Unofficial Portkey Archive

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

January was cold, with wet snow and gusting winds. Harry's morning runs had become gruelingly painful slogs through weather that was as solid as a wall. His legs burned, but his face stung with the cold. Still, running through sleet still beat out getting to breakfast early in Harry's mind. The families of twelve students had been attacked on Christmas Day, ten of whom had died. Hermione and a Ravenclaw third year named Nicklby had managed to escape. And as quiet as the Great Hall had grown since all the students had returned, it got quieter still whenever Hermione or Nicklby entered.

Harry hurried through his shower, hoping to get to the hall in time to grab a quick bite before classes. On the way in, he looked over at the Slytherin table. No one crowed about the attacks, no one said a word at all. It seemed the Slytherins were a House divided, one group biding their time, the other afraid to be caught up in the anger and rage.

And they had good reason to be afraid; in the last week, there'd been a dozen fist fights involving the Slytherins, and at least four full-blown Wizard's Duels in the halls.

Harry dropped onto the bench at the Gryffindor table next to Ginny. He looked up, and saw both his girlfriend and Ron looking pale. "This can't be good," Harry muttered.

Hermione didn't look up from her copy of the Daily Prophet. "Cornelius Fudge was ousted as Minister of Magic."

Harry smirked. "I'm wrong, this can be good."

She tutted at him. "No it's pretty bad. They've selected a replacement."

"Who?" Harry looked at Ron, who was distinctly green around the gills. "Who is it?"

Ginny thumped her head down on the table top. "My great prat of a brother Percy."

"What?" Harry choked. "He's, what twenty-two? And there's the whole Mister Crouch thing, and him sucking up to Fudge and Umbridge, and..., and... and he's a prat! Who'd want him as Minister?"

Ginny tilted her head so she could be snippy whilst being face down on the table. "Who'd want him as a Prefect? Who'd want him as a brother?"

Harry leaned over, and turned the paper around in Hermione's hands so he could read along. "But he's an incompetent twit! Why pick him as Minister?"

"Harry." Hermione sounded resigned and disappointed. "They picked him because he's an incompetent twit. The members of the Wizengamot in Voldemort's pocket like him because they think he won't be a threat. The honest ones like him because they're sure he's not in Voldemort's pocket himself."

"So he's the best of the worst possible choices, then?" Harry shook his head, torn between laughing and crying. "That makes no sense."

"That's politics." Hermione folded the newspaper primly.

"That's not the worst of it." It was the first thing Ron had said so far.

Hermione swiveled to fix him with a disapproving stare. Harry looked back and forth between them. "What? What's worse?"

Hermione sighed, her eyes bright. "His first act was to sign a whole host of new decrees."

Harry fingered the scars traced into the back of his hand. "I think I've had my fill of Ministry decrees."

"Well, you'll detest these more." Hermione counted them out on shaking fingers as she spoke quietly. "He's invoking a country-wide curfew, and stationing Aurors to search the Knight Bus, the Hogwarts Express, and the Floo terminals. All so-called 'Abhumans' like werewolves, vampires, and centaurs have to register with the Auror Division, Aurors are now authorized to use Unforgivable curses, and Wizengamot hearings about suspected Death Eaters will be sealed and happen in secret!"

Harry remembered the scenes of Dumbledore's memories he'd seen years earlier. "The return of Barty Crouch."

"Exactly." Hermione wiped her eyes briskly, and gathered up her books. "It's getting worse, not better."

"What are we going to do?" Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Well, you can sit there stunned." Hermione threw her backpack over her shoulders. "Me, I'm going to go to class. We have the first DA meeting tonight, remember."

"How can I forget." Harry's stomach turned over at this, and he decided to forgo breakfast just this once. He grabbed a piece of toast, and made as if to stand up. Almost as quickly, he was seated again, looking up into the huge, looming figures he'd slammed headlong into. Crabbe and Goyle were standing there, toeing the flagstones and looking uncomfortable.

Gregory Goyle ran a large mitt through his thickly curling hair. "Um, Potter. Can we talk?"

All noise at the Gryffindor table ceased. Seamus Finnegan bolted to his feet, the top of his freckled head barely clearing the middle of Goyle's chest. "Ye can talk to me wand, ye filthy Slytherin traitors!"

Even Neville frowned at them. "You should get out of here."

Harry reached out to restrain Ron, who was slowly reaching for his wand. Turning back to the two Slytherins, Harry bit his lip nervously. "Is this about class?"

"Sort of." Crabbe and Goyle shuffled slightly. "We heard about your Defense group, and we wanna come too."

Ron hooted. "Right, let's bring some Death Eaters in!"

Hermione put a warning hand on his arm. "Ron..."

