The next morning, most everyone else was still asleep when I woke. Beside me though, Harry was wide awake, staring up at the ceiling. My brain was foggy, and my mind was racing with the last dream that I had.

"Harry!" I whispered. He looked over to me immediately.

"What is it?" He asked.

"I had the most peculiar dream last night," I told him, making sure to keep my voice very low. "Malfoy and I were messing with one of Snape's Potions ingredients — moonberries, I think, and then he kissed me! And I kissed him back! And then, Professor Snape came in early to tell us that Sirius Black had gotten into the castle, and he lead us to the Great Hall and then— and then—"

The horrified look on Harry's face, as well as the fact he was there at all, said everything.

"That wasn't a dream, was it?"

"No," Harry said slowly. He squinted and hissed. "You kissed Malfoy?!"

"I didn't mean to!" I said quickly, "oh, that was so stupid of me!"

"Good God," Harry ran his hands down his face. "Never a dull moment with you, is there?"

I was about to tell him that he's one to talk when another terrible thought struck me. "Oh no, what do I tell Ron?"

"Ron is not going to find out," Harry put a finger to his lips, but it was too late.

"I won't find out what?" Ron rose up to his elbows and looked between us groggily. Harry and I shared a panicked look before Harry started to wave his hands.

"You're dreaming," he said, seemingly doing his best Trelawney impression. "Back to sleep with you."

"Mm, alright," Ron seemed to have no complaints, letting his head fall back against the pillow. Minutes later, he was snoring again.

The next Potions lesson was terribly awkward. I avoided eye contact with Malfoy the entire time. Harry kept looking over judgmentally as if trying to make sure we didn't do it again, though we worked in total silence. Malfoy opened his mouth to speak after twenty minutes and I quickly cut him off.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Malfoy exhaled impatiently. "I was just going to ask for the mortar and pestle."

"Oh, sorry." I handed it over, mouth pressed into a firm line. "But for the record, we're going to just forget it ever happened. Deal?"

He and I both knew it wasn't that easy, but he rolled his eyes and nodded anyway.

"Deal." He agreed. "But really, Holmes. It's all just rather silly. It's not like either of us wanted that to happen-"

"It's forgotten." I cut him off. "Don't even know what you're talking about."

Despite that, I continued to find myself in situations where I was alone with Malfoy. Like weeks later, when we were working on an assignment together and he informed me that Slytherin wouldn't be playing in the next match because of his arm.

"An injury's an injury Holmes, nothing I can do about it," he said smugly.

I scoffed. "You just don't want to play in the weather."

Today was the day before the match, and it was already very windy and overcast — it was likely to rain tomorrow.

"You know I'd be out there if I could," Malfoy said innocently. I rolled my eyes.

"You're infuriating," I told him.

He hummed noncommittally. "Pot meet kettle."

He raised an eyebrow at me, "don't you have class? In about —" he checked his watch, "— three minutes?"

"Three minutes?!" I exclaimed, looking at my own watch in a panic. "Merlin — I have to run. Goodbye!"

"Goodbye," he lifted his available hand in a lazy wave as I got up and sprinted out of the library and down the corridor to get to Defense Against the Dark Arts. I arrived right as the clock chimed and found the class unusually silent. I looked to the front desk to see Professor Snape there, looking very serious.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor," I said. Where was Professor Lupin?

"Sit down, Holmes, so I can begin."

"Right," I quickly found my way by habit to my usual seat — next to Dean. Thankfully, this arrangement was becoming less awkward. Dean and I now whispered like we used to, although they were usually only one to two word exchanges about the lesson.

"Malfoy?" Dean murmured. I turned to him, alarmed.

"How'd you know?" I hissed. Three words today.

"Holmes," Professor Snape said suddenly. "As you were the last one here, would you know where Potter is?"

"He's not here?" I turned to observe the room — usually he was first to arrive. "I don't know Professor. He's probably with Wood."

"He'd be here if your Seeker would quit faking his injury," Seamus muttered. There was a murmur of resentment from the class.

"Don't speak ill of my team in my class, Mr. Finnegan," said Professor Snape warningly.

"It's not your class, it's Professor Lupin's," Lavender retorted bravely.

