- transmuted it into a wicked grin. "Shall we continue making a spectacle upstairs?"

***

Harry nearly fell asleep in Potions the next day; between the excitement of his first flight in two years, making Quidditch team, and anticipation of Sirius' return letter, he couldn't get to sleep the night before. Eventually he had begun to listen for the sounds of sleep from the other boys, and when he was sure they wouldn't notice, he crept out of bed and opened his trunk.

His Nimbus Two Thousand lay in its special hidden compartment, and he lifted it out as quietly as possible; he wondered if he'd still be able to fly when he wasn't chasing furiously after Draco. Hesitantly, he laid it on the ground and whispered "up!" as loudly as he dared. It sprang up into his hand, solidly, much less skittish than the old school broom.

Oh, it was beautiful. Almost too beautiful to ride.

He carefully climbed onto the broom and tugged gently; it responded easily, lifting him up off the floor of the dormitory, and drifting him gently towards the window high in the wall, which let out barely a foot above ground level, and was just wide enough for a thin eleven-year-old to fit through. He unlatched it, hands shaking in the moonlight -- it would be Full Moon soon, and he'd send Remus a nice long letter for him to read while he recuperated.

Once he'd squeezed through the window, the broom seemed to sense somehow that they were free; he rose quickly, the chest-constricting fear of this afternoon banished in the feel of the wind blowing through his disordered hair.

He'd spent hours flying, learning the feel of the broomstick, how to pick up or drop speed, how to do simple tricks like loop-de-loops and a barrel roll that made his glasses fall off; he dove, squinting, catching just a hint of light reflected in the lenses, and grabbed them instinctively. He hadn't come half as close to the ground as he had with the Remembrall, he saw, when he put them back on. The Nimbus had superior speed, superior handling...it was, simply, superior.

He didn't return to the Slytherin dormitory until the sun was peeking over the horizon, and he'd barely managed to get the broomstick into its compartment again before he fell into bed for an hour or two. In Potions, Neville had to keep poking him to keep him awake, but they did manage not to melt any cauldrons, and Professor Snape didn't seem to notice Harry dozing off with his chin on his hand. If he did, he didn't comment.

At lunch, while he tried not to fall asleep into his sandwich, he got good-natured jibes from the Weasley twins about hitting bludgers his way, and not-so-good-natured glares from some of the Slytherin team, who clearly didn't think he was up to it. Still, Harry wasn't afraid, and just after lunch Hedwig flapped into the Great Hall with a jubilant letter from Sirius, congratulating him with a proud tone even Harry couldn't dismiss. He wondered how Sirius and Remus were going to take to rooting for Slytherin, and he was sure Remus was wondering too, though Sirius sounded too swept up in the excitement to consider it.

At the High Table, he saw Professor Snape looking...well, if he was to be honest, rather smug. Professor McGonagall looked downright murderous; but then Harry knew Gryffindor had been after the Quidditch Cup for years, and Slytherin was their main competition. Surely he alone couldn't annoy her so much, though; she had no idea if he was any good, or any sort of competition for the new Gryffindor Seeker, tapped just this year.

Harry had the sudden presentiment that, while Quidditch could be the best time of his life, it was also about to make said life infinitely more difficult.