"After that, we can take you out to the Three Broomsticks for butterbeers." Ron thumped Neville on the shoulder. "What do you think? Think we can show them a few curses?"

Harry set himself between his friends wands and the Slytherins. It seemed a damn fool thing to do, but he'd seen Dumbledore do the same thing a week ago, and Harry was hoping it worked for short underage wizards as well as it had worked for Supreme Mugwumps. "Ron, we're not going to be cursing anyone. Goyle, I'm going to have to talk to the DA before we accept anyone new. Now can-"

"What?" Ron turned a horrified stare on Harry. "Have you gone mental? Those two goons are rotten to the core and touched in the head, mate!"

"Not now, Ron," whispered Harry in a sotto voce.

"Whaddya mean, not now?" Ron pointed violently over Harry's shoulder at the Gregory Goyle. "This one may be all foam and no beer, but he's still a Slytherin. And his little pal over there is evil, even if he is as smart as cut bait!"

"Hey!" Crabbe lifted his head at this, his thick features wrinkling up into his short, bristling hair. "I'm not as smart as cut bait!"

"No?" Ron crowed. "Oh, you mean you're dumber than cut bait! What would you prefer; a mind rivaled by garden tools? How about 'doesn't know much but leads the Quidditch league in nostril hair?'"

Crabbe pounded a ham hock fist into his open, meaty palm. "Least I don't talk myself into a bloody nose."

"C'mon, you Junior Death Eater, I want to see you try!" Ron leaned forward as Harry pulled him back.

"Ron!" Harry shook the taller boy's shoulders. "They're not Death Eaters! They're just Slytherins."

Ron shoved Harry to one side. "They're just like their worthless families!"

Harry snapped, and shoved Ron back against the table edge. "Like me, Ron? Worthless, like my Aunt and Uncle? How 'bout you? Want me to hate you 'cause of Percy?"

Ron's face was flushed. "That's not the same!"

"Sure it is." Harry slumped against the table. "Same as being a Death Eater. It's just hating people because of who their families are."

"No!" Ron shook his head. "Those two are miserable excuses for wizards all on their own!"

"Please! You were calling them Death Eaters!" Harry wagged a finger over his shoulder. "And don't tell me you don't want them around because you don't like them. No one likes that prig Ernie MacMillan, and everyone let him into the DA!"

"Hey!" Ernie shot up from the two tables over, where he like rest of the school had been listening. "That's uncalled for."

Crabbe waved for him to sit down. "Ernie, you prig! Sit down! You don't want to get in the middle of those two lunatics!"

Harry and Ron both spun about, and glared at Crabbe. The huge Slytherin jerked as though electrocuted, and tried to shrink in on himself. "Right then, done now!"

One more glare, and the two Gryffindors turned baleful gazes back upon each other. Ron poked Harry hard in the chest. "I don't want those two in the DA."

Harry stepped in close, but his voice carried throughout the hall. "I don't want anyone in the DA. I don't want anyone to have to fight for their life. But since neither of us is going to get what we want, let's try not acting like ickle firsties with a 'no girls allowed' club, hmm? I say, anyone who wants to stay free and alive should be taught how to."

Harry stomped out of the great hall, shoving past the Slytherins and his own house mates. Once out in the entrance hall, he kicked the wall hard, spun about, and slid down the hard stone to sit on the floor.

The sharp clack of boot steps roused Harry from his sulk. He looked up, glowering. He'd gotten very good at sulking, and from time to time had thought about turning pro when he got out of school. Looking up, he saw Professor Snape towering over him, long hands wrapping his dark satin robes bout his thin frame. Snape sneered down at Harry from far above, and the youth remembered suddenly that there was a downside to professional sulking.

"That," Snape said with something that might have been a smile on his face, "was a beautiful bit of dinner theater. Twenty points from Gryffindor for disturbing my meal."

Harry smiled sweetly up at his professor. "My pleasure."

Snape expression soured briefly. Then an ugly smile overcame his sallow face, and he leaned in to respond. "If you plan on destroying your domestic bliss with his sister that publicly, do please warn me in advance. I should like to borrow Creevy's camera."

And with that, Snape strode off, robes billowing about him. Hours later, Harry was still thinking up witty retorts that would have been brilliant at that moment.

* * *

The next morning was miserable.

It wasn't like any morning was particularly good these days. The Mirror over his bed left him feeling cold and empty, with vague memories of hollow, echoing dreams. It was a horrifying way to wake up every morning. The castle was freezing cold at the height of January, and getting out of bed merely traded an inner chill for an outer one. Then Harry remembered that Hermione had lost her mother, and Ron wasn't talking to him, and Harry remembered all the other reasons this morning was particularly bad.

