Butterfly Effect ; H. Potter

80. weasley twins' flight.

Harry tried to make a case for Snape having deserved what he had suffered at James's hands: but hadn't Lily asked, "What's he done to you?" And hadn't James replied, "It's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean." Hadn't James started it all simply because Sirius had said he was bored? Harry remembered Lupin saying back in Grimmauld Place

that Dumbledore had made him prefect in the hope that he would be able to exercise some control over James and Sirius ... but in the Pensieve, he had sat there and let it all happen ...

Harry kept reminding himself that Lily had intervened; his mother had been decent. Yet, the memory of the look on her face as she had shouted at James disturbed him quite as much as anything else; she had clearly loathed James, and Harry simply could not understand how they could have ended up married. Once or twice he even wondered whether James had forced her into it ...

For nearly five years the thought of his father had been a source of comfort, of inspiration. Whenever someone had told him he was like James, he had glowed with pride inside. And now ... now he felt cold and miserable at the thought of him.

The weather grew breezier, brighter, and warmer as the Easter holidays passed, but Harry, along with the rest of the fifth- and seventh-years, was trapped inside, revising, traipsing back and forth to the library. Harry pretended his bad mood had no other cause but the approaching exams, and as his fellow Gryffindors were sick of studying themselves, his excuse went unchallenged.

"Harry?"

"Huh?"

He looked round. Antheia, her face half-covered by her windswept hair, had joined him at the library table where he had been sitting alone. It was late on Sunday evening: Hermione had gone back to Gryffindor Tower to revise Ancient Runes, and Ron had Quidditch practice.

"Hey, Theia," said Harry, pulling his books towards him. "How come you're not at practice?"

"It's over," said Antheia miserably. "Ron took Jack Sloper to the hospital wing."

"Why?"

"I saw him knock himself out with his own bat," said Antheia shortly. "Ginny asked me to give these to you. Look what's on it."

She hoisted a box wrapped in brown paper on to the table; it had clearly been unwrapped and carelessly rewrapped. There was a scribbled note across it in red ink, reading:

Inspected and Passed by the Hogwarts High Inquisitor.

"They're Easter eggs from Mrs. Weasley," said Antheia. She scanned the box for a few moments, then picked up one of the eggs. "Here, have this one."

She handed him a handsome chocolate egg decorated with small, iced Snitches and, according to the packaging, containing a bag of Fizzing Whizzbees. Harry looked at it for a moment, then, to his horror, felt a lump rise in his throat.

"Are you OK, Harry?" said Antheia worriedly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," said Harry gruffly. The lump in his throat was painful. He did not understand why an Easter egg should have made him feel like this.

"I know you're lying," said Antheia persistently. "If it's about Cho, I'm sure she'll stop berating you if you just call me ugly, or -"

"It's not Cho I want to talk to," said Harry brusquely.

"Then, who?" asked Antheia

"I ..." He glanced around to make quite sure nobody was listening. Madam Pince was several shelves away, stamping out a pile of books for a frantic-looking Hannah Abbott.

"I wish I could talk to Sirius," he muttered. "But I know I can't."

More to give himself something to do than because he really wanted any, Harry unwrapped his Easter egg, broke off a large bit, and put it into his mouth.