Those last few summer days were passing too fast. Like most of the summers before them Peter Watts barely noticed the time pass him by. It had been a slow summer, isolated from much of the rest of his friends in the old house he had whiled away the long summer days reading or doing the list of chores that had been left for him.

The sun was up, shining down with the kind of warmth that could only be appreciated by someone basking in it. The glittering out on the lake as a gentle wind stirred the water caused him to squint every time he looked over at the view, the rustic cottage seemed to be situated in just the right way to give him the best view of a family of ducks bobbing for food.

He was sitting in the garden, on a low ancient stonewall that separated the terrace from the rock gardens that were his grandmother’s pride and joy, reading yet another book in an effort to appear less alone than he actually felt.

Old Grandmother Watts, who was no doubt keeping an eye on him from where she tended her flowerbeds, had been worrying after him all summer. It wasn’t natural in her opinion for a boy to be so quiet, but there was little else for him to do at her house in the Lake District. It wasn’t as if there were other children his own age for him to do anything with. She gave him chores to do, kept him busy, she was one of the old fashioned sort that felt flicking a wand to mow grass or do dishes was a waste of the art.

Peter didn’t mind staying with the aged witch; it wasn’t her fault that his father had been called away one week into the summer. Yet another archaeological dig that only he could supervise, and Peter was used to it. His father lived for his work, and as much as Peter had wanted to go with him that was no place for a fifteen-year-old boy to be.

He would have simply been under foot anyway, and it did give him a chance to spend time with his Gran. He usually found something to keep him occupied during the long summers he spent with her. She was getting older and even though she seemed to genuinely feel sorry for him being left behind, he knew she in turn appreciated his company.

He looked over the edge of his book, Gedwin’s Theories on Anti-Magic, at her tending a bush of her prize-winning rose hips. It was widely known she grew the best variety in the county, and she was proud of the fact that she was almost totally self-sufficient and didn’t have to make a run into Diagon alley each time she needed herbs.

She looked up at him in turn and her face creased into a warm and loving smile. She always did that when he watched her work, and it was contagious. He closed the battered leather bound book, one of his fathers, and set it on his lap.

“Do you need a hand?” he asked politely.

“Oh good heavens no,” she said, wielding the pruning sheers as if they were a scalpel expertly snipping off a couple of dead leaves. She examined her handy work before she looked back at him, “Soon be back to school for you.” She loved to change the subject on him.

He nodded, trying not to seem too excited over the prospect of going back to Hogwarts, he didn’t want her to get the idea he was anxious to leave. But the way she looked at him through her thick-rimmed bifocals he knew she had guessed.

“That’s good, growing lad like you shouldn’t be bored like this,” she got up and tucked the sheers into the pocket of her apron, “We should think about making a trip to pick up what you need for the year.”

“Not yet,” Peter said, “the letter from Hogwarts hasn’t arrived yet.”

She gave him another grandmotherly look as she fished the treasured envelope out of her other apron pocket, “It arrived by owl before breakfast, I was going to give it to you after lunch, but I think I would like for us to have lunch in London today, before you go back tomorrow.”

He covered the ground between himself and her in a matter of second, wrapping his gangling arms around her and squeezing her tightly. He could feel her laughing at his sudden show of affection, and she wrapped her arms around him in turn. “You go, get ready and I’ll make myself look presentable. It wouldn’t do for a Watts to look like she spent all her time in the garden now will it?”

He nodded at her before he raced off into the house hurrying to collect his cloak and wand, and was dressed and waiting as his grandmother entered the hall. She slipped on her grey woollen coat as she stepped forward to straighten his cloak. Running a loving hand down its lines.

“You always look so smart in that,” she said proudly, adjusting the Ravenclaw emblem so that it sat perfectly on his breast.

Peter winced as she took a moment to fuss over his unruly hair that, although cut and parted neatly in the middle never seemed to want to lie flat. He tolerated her fussing with a smile as she patted it down. Knowing that it was just something the old woman had to do.