Last evening had been the first session of the Defense Association. It had left him with a profound and throbbing headache; they'd had seven injuries in one night, and two actual fights in the Room of Requirements. Every few minutes someone braced Harry about letting more people into the DA, as though the current number wasn't enough mayhem for everyone. Ron kept glowering at him as though he'd been considering making Aragog the Gryffindors' newest bunkmate. At last, so many students pushed the issue, Harry finally caved in and let them vote whether to bring in more students. Almost unanimously, they did, and Harry was certain to be deluged next week with even more wild-eyed wand-wielding half-trained lunatics.

The scene was utter bedlam, an uncontrolled chaos. Harry wracked his brain, trying to think of why things had been so much smoother the year before. For an hour, he thought that perhaps the immediacy of the war drove everyone over the edge. Then he looked over, and saw Hermione listlessly shadowing Ron and Ginny. Last year, she had organized everything, jumping in smoothly to keep the DA running nightly.

Harry had wanted to scream.

The only bright spot, and it was pitifully small, had been Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe. Both had showed up, and managed to be civil to everyone. Harry was fairly certain that Neville and Ron were bristling every time they saw the two Ravenclaws, but no one started shouting, so their arrival topped the rest of the night.

Harry pulled on his muggle clothes, slipped into the running trainers Ginny had gotten for him, and slid out of the dormitory in the dark, while everyone else slept. A minute later, he was prizing open the doors of the Great Hall to slip away around the grounds for a run.

Sitting outside in a worn gold tracksuit was Professor Lupin. He smiled wanly, and stood, stretching creakily. "I thought I'd catch you out running. Can I join you?"

Harry bit back his first response, which was a laugh. Frankly, the only times Remus Lupin didn't look congenitally unable to run, he was an eight foot tall werewolf. Harry couldn't imagine him bouncing along at a brisk trot. Instead, he simply smiled and nodded.

Harry set off to the right, forced a little further from the outer curtain wall of the castle by the snow piled up there. His breath puffed out whitely ahead of him, and sucked back in burning cold. Fortunately, there was a bit of a divot along the ground under the crenelated battlements, and it was mostly without snow on the ground. One foot in front of the other, and the snow wasn't seeping wetness through his socks too badly.

They'd jogged halfway about the castle before Remus waved Harry to a stop, and collapsed against a snow-encrusted buttress. "How- how- how long... do you... run for?"

Harry jogged in place. "One lap of the castle slow, then I stretch, then four more fast, then one slow again."

Remus wheezed, and squeezed his side as he arched his back, trying to make his lungs pull in more air by giving them as much room as possible. "Why didn't you... start off slow... today?"

Harry tried answering a couple of times. As he spluttered, Remus' drawn, scarred face went slack, and he scrubbed a hand through his faded hair. "Oh Merlin, that was slow. Oh... now I officially feel old. You... you do your running. I'll wait here for you, maybe try to breathe."

Harry stopped jogging in place, and stretched. Pulling on his toes made the backs of his legs feel pleasantly tight, but it meant the crunch of snow burning the backs of his fingers. He gave it up quickly, and straightened. "It's okay. Kind of awful running in the cold anyway."

"Are you certain?" Lupin pulled a face as he popped his back into place. Harry nodded, and Lupin continued. "Because I would hate to interrupt either your workout, or your penance."

"Penance?"

Lupin smiled gently, and stood. "It means absolution, Harry. A self-inflicted punishment to make up for some crime, real or imagined."

Lupin stepped away from the castle walls to look over the ice-rimed lake. A solitary tentacle broke through with a crack like a gunshot, and quietly drew an abandoned sled underwater with nary a ripple. Lupin slapped his rapidly cooling hands against his arms. "Judging from our last conversation, Harry, I'm guessing you're performing penance for Sirius."

Harry crunched through the snow, the cold catching up to him again as the warmth of running died. "Doesn't make up for losing him, though."

"No, Harry, it doesn't." Lupin coughed softly. "But his death isn't your fault, either."

Harry's head snapped up at this. "Professor, I-"

Lupin interrupted. "Did I ever tell you about what it was like going to school with Sirius Black?"

"No."

"There were times he was a holy terror." Lupin smiled, lost in thought. "We all were, really. But Sirius and I were the... more isolated of the four of us at school. Peter always wanted people to like him, and everyone always idolized James. Not so for a bookish young werewolf, or a boy whose parents expected him to grow up like Lucius Malfoy.

"When we got older, Harry, he and I became confirmed bachelors, each for our own reasons. For Sirius, it was always difficult to let people in, to be close to them. I've always thought it had something to do with that wretched family of his."

"I think I understand that," Harry muttered, imagining a portrait of Vernon Dursley screaming about 'filthy wizards.'

Lupin turned to look down at Harry, his breath curling about his pale face. "It was a shock to see him talking about you, Harry. He was so proud of you, protective in his own way.

