back down the aisle between the beds: a formidable-looking old witch wearing a long green dress, a moth-eaten fox fur and a pointed hat decorated with what was unmistakeably a stuffed vulture and, trailing behind her looking thoroughly de-pressed - Neville. 
With a sudden rush of understanding, Harry realised who the people in the end beds must be. He cast around wildly for some means of distracting the others so that Neville could leave the ward unnoticed and unquestioned, but Ron had also looked up at the sound of the name 'Longbottom', and before Harry could stop him had called out, 'Neville!' 

Neville jumped and cowered as though a bullet had narrowly missed him. 
'It's us, Neville!' said Ron brightly, getting to his feet. 'Have you seen -? Lockhart's here! Who've you been visiting?' 

'Friends of yours, Neville, dear?' said Neville's grandmother graciously, bearing down upon them all. 
Neville looked as though he would rather be anywhere in the world but here. A dull purple flush was creeping up his plump face and he was not making eye contact with any of them. 
'Ah, yes,' said his grandmother, looking closely at Harry and sticking out a shrivelled, clawlike hand for him to shake. 'Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you.' 

'Er - thanks,' said Harry, shaking hands. Neville did not look at him, but surveyed his own feet, the colour deepening in his face all the while. 
'And you two are clearly Weasleys,' Mrs Longbottom continued, proffering her hand regally to Ron and Ginny in turn. 'Yes, I know your parents - not well, of course - but fine people, fine people: and you must be Hermione Granger?' 

Hermione looked rather startled that Mrs Longbottom knew her name, but shook hands all the same. 
'Yes, Neville's told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots, haven't you? He's a good boy,' she said, casting a sternly appraising look down her rather bony nose at Neville, 'but he hasn't got his father's talent, I'm afraid to say.' And she jerked her head in the direction of the two beds at the end of the ward, so that the stuffed vulture on her hat trembled alarm-ingly. 
'What?' said Ron, looking amazed. (Harry wanted to stamp on Ron's foot, but that sort of thing is much harder to bring off unnoticed when you're wearing jeans rather than robes.) 'Is that your dad down the end, Neville?' 

'What's this?' said Mrs Longbottom sharply. 'Haven't you told your friends about your parents, Neville?' 

Neville took a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. Harry could not remember ever feeling sorrier for anyone, but he could not think of any way of helping Neville out of the situation. 
'Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of!' said Mrs Longbottom angrily. 'You should be proud, Neville, proudl They didn't give their health and their sanity so their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!' 

'I'm not ashamed,' said Neville, very faintly, still looking anywhere but at Harry and the others. Ron was now standing on tiptoe to look over at the inhabitants of the two beds. 
'Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!' said Mrs Longbottom. 'My son and his wife,' she said, turning haughtily to Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, 'were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who's followers.' 

Hermione and Ginny both clapped their hands over their mouths. Ron stopped craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Neville's parents and looked mortified. 
They were Aurors, you know, and very well respected within the wizarding community' Mrs Longbottom went on. 'Highly gifted, the pair of them. I - yes, Alice dear, what is it?' 

Neville's mother had come edging down the ward in her nightdress. She no longer had the plump, happy-looking face Harry had seen in Moody's old photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix. Her face was thin and worn now, her eyes seemed overlarge and her hair, which had turned white, was wispy and dead-looking. She did not seem to want to speak, or perhaps she was not able to, but she made timid motions towards Neville, holding something in her outstretched hand. 
'Again?' said Mrs Longbottom, sounding slightly weary. 'Very well, Alice dear, very well - Neville, take it, whatever it is.' 

But Neville had already stretched out his hand, into which his mother dropped an empty Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrapper. 
'Very nice, dear,' said Neville's grandmother in a falsely cheery voice, patting his mother on the shoulder. 
But Neville said quietly, Thanks, Mum.' 

His mother tottered away, back up the ward, humming to herself. Neville looked around at the others, his expression defi-ant, as though daring them to laugh, but Harry did not think he'd ever found anything less funny in his life. 
'Well, we'd better get back,' sighed Mrs Longbottom, drawing on long green gloves. 'Very nice to have met you all. Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough of them to paper your bedroom by now.' 