“You look so much like your father,” she remarked as she reached for the port key she kept for specifically travelling to Diagon Alley. She preferred it to Floo powder, cleaner and more reliable, and since Peter was too young to apparate, it was the best way to travel.

“Are you ready?” she asked as she extended the portkey to him, and he nodded grasping onto the ring shaped object.

***

Diagon Alley was a bustle of life. It was crowded with families preparing for the new school year, everyone equally rushing to pick up everything they needed at the same time. It was a controlled chaos, students meeting up after a long summer of separation, old friends and archenemies renewing their acquaintances. It was that time of the year for all of them, for parents it was a time of parting and some of their faces said it wasn’t a moment too soon.

Grandmother Watts pursed her lips as she looked about her, walking with a purpose towards the book store, the letter shopping list in her hands and a determined look painted on her face. Flourish & Blott's was beyond crowded with a long line extending from it, and Grandmother Watts examined it with a critical eye.

“I don’t know what’s going on there,” she stated exasperatedly, lifting her list again, “but I’m not waiting in line all day…”

Peter craned his head a little in an effort to read a garishly painted sign sitting outside the bookstore, something about an autobiography, “Gilderoy Lockheart!” he said with some surprise.

“Lockheart,” Grandmother Watts mulled over the name as she guided him towards a clothiers intent on ensuring he had a pair of self cleaning socks, she knew all too well how forgetful teenage boys were when it came to changing socks. She stopped and looked back at the store, “Your father went to school with a Gilderoy Lockheart, charming youngman with a nice smile but absolutely terrible with a wand…” she shook her head and dismissed it, palcing a hand on his shoulder as he guided him through the throng of people towards the clothiers.

“Peter!” the yell caused the lanky Ravenclaw to turn and seek out who had called him. And he smiled when he saw the top of a familiar blonde head bouncing its way through the crowds of people towards him.

The young griffindor finally dodged around a stall where a woman in long white fur and a slightly tarnished tiara was buying turkish delight from a short dwarf. And Peter couldn’t help but smile at a friendly face.

Nicholas Jensen had an excited look on his almost angelic face. Those deep blue eyes sparkled with a mischief that always gave him away to adults. He was one of those boys that looked perpetually up to no good. This had earned the playful Griffindor a lot of grief from the less understanding professors at Hogwarts. Professor Snape had a particular dislike for the young man.

He bounded up to shake Peter’s hand, which became more of a hug. Despite the years difference between the two of them. Peter was a fifth year and Nicholas was only in his fourth, and the fact they were in separate houses, they had grown to be close friends.

“How are you doing? How was your summer?” The questions spilling out of Nicholas’s mouth were in such a rapid sucession that Peter had trouble keeping up, he opened his mouth to reply, but Nicholas had already forgotten that he had asked them. “I went home to Canada, talk about boring, but Mum was glad to see me. She was thinking of sending me to,” his voice dipped and his nose scrunched up, “that American school… But Dad insists I finish at Hogwarts, so disaster averted!” He grinned and suddenly became aware of Peter’s grandmother.

He instantly flashed from over excited fourteen-year-old to model choir boy, “Hello Mrs. Watts I hope you are having a good day?”

Grandmother Watts, a former professor of herbology at Hogwarts before she had retired, affixed a knowing look on the seemingly innocent youngman in front of her. She may have been old, but she wasn’t about to be fooled that easilly, “Fine young master Jensen,” she said formally, “Are your parents close by? Perhaps they would care to join us for lunch?”

She looked annoyed as someone jostled her, and the stranger turned and immeadiately reconized who it was he had bumped into and began a string of apologies before he melted back into the crowd. Whenever some one did that to his Gran, Peter always smiled.

Nicholas brightened as he nodded, “Yes Mrs. Watts, my dad’s here, he’s waiting in line to get my books from Flourish & Blott's. Gilderoy Lockhearts there doing a book signing today.”