"He went to the Ministry to save you Harry, and you went there to save him. You could have very easily been the one to perish, fighting to save Sirius. And I'd be here trying to convince him not to blame himself. The two of you are more alike than you've any reason to be, Harry.

"After all these years, I think he finally found a family; someone to love. What he did, what you did; these are the things we do for our loved ones. For family."

Harry stood still beside his Defense professor at the shore of the lake, watching the ice reform over the squid-hole. Their breath pluming about them was the only movement, their clothes the only colour in the expanse of white and black.

After a long time, during which Harry's toes had decided to freeze solid, he finally turned to look up at Lupin. "You could have just told me to blame Voldemort, or Bellatrix."

Lupin looked up at the sky, and turned to slowly crunch back to the main doors of the castle. "Yes, I could have. And it's certainly easier for your to bury your loss in a mountain of anger."

Harry followed along, jogging briefly to pull alongside the taller man. "Why didn't you?"

Lupin peered at Harry sidelong with his pale eyes. His voice was rusty, tired. "Would you rather I had? Beat the drums, sound the fife? Would you rather that?"

Harry blinked a few times, green eyes fixed upon the path unrolling before them, as Lupin led them back to the doors of the castle. Eventually, he set his jaw and looked up at his teacher. "I suppose not."

"And now, I think I'll be handing you over to yet another voice of reason." Remus gestured towards the castle, and Harry followed his hand to see a thin woman bundled into a red coat against the January weather. She had her hands thrust into her pockets, and was stamping her feet on the steps to the castle.

"Is one of you two insane magical polar bears going to let me into the castle!" Morgan called out, sounding snippy. "Or am I to freeze solid waiting for you to finish your run?"

"Werewolf, not polar bear," Lupin called back cheerfully. "And we're coming!" Harry's head snapped back to look at his Defense professor in shock; he'd never heard Lupin so breezily mention his affliction before. Turning quickly to look at Morgan, Harry saw her peering at Professor Lupin with undisguised curiosity and delight.

"Are you really?" She smiled. "Can I see?"

Harry smiled along with Morgan, as he realized why Professor Lupin was suddenly so blasé about his lycanthropy. She wasn't a witch, and had no preconceived notions about werewolves, or at least no more so than she had about wizards.

Harry jogged past her up the steps, and opened the doors to the Great Hall. "Ms Aedernmas," Harry asked, brows wrinkling in confusion, "the door was unlocked."

Morgan fixed Harry with a sharply miffed stare, and stomped past him into the hall. Lupin laughed at Harry's confused look, and entered after her. He leaned down to whisper into Harry's ear as he went. "She's still a muggle Harry. Until you opened the door, she couldn't even see Hogwarts castle."

With that, Lupin patted him on the shoulder, and hurried away towards the stairs, presumably in search of a hot bath. Harry went over to where Morgan was busily warming her hands by the Hall's southern fireplace. She looked at him briefly, and returned to rubbing her hands together. "I want forced air, Harry. Forced air, baseboard heaters, and automobiles. I don't know how you magicians survive without."

Harry smiled slightly. "I guess we manage."

"You do indeed." Morgan twirled about lightly, setting her back to the roaring fire, and fixing Harry with a piercing look. With her red hair back lit, it seemed as though she was surrounded by firelight. "And this Voldemort rotting bastard. You managing alright with him?"

Harry fought an urge to stomp around the Hall in a towering temper. He swallowed his first three comments. "I'm not really managing much of anything. I'm just sitting here in school while there's a war starting."

"I know how you feel." At Harry's frankly skeptical look, Morgan continued. "You're too young to remember the RA troopies on street corners in Belfast. I remember, and it's a terrible feeling, knowing the troubles are coming. Knowing you could ring the church bells and yell for everyone to run, and you wouldn't change a thing."

"I guess you do know." Harry sat down heavily on the hearth, and Morgan settled in along side him.

"You've got to remember, wizards and werewolves and prophecies, these might be new to me. But war... That's old hat, that is." Morgan smiled warmly, seemingly comfortable despite the dire topic. "But I was asking how you're managing with your feelings, Harry. You know, anything you might want to talk about, after these attacks?"

"You heard about Hermione, then?" Morgan nodded in response to Harry's question, and he shrugged. "I think you ought to be talking to her instead of me."

She tapped his knee. "Perhaps. But I'm talking to you about it."

Harry stared down at the ground, and picked at his shirt fitfully. "I'm not the one who just lost my mum. I've got nothing to be unhappy about."

Harry rocked forward as Morgan rapped him softly on the back of his head. "You're bright lad, and that's the first idiot thing I've heard you say yet. You care a lot for your friend; it's perfectly reasonable for you to be upset.