"It's my class as long as I'm teaching, Miss Brown," Professor Snape sneered. "And your idol doesn't seem to be doing a good job educating you. Professor Lupin hasn't left any sort of record of anything you've covered, leading me to believe that—"

The door burst open.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor Lupin. I—"

We all looked up. Harry was standing at the door, panting and looking frozen in place. Professor Snape took ten points from him, despite him being only five minutes tardy.

Throughout the class, I learned that Professor Snape did not much like Professor Lupin, his teaching methods, or werewolves. By the end of the lesson, Hermione had docked us five points by knowing the answer, and Ron had earned himself detention by defending her. Snape read through and criticized our old papers, and talked ill of Professor Lupin the entire time. Once the bell rang, he held us back.

"You will each write an essay, to be handed in to me, on the ways you recognize and kill werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. Weasley, stay behind, we need to arrange your detention. And Holmes, I'll have a word with you afterwards."

The class packed up and left, and I waited uncomfortably by the doorway while Professor Snape set up a detention with Ron, who looked more and more like he was going to explode.

"That slimy bastard prick," Ron muttered to me as he finally brushed by.

After he'd left, I approached Professor Snape, who was hitting the stack of papers on the desk to  sort them evenly.

"Don't you find it odd that Lupin would save one of the most dangerous beasts for last, Holmes?" He asked me, setting the pile down neatly in front of him.

"Well, he's been following the order of the book for the most part," I said cautiously. "And he's been bringing them in for us for experience. I'm sure he decided that he would trust us with the easier creatures first."

"Almost as if he was hoping he wouldn't have to cover the unit at all," Professor Snape said airily.

"I doubt he could bring in a live werewolf for us to have experience with," I replied, not knowing where he was going with this. "They're people too, so he'd probably have to find one to conduct an interview with."

"There are werewolves everywhere Holmes," Professor Snape said darkly. "There could be one right under your nose and you'd have no idea."

Not sure what he was implying, I just nodded. "Right."

"Hinkypunks and Kappas are trifle work — hardly anything you couldn't handle. Now, if this class were in my hands, we'd have covered werewolves in one of the first units."

"Forgive me, sir," I said. "But you're an excellent Potions master. I couldn't think of a single person better fit for the job than you."

"That's because I teach you what's important, Holmes." He grimaced, looking at the stack of papers once more. "None of this riffraff."

"Why are you so adamant about werewolves?" I hazarded. "Bad experiences?"

"That's none of your business," he said sharply. I quickly changed the subject.

"Is Professor Lupin ill?" I asked. "He's been looking pale for the past week."

"Something of that manner," Professor Snape looked as if he wished he was dead instead. "His cough is rather, well, feral." He paused, giving me a meaningful look. "I've been providing potions to help with his unfortunate circumstances. He'll be back next week."

"Ah, alright," I nodded. "Was that all you wanted me to know?"

"Just be meticulous. People are not always what they seem," Professor Snape's eyes glittered. "Also, would you care to explain your tardiness?"

"I was with Malfoy," I admitted. "We were talking about the match tomorrow and I lost track of time."

"Ah, right," he nodded, a smug smile coming to his face. "It's a pity his arm is injured."

"A pity," I repeated, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. "I'd best be going, I have astronomy homework to catch up on."

"Go on," Professor Snape nodded. His eyed me meaningfully. "You must have seen the full moon last night, correct?"

"Yes, I did," I said slowly. He watched me carefully as I slowly closed the door behind me. What was that all about? For the sake of my class, I hoped Professor Lupin would get better soon.

The wind battered the branches of trees and rain splattered against the windows of the castle. Terrible weather for Quidditch. As tradition, Dean had made another poster for the first match of the season, and we all brought umbrellas with us outside on the stands. Gryffindor quickly gained the lead, though Harry was constantly wiping his glasses off in his search for the Snitch.

"We should do something about his glasses," I said to no one in particular. Hermione hopped up as soon as Wood called a time-out.

"I'm on it," she said, rushing down.

She came back and sat back down a few minutes later — the team was up in the air again, Harry having much better luck than before.

"What did you do?" I asked her.

"I made them repel water," she said simply. "Hopefully that will do the trick."