Grandmother Watts had a look in her eye that said she had an idea, “Well then Nicholas, could you ask your father to pick up this list of books as well,” she handed him the list, “Just tell him to tell the clerk that they are for me and to put them on my account, I will make reservations at Roweena’s pot and kettle for us to have lunch.” She checked her watch, “You’d best go with him Peter, just to make sure he doesn’t forget.” She had that knowing look in her eyes, “And I will see both of you, and Mister Jensen in one hour.”

She made it clear that she didn’t expect them to be late, but a warm smile gave them her blessing that they didn’t have to be back before then. The two boys thanked her and dashed off to find Nicholas’s father in the crowd surrounding the bookstore.

“Gilderoy Lockheart,” Nicholas nudged Peter again, “can you imagine having a chance to meet someone famous?”

Peter looked at the young Griffindor in surprise, “didn’t you say the same thing about meeting Harry Potter last year?”

“Yeah but that’s different,” Nicholas said as he stuck his hands into the pocket of his cloak, the pair of them working their way through the crowds, “He was in my house so I saw him like every day, and there’s nothing special about him, well there is but…”

“I get what you’re saying,” Peter replied taking off his glasses and polishing them on the tail of his shirt, “But Gran was saying that Gilderoy Lockhert went to school with my Dad.”

“That’s so cool!” Nicholas said with big round eyes, “You’re dad was friends with a real life super hero!”

Peter chuckled, his exhuberant friend was prone to bouts of hero worship, and right now everything he said was Lockheart this, and Lockheart that. Peter assumed that was the reason Nicholas’s father had let him go chasing after Peter, a welcome break from the nonstop chatter about his new hero and his exploits.

Peter liked Nicholas, he was refreshing, so much of his school career before becoming friends with the Canadian Griffindor had been spent in the very sedate Ravenclaw loft over the library. It was a quiet place, too many books and parchment floating around. Everyone lost in their studying to be talkative. And as much as Peter liked that environment, he also liked to have a conversation.

Perhaps it was the fact that they were so different that made them so close. Tall, lanky and bookish as opposed to short, athletic and outgoing. Maybe it was just that once a Griffindor got it into his head that he wanted you as a friend you were just unable to shake them. It didn’t really matter to Peter, ever since the unique method of their introduction, they’d been the best of friends.

***

(One Year Ago)

Nicholas scrambled up the two floors he needed to climb in order to reach the overhanging lip of the gutter that would let him scramble onto the roof. Of all the methods to escape curfew this had to be the riskiest he had ever tried. He’d been off exploring, something third years do when they are bored and he had lost track of time. The way Snape was patrolling the halls trying to slip back into the Griffindor tower was not a possibility. His only option had been to climb the outdated drain pipe on the side of the tower and go in through the bathroom window.

The window was unlocked, foresight had seen him ensure that. He’d been out past curfew before and had been given a weeks worth of detentions for being out in the halls past curfew. He was sure Snape would have done worse if professor Mcgonagall hadn’t stepped in and assumed responsibility. She had made him solomnly promise not to do it again. Which naturally meant for him not to get caught again.

The window was just above him, all he had to do was brace his foot against the brickwork and reach over the gutter and he would be able to pull himself up. He did this easilly, and he prayed that the section of gutter he was putting his weight on would hold.

It held, and he was soon standing on the roof, feeling extraordinarily proud of himself for making it. All he had to do was open the window and he would get away with it scott free. He would be the toast of his dorm, pulling off a stunt like that.

He righted himself up, muttering, “And that Ladies and Gentlemen was yet another Miracle brought to you by the Magical, Mystical Mat- mister…." Yet inexplicably his words froze in his throat as the roofing shingle beneath his feet began to slide. He cursed inwardly, he hadn’t thought about that possibility, not that it would have made any difference.

He decided to mutter a quote from the Universe according to Nicholas Jensen, soon to be hitting the ground near you… "Chapter twelve, paragraph eight, verse three. The universe hates you, deal with it."