"Not to mention all the people in your life you've lost to this same band of stick-waving terrorists. So you can choose to act strong for your friends all you want, Harry James Potter. Let's you and me be honest."

Harry turned to look up at Morgan, eyes shining. "I don't know what to say, really."

Morgan nodded. "Well, would you prefer a shrink, or clergy perhaps?"

Harry snorted cynically. "I'm surprised you didn't try to send me to one over the summer. I was a little... off... I think."

Now it was Morgan's turn to shrug "Why go about pissing you off by trying to drag you to somebody you wouldn't have seen anyway?"

Harry's green eyes widened slightly; he wasn't used to adults talking like that, at least not with him. Blinking, he fought to return to Morgan's question. "Uh, I don't think I'd want to talk to a... a shrink, was it?"

Morgan's lips tightened imperceptibly, her back straightening slightly. "Well, you're going to find someone you can talk to." She didn't need to add the 'or else' verbally; Harry could see it in her eyes.

Harry slumped a little further. "There's somebody I would talk to, it's just..."

"Out with it." Morgan smiled tightly. "I'm not much of a mind reader."

Harry hemmed a little. "It's just, I can't really talk to her about my feelings right now; she's got plenty of problems, and I wouldn't want to add more."

"She, huh?"

Harry shrugged, embarrassed. "Yeah. I normally talk to her about things, but right now..."

Morgan focused a bemused stare on Harry. "I think you should talk to Hermione, even if now isn't the best time."

Harry startled, for he hadn't used her name. "I thought you said you weren't much of a mind reader."

Morgan laughed sharply at that. "I didn't need to be to come up with that name!"

Harry smiled briefly, then sank back down again. "But I can't go whinging to her about loosing Sirius! Her mother-"

Morgan wagged a finger at Harry sharply. "Lesson the first, going to your friends when you're hurting isn't whinging. It's talking. Lesson the second, you're the only person she knows who's lost parents. Or who's lost parent-figures. Or both, recently. Has it occurred to you she might want to talk to you about it."

Harry thought about it for a moment. "But I haven't wanted to talk to anyone about Sirius for months and months. She only lost her mum a couple of weeks ago."

"Harry, most people aren't as close-mouthed as you are."

"I just can't." Harry shook his head sharply, running a hand idly through his tousled hair. The first students started descending the main stairs, talking loudly as the castle awoke. He jumped up from the hearth, shuffling away quickly. "I ought be getting on to class."

Morgan narrowed her eyes. "Running away doesn't suit you, Harry."

"Should." Harry turned and trudged toward the Gryffindor table. He turned at the last moment, and called back to her. "It seems like that's all I've been doing."

Morgan watched him walk away dispiritedly. She spoke softly, to herself. "You haven't been running away, lad. You just don't know what you're running towards." She pushed herself upright with a sigh and a creak, and turned herself about, taking in the moving staircases over her head. Drawing a bearing, she headed off to locate the Headmaster.

Back in the hall, Harry rushed through his breakfast, and hurried out as quickly as possible. The previous night had been so uniformly unpleasant, he really wanted to avoid running into anyone he knew. Hermione wasn't sleeping too well, and so sometimes came down to breakfast early. As such, he really needed to hurry. He grabbed some toast and an apple, and fled back onto the front lawn of the grounds.

The first class of the morning was Vocational and Domestic Sorcery. With the whole class at least minimally ready, Madam Hooch had them out by the gates to Hogsmeade to practice Apparation. So Harry chewed his apple fitfully and jogged down the lane toward the gates. Nearing the twin statues of towering winged boars that defined the edge of Hogwarts grounds, Harry finished off his apple and pitched the core into the snow to one side of the trail.

Coming closer, he found Madam Hooch and a couple of students already there, obviously trying to get in a little extra practice in order to avoid publicly splinching themselves their first time out. His professor narrowed her yellow eyes at him as he trotted up, and crossed her arms as she regarded him as an owl would size up a field mouse.

"Mister Potter!" She tipped her head to one side. "Why are you out of school uniform?"

Harry looked down, abruptly realizing he'd never changed out of his running clothes. He blinked, feeling intensely foolish. "I was running, and then... um, sorry Ma'am."

Harry turned to head back up to the castle to change. "Oh, stop Mister Potter!"

He turned back to see Madam Hooch rolling her eyes in irritation. "You do know transfiguration, do you not? I seem to recall Professor McGonagall crowing about it, in fact."

His brows knit; he'd never tried to do something like transfigure one set of clothes into another. It seemed somehow odd to use something like magic for so mundane a purpose. On the other hand, he didn't want to continue to irritate his professor.

Harry pulled his wand, concentrated, and tried changing his clothes. In a rustle, his shirt sprouted a black robe and a tie. Harry looked down, to find himself in a passable, if slightly ill-fitting school uniform.