"Brilliant, Hermione," I told her. She beamed with pride. There was another bout of thunder and lightning. Harry, who was in the middle of returning toward the center of the field, suddenly froze. He was looking in our direction, but not at us. I turned around to see a streak of black disappear behind the seats. I watched for it to make a reappearance — squinting against the rain, but it never showed itself.

"What are you looking at?" Ron asked me. "Diggory's after the Snitch."

I turned back to the game immediately, pushing the black streak to the back of my mind. Probably just a squirrel or something.

"Come on, Harry," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"Does — does anyone feel that?" Neville looked around, worrying at his lip.

"Feel what?" Asked Seamus, but as soon as I tuned in I knew what he meant. There was the familiar sensation of my happiness draining away, and all sound became muffled over. This feeling of emptiness I'd only ever experienced with a dementor around. I looked down at the field to see at least a hundred of them flooding the field below — my heart picked up speed.

"Harry!" Ron cried. I looked back up just too see Harry tip all of the way off of his broom, his Nimbus flying off somewhere above him. He fell at an alarming pace, and my hand flew to my mouth.

"Arresto momentum!" A voice bellowed from below us.

Harry's body slowed its descent, and I looked to see Dumbledore holding out his wand, looking more furious than I'd ever seen him. He then produced blinding, silvery light from his wand, and the Dementors fled. I suddenly remembered to breathe.

"We've got to see if he's alright!" I exclaimed, getting up. Everyone followed close behind. The rest of the Quidditch team had already formed a semicircle around Dumbledore, who had produced a stretcher and had Harry laying on it.

"—unbelievable," Dumbledore was saying. "I told them they could not leave their posts."

"Do you think he'll be alright, Professor?" Asked Angelina Johnson, looking worried.

"I believe so," Dumbledore nodded. "I'd best get him up to the Hospital Wing. Feel free to come with me."

The rest of the Quidditch Team chattered over losing the match and Wood's odd behavior, but my mind was fixed on two things — whatever Harry saw behind us, and why the Dementors rushed the field. It was far too small to be a person, so it couldn't have been Sirius Black.

Could it?

"Lila? Lila are you okay?"

Dean was looking at me with concern. This was the most Dean had said to me in a while — I must have looked scared out of my mind. I shook my head.

"I'm fine," I said, "that was scary."

"That's one way to put it," said Hermione, who looked like she'd been sobbing. Ron had awkwardly put his arm around her shoulders and patted it in what was an attempt to be comforting.

"He'll be alright," said Dean. "Harry's gotten through everything."

"I just can't believe the dementors came onto the grounds," I said, feeling anger begin to rise in me. "They're supposed to be a precaution but look at the way they're affecting the students!"

I looked to my left to see Madam Hooch running towards us with a bag in her hand. The rest of the group began to pick up on it, and I slowed to meet her. She stopped once she'd reached me holding out the bag.

"Tell him I'm so very sorry," she looked as if she were about to cry. "It ran into the Whomping Willow — we couldn't save it."

Taking the bag and looking inside, I gasped. It was Harry's faithful Nimbus 2000, broken into pieces. His first broom.

Hermione began to cry again. I solemnly thanked Madam Hooch, and we walked in grim silence up to the Hospital Wing. Holding Harry's beaten Nimbus felt like carrying a corpse. I knew how much he loved this broom — everyone did.

Madam Pomfrey looked like she'd have a conniption at the sheer amount of us, but let us all in anyway. I vaguely recognized my clothes dripping water onto the floor, and the braid down my back seeping into my clothes. The Quidditch Team continued to talk until Harry began to stir.

"Harry!" Fred exclaimed. "How're you feeling?"

"Are you alright?" I asked. Harry looked between Fred and I, his eyes flying back and forth. I could tell he was trying to remember what happened.

"What happened?" he asked. He bolted upright in the bed, startling us.

"You fell off," Dean explained. "Must've been — what — fifty feet?"

"We thought you'd died," Alicia said, shivering.

Hermione let out a tiny sob.

"But the match," Harry pressed, and of course he was worried about Quidditch. "What happened? Are we doing a replay?"