He teetered on the edge of the rooftop, looking down at the green patch of grass beneath him. He knew he had only a few seconds to react before he was plummeting to his doom below, and he reached out to grab something, anything that he could hold onto. The window was a good two feet away, and there was no way he could survive a fall into the courtyard below. No, the only thing in reach was the edge of the gutter.

Praying to whatever gods still existed he reached out and his hands closed on the edge of the gutter as he slid off of the roof…

There was a sharp crack as the length of gutter took the brunt of his fall; the aged bolts that secured it to the wall came loose. There was a sickening sound of tortured metal, as the guttering pulled free of the wall dragging the drainpipe with it. He felt for sure he was going to die as it continued to pull the pipe free of the wall, then there was a sharp jolt as a set of bolts held and he was no longer falling, dangling from the end of a drainpipe over the inner courtyard.

He swallowed; trying to scramble up to get a better hold of the pipe, wrap his legs around it. He managed to loop a leg desperately over it, but his motion had cause the pipe to swing twisting under his weight, sending him towards the neighbouring tower. He gathered speed, and for all his attempts to keep hold of the pipe the top of the Gutter broke off in his hands and he finally lost his grip.

He momentarily thought about his wand, and that he should be casting a floating spell, but he didn’t have time as the sideways motion propelled him against a window in the next tower. The leaded glass gave way and shattered, and he rolled through the glass to land in an unceremonious heap at the feet of a rather startled student wearing Ravenclaw blues.

The Ravenclaw quickly knelt down beside him, “are you okay?” he asked in shock.

Nicholas felt a bit battered, damp from the water that had been collecting in the gutter and had drenched him when it had pulled free, feeling the cuts and bruises as he lay on a million little shards of glass… “Okay, I’m just going to lie here right now, if that's okay with you." He still clutched onto the broken piece of guttering as if still unsure he should let go.

Nicholas managed to sit up, realizing he must have looked about worse than he felt, the cuts weren’t deep but they were beginning to bleed. He must have looked like a used tea bag, soggy and slimy, Nicholas managed a smile, “Don’t worry I’ve had far worse, you missed the time I glued myself to the ceiling in Professor Snape’s potions class… this is just me being an idiot!”

The Ravenclaw looked at him dumbstruck a moment, before he stood, “I’ll go get Miss Pomfrey…”

“No!” Nicholas said, a little more guiltily than he would have liked, and the Good Samaritan stopped halfway to the door. “I mean…”

A flash of understanding and sympathy entered the Ravenclaw’s eyes as he turned back, “Okay, but you’re a…” There was the sound of heavy footfalls on the tower stairs and both boys looked at the door in fear.

Nicholas gave the Ravenclaw a pleading look, and the lanky young man sighed as he motioned to the closet in the corner of the room. Nicholas didn’t hesitate as he dived into it as the door burst open.

Professor Snape cast a baleful eye around the small study room, looking first at the broken window, then down at the piece of guttering and finally at the Ravenclaw student in the middle of the room.

“What is going on here?” He intoned; his eyes searched the students face.

Peter knew better than to let the man look into his eyes so he turned and pointed, “Sir, I was studying, working on a paper for Professor Flitwick’s class, sir, when that,” He motioned to the piece of guttering, “Fell through the window…”

He licked his lips nervously, not daring to look over at the closet.

Snape stared down at the offending piece of guttering, and at the window again, finally letting a stern look fall upon the young Ravenclaw again. He considered the story, and after a ponderously long moment, accepted it. He drew out his wand and uttered a few words as the glass lifted from the floor and reformed into the windowpane, the cracks smoothing over as it repaired itself.

“You should be in your dorm room Mister Watts,” Snape said as he turned back to the door of the small study room.

“Y-yes sir,” Peter replied nervously, “I was just finishing my paper and heading to bed, sir.”