Madam Hooch sighed. "Close, Mister Potter, but the tie?"

Harry looked down; his school tie was green and silver striped. He flushed, grinding his teeth. With a second wave, the colours slid and shifted to a more natural red and yellow.

Madam Hooch smiled sharply. "If you're done playing with your wardrobe, you can get started, Mister Potter. Just to the other side of the clearing, now!"

Harry nodded, and checked to the sides to see that he was indeed outside the wards of the castle. He cleared his throat, and closed his eyes. Picturing the other side of the clearing, imagining he was already there, Harry jumped.

* * *

That night was the second meeting of the Defense Association. Twice in two days was too much in Harry's book, but he needed to get the hoard of new students up to speed quickly. Most of the old members weren't going to show up, just Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Luna. For the most part, they were going to help him work with all the new students. Ron, however, was mostly there to watch Crabbe and Goyle like a hawk.

Harry got to the Room of Requirements early, and focused on what he wanted the room to look like. Pacing back and forth, the door appeared, and Harry slipped inside. The room was large, and well stocked with books and training equipment. Harry set to work, pulling the large, standing targets out of their closets and scattering them throughout the room. He figured that teaching the new students to hit a target they were aiming at would be a good first step, and maybe by the end of the evening he'd be able to work up to blocking curses.

Ginny was the first to arrive. She slammed the door, and stormed over to where Harry was decking the targets with back robes to conceal their simple wooden frames. He turned slightly, saw the look on her face, and decided to play dumb by continuing his set-up.

"Harry James Potter!" Ginny actually stomped her foot on the floor and harrumphed loudly. "Don't you dare ignore me!"

"I'm not ignoring you, Ginny," Harry answered, ignoring her and setting out another target. "I'm just getting things ready."

Ginny kicked him in the back of the leg. When he hopped about to face her, she kicked him in the opposite shin. "I don't care if you and Ron are throwing a tantrum! You haven't even spoken to me all day, and I won't take it!"

Harry looked horrified. "You kicked me!"

"I'll do a lot damn more if you ignore me again, you awful prat!" Ginny was flushed a deep pink, and her hair had escaped it's usual clips behind her ears. "Today was awful!"

"I, uh..." Harry managed to get both feet safely back on the floor, and was looking at the crazed demon who had replaced his girlfriend, trying to think of what to say.

"Do you even know why I'm furious with you?" Ginny huffed, and Harry's nose wrinkled.

"Not really?"

"First, you were awful to Ron. I know he's absolutely difficult, I've had to live with him forever. But I can't believe how you treated him, and in public no less. Second, you've been ignoring me all day, not waving to me when I waved at you in the halls. I know you and Ron are ignoring each other, but that doesn't mean you get to ignore me, too."

Harry licked his lips, and leaned in closer. "First, Ron's being an absolute ass. I don't know why he's being so difficult, but as long as he's going to be an ass in public, I'll continue to tell him off in public. Second, I'm not ignoring you, I just have lots of other things going on right now."

"More important things, you mean!" Ginny stamped her foot again.

Harry was saved from being forced to respond as the door opened again. This time Luna Lovegood stepped in, and he and Ginny jumped apart. Harry hadn't realized how close they'd been standing as they'd been fighting.

"You can keep arguing." Luna dropped absently onto a pillow, folding her legs and pulling a Quibbler from her bag. "I was just going to read for a spell."

"We weren't fighting," Ginny replied. As she did so, Harry answered, "We're done now."

Ginny shot him a tight look, and Harry winced.

The door swung open again, and Hermione entered, followed closely by Ron. Hermione turned and wandered over to the bookshelves, idly scanning the titles. It was something she'd done the night before as well. Harry decided to return to setting up the target dummies, ignoring the dark look Ron shot him. He may as well not have tried; Ron stomped over to Harry, tapped his foot and harrumphed.

Harry spun to face his best friend with a sigh. The look on Ron's face was painfully familiar. For his part, the taller red head spoke without looking directly at Harry. "For the record, I'm here under protest."

"I kind of figured that out." It came out more sharply than Harry intended. He repressed a wince at the angry look on Ron's face, and turned back to setting up the classroom. Unlike his sister, Ron let him wander away unmolested.

The atmosphere in the classroom remained tense as the new Defense Association students wandered in. All the new faces were worried, worried about a world so dangerous they were sneaking in after-hours to learn to defend themselves. They were worried that they'd look like fools. And there were more than a little worried that their instructor had very definitely fought Lord Voldemort before and lived, and might very well be dangerous in his own right. Harry's friends were for the most part mad at him, and Harry himself was worried about turning this Defense Association meeting into a sequel of last night's disaster.