But as they left, Harry was sure he saw Neville slip the sweet wrapper into his pocket. 
The door closed behind them. 
'I never knew,' said Hermione, who looked tearful. 
'Nor did I,' said Ron rather hoarsely. 
'Nor me,' whispered Ginny. 
They all looked at Harry. 
'I did,' he said glumly. 'Dumbledore told me but I promised I wouldn't tell anyone: that's what Bellatrix Lestrange got sent to Azkaban for, using the Cruciatus Curse on Neville's parents until they lost their minds.' 

'Bellatrix Lestrange did that?' whispered Hermione, horrified. That woman Kreacher's got a photo of in his den?' 

There was a long silence, broken by Lockharts angry voice. 
'Look, I didn't learn joined-up writing for nothing, you know!' 


- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - 

Occlumency 

Kreacher, it transpired, had been lurking in the attic. Sirius said he had found him up there, covered in dust, no doubt look-ing for more relics of the Black family to hide in his cupboard. Though Sirius seemed satisfied with this story, it made Harry uneasy. Kreacher seemed to be in a better mood on his reappearance, his bitter muttering had subsided somewhat and he sub-mitted to orders more docilely than usual, though once or twice Harry caught the house-elf staring at him avidly, but always looking quickly away whenever he saw that Harry had noticed. 
Harry did not mention his vague suspicions to Sirius, whose cheerfulness was evaporating fast now that Christmas was over. As the date of their departure back to Hogwarts drew nearer, he became more and more prone to what Mrs Weasley called 'fits of the sul-lens', in which he would become taciturn and grumpy, often withdrawing to Buckbeak's room for hours at a time. His gloom seeped through the house, oozing under doorways like some noxious gas, so that all of them became in-fected by it. 
Harry didn't want to leave Sirius again with only Kreacher for company; in fact, for the first time in his life, he was not looking forward to returning to Hogwarts. Going back to school would mean placing himself once again under the tyranny of Dolores Umbridge, who had no doubt managed to force through another dozen decrees in their absence; there was no Quid-ditch to look forward to now that he had been banned; there was every likelihood that their burden of homework would in-crease as the exams drew even nearer; and Dumbledore remained as remote as ever. In fact, if it hadn't been for the DA, Harry thought he might have begged Sirius to let him leave Hogwarts and remain in Grimmauld Place. 
Then, on the very last day of the holidays, something happened that made Harry positively dread his return to school. 
'Harry, dear,' said Mrs Weasley, poking her head into his and Ron's bedroom, where the pair of them were playing wizard chess watched by Hermione, Ginny and Crookshanks, 'could you come down to the kitchen? Professor Snape would like a word with you.' 

Harry did not immediately register what she had said; one of his castles was engaged in a violent tussle with a pawn of Rons and he was egging it on enthusiastically. 
'Squash him - squash him, he's only a pawn, you idiot. Sorry, Mrs Weasley, what did you say?' 

'Professor Snape, dear. In the kitchen. He'd like a word.' 

Harry's mouth fell open in horror. He looked around at Ron, Hermione and Ginny, all of whom were gaping back at him. Crookshanks, whom Hermione had been restraining with difficulty for the past quarter of an hour, leapt gleefully on to the board and set the pieces running for cover, squealing at the top of their voices. 
'Snape?' said Harry blankly. 
'Professor Snape, dear,' said Mrs Weasley reprovingly. 'Now come on, quickly, he says he can't stay long.' 

'What's he want with you?' said Ron, looking unnerved as Mrs Weasley withdrew from the room. 'You haven't done any-thing, have you?' 

'No!' said Harry indignantly, racking his brains to think what he could have done that would make Snape pursue him to Grimmauld Place. Had his last piece of homework perhaps earned a T? 

A minute or two later, he pushed open the kitchen door to find Sirius and Snape both seated at the long kitchen table, glar-ing in opposite directions. The silence between them was heavy with mutual dislike. A letter lay open on the table in front of Sirius. 
'Er,' said Harry, to announce his presence. 
Snape looked around at him, his face framed between curtains of greasy black hair. 
'Sit down, Potter.' 

'You know,' said Sirius loudly, leaning back on his rear chair legs and speaking to the ceiling, 'I think I'd prefer it if you didn't give orders here, Snape. It's my house, you see.' 

An ugly flush suffused Snape's pallid face. Harry sat down in a chair beside Sirius, facing Snape across the table. 
'I was supposed to see you alone, Potter,' said Snape, the familiar sneer curling his mouth, 'but Black -' 

'I'm his godfather,' said Sirius, louder than ever. 
'I am here on Dumbledore's orders,' said Snape, whose voice, b