Snape paused for an agonizingly long time before he left the study in a swirl of black robes. The door banging closed behind him.

When it was safe, the battered Griffindor slipped out of the closet, looking slightly the worse for wear. He sat a moment tenderly in a chair as Peter cocked his head kneeling down beside him.

“That was close!” Nicholas breathed as he tried to rub the sensation back into his numb hands.

Peter shook his head as he pulled out his wand, “Hold still and I’ll see if I can fix those cuts.”

***

Towards the end of a pleasant afternoon shopping with Nicholas and his dad and they were in the Confessio Artefact shop. Peter liked Nicholas’s father, they had met last Christmas, and the Canadian wizard had regular business with the London Ministry of Magic and often stopped at Hogwarts to visit Nicholas. He reminded Peter of the old Uncle Sam poster he had seen in his Muggle history textbook. He had Nicholas’s roguish eyes and innocent smile, and Peter’s grandmother had taken a good liking to the man.

The artefact store was old and musty; there was a fine layer of dust over everything. It reminded Peter of an old antiques shop, where everything was mismatched or broken. He peered through a display case at a selection of old watches running backwards, some with two hands, some with eight.

Peter wasn’t exactly sure why they had come into the store; they had everything on their shopping lists. Grandmother Watts had even introduced Nicholas’s father to the wonder of self-cleaning socks as payment for helping her with the books. But his Grandmother had insisted they make one last stop before heading home.

Nicholas was fiddling with something that looked like a cross between a mummies hand and an ornate backscratcher; he jumped when it tried to fiddle with him in return. Peter suppressed a smirk as his young friends curiosity got the better of him yet again.

Peter stopped smiling when he realized the adults were all staring in his direction, and he drew his Ravenclaw robe a bit closer about him, “What?” he asked feeling suddenly self-conscious.

The clerk was holding a flat slab of obsidian glass about the size of a pocket book in his hands. He was careful not to touch it with his hands as he held it partially wrapped in dark red velvet. It glittered as it caught the light and the clerk extended it to Peter.

“Go ahead son, touch it.” He offered warmly.

Peter looked up at his Grandmother, and she gave him a reassuring look. Peter took that for an ‘it won’t hurt you’ and he reached out tentatively to take the flat object in his hands.

It was cool to the touch and he held it for a moment turning it over in his hands, he looked up questioningly at the clerk, who stepped back still giving him an expectant look And he was about to say something, ask if he would be doing anything. But he felt a sudden warm rush from the flat artefact into him.

He glanced down, wondering what it was, the words scrawling in his minds eye. [cognito secretum] he looked startled up at the now bemused clerk.

“You have a wealth of literary works literally at your finger tips,” the clerk said with a smile, “the U’at is a very old magical device, but it should help you in your studies.” He turned slightly and beamed at Grandmother Watts, “It is a very rare and useful gift, and hopefully it will give him wise counsel.”

Mrs Watts nodded, “His father had one when he was in school, he still uses it to this day, invaluable when it comes to research, I trust however there is no… undesirable magic knowledge it can access?”

The clerk shook his head, “No, not spells it cannot teach, simply provide counsel and guidance, I should worry, he won’t be permitted to take it into Exams with him and cheat, but it will make his studying easier.”

“Like a tutor?” Nicholas’s father asked curiously, glancing over at Nicholas and considering.

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. Unfortunately that was my last one, most are used by serious scholars and so they are in short supply.” He glanced almost reluctantly at the U’at in Peter’s hands, as if suddenly loath to relinquish it to someone so young.

“Thank you.” Grandmother Watts said, fishing out her purse to pay for it, “I should have bought him one when he first went to school,” she explained, “but they are expensive and I was afraid he would loose it.”

Bought and paid for, Peter slipped the U’at into the pocket of his coat and followed his Gran out into the alley. A quick goodbye and a promise to meet on the platform the next morning to catch the Hogwarts Express, and the two families separated. Returning for their last night at home.