Finally, the room was filled with black robed students from all four Houses. Harry cleared his throat. "Okay. So, welcome to the Defense Association. Everyone who was here last year is pretty far ahead of where you are, so we'll be trying to get everyone up to speed as quickly as possible. So-"

"Oy!" A tall thin girl with sandy hair called out from the back of the room. "Why should we be listening to you? Why not have a real teacher, or a seventh year in here?"

Harry sighed. He guessed there had to be one student like this every year. He tried to think of what to say when Crabbe beat him to the punch. "Oh shut up! It's Harry-Bloody-Potter, not Lockheart up there. You don't like it, leave."

Ron frowned. "Don't you tell people to leave! I bet you'd just love to see everyone leave the DA."

The thin girl in back rolled her eyes prettily. "Oh yes, this looks like a well organized group."

Ron rounded on her, pointing for emphasis. "And you! Either you want to be here, or you can leave."

Goyle laughed at this, and Ron turned, if it was possible, redder still. The students dissolved into chatting with each other, trying to decide who to listen to.

Harry looked over at Hermione, who was listlessly following the conversation from the far wall. The only person present who looked less engaged was Luna Lovegood, hardly a flattering comparison.

He looked back at the students. Ron and Crabbe were yelling nose to nose, and the rest seemed to be squabbling about something. Fed up, Harry put his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. Almost no one paid attention to him. Harry yelled, "Everyone! Shut up!"

Again, nothing. Harry's jaw clenched. He turned, pointed to the nearest target, and yelled, "Stupefy!" The hurtling red spell spun the target about and knocked it over in a heap.

The class fell silent. Ron and Crabbe backed off a step from each other, turning to look at Harry, who was breathing hard in the middle of the classroom. "Did that get everyone's attention? Good. Because we're done with this. No more yelling at each other, no more House rivalries, no more fighting each other instead of our enemies. We're done!

"You want to hide, pretend Voldemort's not planning another strike, fine. Get out of here, stay out of everyone's way. You don't like me very much, you don't trust me? Fine, go start your own Defense Association. You don't like the other people in this school, you don't want them in this with you? Well, you better start thinking about joining the Death Eaters, since they're the only people who want to purge this school of everyone they don't like. There's the door.

"Any questions? No? Good. Now get in groups of four around a target and we can get started."

Rather docilely, the students queued up and organized around the targets. Harry called out for them to take turns hitting the targets with simple sparkler spells. Soon the room was full of robed students shooting red sparks at practice dummies.

Ginny sidled up to Harry, an spoke to him sideways. "Did you have to yell at everyone like that?"

"I don't know." Harry kept his eyes on his students. "But it worked."

She watched the students with him. "Ron's furious with you."

"I'm really broken up about that. Ron's got his feelings hurt. Merlin, that's never happened before." Harry realized how bitter he sounded, he just didn't know what to do about it.

Ginny chewed her tongue for a moment before responding. "I'm still mad at you, too."

Harry ground his teeth, and turned a flashing green stare on her. "I don't know what you want me to say. I wish you weren't mad, but there's nothing I can do about it."

Harry stomped off into the middle of the practicing students. "Everyone start walking around their targets clockwise, and keep taking turns hitting them. Try taking turns faster. You need to learn to hit a target accurately, hit it in motion, and do it fast."

"Why?" It was the same thin, tall girl who'd spoken earlier. She looked slightly winded from the exertion.

Harry sighed. "Good question. You want to learn more serious spells, enough to defend yourself, right?"

"Obviously." She rolled her eyes.

Harry scratched his scalp, trying to think of how to best explain the issue. He decided on the simplest response possible. He started casting simple Impedimentum spells at all the dummy targets as fast as he could, aiming between his students. All ten were hit before anyone moved.

"That's why." Harry shrugged, and pinned the tall girl with his stare. "If you can't hit a target, you'd miss in practice and hurt someone. Or you'd learn what to do in a classroom, and wouldn't be able to hit real moving target out there when you need to. So first thing first, target practice."

The tall girl flushed and stammered, "I- I don't think any of us can do that. Be that fast."

Harry tipped his head, still staring at her. "It's practice. I can do it."

"You're Harry Potter." She said it like she thought that was answer enough. From the answering nods, clearly several others agreed with her.

"Would one of you two...?" Harry turned to look at Ron and Ginny. His girlfriend glared at him, and Ron just held up a hand. He turned to look across the room. If someone didn't jump in here, everyone would get the idea he was something special, and maybe even think they couldn't defend themselves. "Luna? Hermione?"

Luna didn't move. For a long moment, Hermione didn't either. Just as Harry's heart sank, Hermione crossed quietly into the middle of the classroom, and dropped her robe next to her. She fingered her wand, and wet her lips. For a second, Harry thought it almost looked as if she was afraid.

"Hermione, are you up to this?" Harry didn't like her drawn palour, or the way she shifted her weight as she looked at the black draped targets.