We all looked to each other, remembering Wood's sullen face. Harry's hopeful expression faltered.

"We didn't — lose?"

Everyone tried to offer condolences, but I think we had the worst news of all.

"Did someone get my Nimbus?"

Ron and Hermione looked quickly to me.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," I said, lifting the bag.

"What?" Harry asked.

"It flew into the Whomping Willow," I said, watching Harry's face grow paler. "Madam Hooch brought it to us, but she couldn't save it."

I handed him the bag, my lips pursed. He looked inside, his face falling at the leftover splinters and twigs. Hermione sniffled.

"We know how much it meant to you, Harry," I said forlornly. He looked up at me, and I recognized his expression — I made the same face whenever I was trying to hold back tears. He pulled the bag to his chest in silence.

"We'll let you be mate," Ron said. "We're just happy you're alive."

Hermione and I nodded. Harry nodded as well, looking like he was struggling to hold it together.

"Thank you," he said, still clutching the bag. He looked to me. "Lila? Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure," I said, coming closer to him.  Ron and Hermione exchanged a look before they slowly made their way out of the Hospital Wing.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Right before the dementors came I saw it," Harry said gravely. "I saw the Grim."

I recalled the black streak I'd seen dive behind the chairs.

"I think I saw it too," I said nervously. "But it was just a blur — it could have been anything. Harry, you know how I feel about death omens—"

"But I almost died," Harry persisted. "What happens if I see it again?"

"Key word, almost," I said earnestly. "You're going to be alright, Harry."

He was silent for a few more moments.

"Why am I the only one that's affected like this?" He shook his head. "Am I just—"

"Harry, you're one of the strongest people I know," I interrupted. "No harm is going to come to you; you know how to take care of yourself, but even in the times that you don't, Ron, Hermione and I — your friends — we'll make sure to take care of you too."

"Thank you," Harry said, looking a little better now. He chuckled at me. "You know, you have a knack for impromptu speeches."

I blushed at the compliment. "I suppose it's a consequence for being well-versed in fictional literature."

"Maybe I should read more, then," Harry replied, "get better at this 'talking to people' thing."

"That's quite a resolution, Harry," I joked. "I didn't know you could read."

A quizzical look dropped onto Harry's face.

"What?" I asked.

"Malfoy said that to me once," he said, a sly grin spreading onto his face. "You know, I think you've been spending too much time with him—"

"Shove off," I groaned at him. "You're awful."

He just laughed, and I rolled my eyes.

When I returned to Gryffindor Tower, it was to catch up on all of the homework I'd been neglecting. I was almost finished with Snape's werewolf essay, at least. I read over what I'd already written in my head until a certain sentence caught my attention.

"—In the week prior to the full moon, they often gain a pallor and a sickly-looking physique—"

I stopped midway through my review, reading the last two sentences again. And again. And again. Professor Snape's voice rung like a bell through my head.

"Almost as if he was hoping he wouldn't have to cover the unit at all."

"There could be one right under your nose and you'd have no idea."

"His cough is rather, well, feral."

"I've been providing potions to help his unfortunate circumstances. He'll likely be back next week."

"You must have seen the full moon last night, correct?"

I stared.

"Of course!" I whispered, the gears shifting and turning in my head. Everything clicked into place — I now understood what Professor Snape was trying to tell me.

I clambered out of my canopy. Hermione was on her bed, a pile of papers on her lap and books strewn all over her covers. Crookshanks mewled softly, alerting her that I'd come in. She looked up, a tired but brilliant sort of sparkle in her eye. Parvati and Lavender weren't there, so I sat on my bed across from hers and prepared to tell her what I'd just found out.

"Professor Lupin is a werewolf," I said bluntly, unsure how to even preface something like that. She stared at me incredulously, as if just hearing this for the first time. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to tell her. But then she spoke up,

"I didn't think you'd figured it out," she told me. "I was comparing my essay and my lunar charts yesterday and then I remembered that Professor Lupin has been looking very ill recently."

"Professor Snape was trying to hint it to me after class," I told her. "It all makes sense. Look at the moon — it's been full for three nights, he disappeared on Friday, and that's right in the middle of Thursday, yesterday, and today. He must have left yesterday