She snapped back at him. "Just set them moving, Harry."

It was a practice routine from last year. Someone would set the dummies in motion, giving the others the chance to practice against a hard target. With a short wand sweep, Harry got five of the targets to sweep upward a few inches and start circling Hermione's position.

She snapped three immobilizing spells out in rapid order, and Harry had to move quickly to keep the targets from crashing to the ground in a tangle of wood and black robes. She lashed out with three more Impedimentae and again Harry struggled to keep the targets aloft and moving.

Then Hermione spun, and started rattling off Impediment spells faster and faster. Harry broke into a sweat, barely able to keep the black robed targets airborne. Two of them wavered and swayed drunkenly. With a sharp slash, Hermione sent a couple of stunning spells out at one of the targets, and Harry fought to keep it from careening into the crowd. Harry frowned; they never used Stupefy in these drills.

Hermione cried out, "Reducto!" The upper half of one target blew itself to flinders, and tumbled toward a group of astonished students. Gesturing with his left hand, Harry called out, "Iacto!" and sent the shattered target hurtling into a corner, where it collapsed into a heap.

Hermione was now feverishly pounding the targets with a terrifying array of hexes and curses. Harry used his left hand to mop his brow. "Hermione! Hermione, that's enough!"

With a furious "Incendio! Incendio!" Hermione sent two of the targets up in leaping pyres. Harry brought all the targets down with a wave, and they crashed hard to the ground. The students backed away, as Hermione advanced on the nearest grounded target.

"Descisio! Supare! Densaugeo!" The target tumbled backwards, broken sharply. The shattered wooden stand rocked wildly, the splintered post describing a circle in the air.

"Hermione!" Harry pushed through the students to get to her.

She blew back her wild mass of curls. "I got them. I got them." Hermione chewed her lip. She was still clutching her wand, and it suddenly occurred to Harry rather late that having her do the demonstration was perhaps a very bad idea of his.

"It's okay, Hermione." Harry tucked his wand away as he approached her.

"Shut up!" Hermione yelled at him, near tears. "It is not okay, and you know it!"

Ron pushed through the crowd. "Damn it Harry, this is all your fault! Come here, Hermy!"

"Oh, it's Ickle Ronnikins, come to rescue me?" Hermione laughed hysterically, eyes full and shinning. "Please, Ron! Protect me from Harry, and Slytherin bullies! Why don't you protect me from Vicky Krum! And house elves! Yes, do you think you can protect me from some house elves, Ron!"

Ron stopped stock still, white as a ghost. Ginny jumped into the midst. "Hermione! I know you lost your mum, but that's uncalled for!"

Now the tears did spill over. "Oh, yes, I do want to hear from you! Little Ginny, always has a hero there to run to her rescue. 'Oh, look at me, I can't tell the difference between a diary and Lord Voldemort! Thank heavens Harry will be there when I need him! I'm not muggleborn! I don't have go home to a defenseless house, parents who can't fight off simple spells and curses!'"

"Don't talk to my sister like that!" Ron sounded strangled, torn.

"Fine, get out! Get out!" Hermione dashed for Ron, and Harry stepped in between them, catching Hermione's blows across his chest as she pounded on him. "Get out of here, Harry! Leave me alone! Couldn't come and help me when I needed it, just get out! GET OUT!"

Harry dropped his wand and tried to catch her shoulders. For the most part, he just tried to avoid her flailing fists, and failing. Ron looked like was about ready to scream. Instead, Luna grabbed his arm, and pulled him away. Slowly the Defense Association class melted away, and Hermione pounded on Harry's chest as they slipped out.

"I hate you, Harry! I hate you!" She slapped him a solid hit on one jaw, and Harry thought it was entirely unfair that someone so slight should be able to pack that kind of punch. Finally Harry got tired to getting hit in the chest over and over, and grabbed her about the shoulders in a bear hug. Pulling her to him, he managed to pin her hands between them. Caught, Hermione dissolved to great wracking sobs. Harry stroked her bushy hair fitfully, not sure what to say or do.

Until that moment, it had never occurred to him that Hermione could blame him for not saving her mother. Then Hermione collapsed, and Harry didn't have the strength to hold them both upright. They slid awkwardly to the floor amidst the shattered wreckage of the training room.

They sat there for a very long time, long enough for Harry's back to start hurting from the angle at which he was leaning over. Hermione's sobs wound down painfully to broken sniffles, and Harry kept rubbing her back an stroking her hair. He always enjoyed stroking Crookshanks fur, but this made him angry and sad all at once. Her heart was broken, and all he could do was rub her back.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione."

"Me too." She sniffled, and her voice sounded years younger. "I don't hate you, Harry."

Harry sniffled too. "I know."

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