Unofficial Portkey Archive

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

The next morning, Harry found Hermione spooning through her porridge and pouring over a textbook by the time he made it down to the Great Hall. She looked up at him briefly, then returned to her reading. He dished out some kippers and eggs, and wished her a hearty good morning.

"Good-" Hermione started to respond, then looked up again in confusion. "And where is Ron?"

Harry swallowed the half kipper in his mouth quickly. "Shower. He's having hard time with mornings, I think."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Typical. It's our first chance to go over our class schedules and budget time for our revision sessions, and he'll miss it."

Privately, Harry thought that this might be exactly the reason Ron was extra slow this morning. Hermione was the most enthusiastic student in Hogwarts, and her boyfriend considered studying only slightly more tolerable than thumbscrews. He decided not to share this thought, and settled for shrugging sympathetically.

Hermione tucked her book back into her crowded satchel and extracted several pieces of parchment. She pushed her dishes aside, and spread them out. From opposite her, Harry could see one was her class schedule. The other looked to be a calendar. She spoke primly as she pulled an inkpot and quill from her bag. "I can't really go about planning our schedule until I see yours. I have some tentative plans here based upon mine, and which classes I know Ron received his owls in. Now, give it here."

Harry looked at her askance.

She sighed, and slumped slightly. "Your course schedule, of course. Give it here. I know you and Ron won't really plan your study times, so I may as well write you both into mine."

Harry pulled his schedule from his own, much smaller bag without thinking. He had his hand halfway extended across the table when a terrible thought occurred to him. He was skipping fully half his normal academic load. His plan to use the recovered time to prepare to face Voldemort wasn't exactly inscribed on the parchment. For the first time, Harry realized Hermione might be disappointed in his choices.

The thought came too late, as a small and dexterous hand shot out to take his class list, and smoothed it upon the table. Hermione's fine brow crinkled almost immediately. "You've only got Advanced Charms, Advanced Defense, and Advanced Transfiguration with us, Harry. And you've dropped Potions! How are you going to be an Auror without Potions, Harry?"

Harry stirred his scrambled eggs. "I don't think I plan on being an Auror anymore, Hermione."

For her part, she continued reading, still not looking up. "Pre-Mediwizard Seminar? But without Potions, you can't very well work for St. Mungo's either. Vocational and Domestic Sorcery, making charmed objects, Harry, what is this?"

Finally she looked up at him, her hair falling about her face as she shook her head bewilderedly. "Is this another practical joke, like last night? Because this one is even more dubious, Harry. I mean, Vocational Magic?"

Harry looked up at this, and plucked his schedule off the table and stuffed it into the pocket of his robes. "No, that's not a joke. That's my course schedule."

She tried to keep an aghast expression off her face. "Oh, Harry. Please tell me you got more than three OWLs. Please, Ron got more than twice as many, you had to have done better-"

He tipped his head at this. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. No, I did not toss the OWLs in a pot, Hermione. I got eleven OWLs, actually. I just... This is the schedule I chose."

"Eleven OWLs!" Hermione smiled. "About three more than Ron. So why do you have this... schedule?"

Harry glared at her. He didn't think he could successfully lie to her face, and he definitely didn't want to have this conversation. He was saved when Ron slid into the seat opposite Harry, and shot a smile at Hermione. She reached for his hand, but missed as he began shoveling kippers, eggs, toast, and bacon onto his plate. Ron grunted at Harry, and emptied his first glass of pumpkin juice in a pull. Harry refilled it, as his friend started working his way though breakfast, cleared porcelain already in sight. It always amazed Harry to see just how much Ron could pack away in a sitting.

"Well," started Hermione, and her voice was dangerously clipped. "Aren't you going to tell him?"

Ron pulled his attention away from his plate, and looked from his girlfriend to Harry. "Tell me what, exactly?"

With a sigh, Harry pulled his course schedule from his pocket, and tossed it over to Ron. Ron read it for a few seconds, then broke into a wide smile and chucked Harry on the shoulder. "Well done mate! Looks more like what I'dve taken, if my swimbo hadn't tossed a fit."

Hermione slapped him on the shoulder, and inched down the bench away from Ron. Harry watched this byplay, bewildered and amused. "Swimbo? Is that a wizarding... uh, what is it?"

Ron started to answer, but Hermione cut him off coldly. "It isn't a wizarding anything, Harry. It's how Ron has decided to refer to me when he wants to spend a week being very lonely."

Harry stifled a grin as he watched Ron try to backpedal. He tried traversing several avenues of apology, before giving up with a huff. "Fine," Ron said, looking slightly smug. "I don't have to spend a week alone; I've got Harry to hang out with while you cool off!"

Hermione cocked a brow at him, and glared out of the corner of her eye. "And what makes you think that I won't be the one spending the week with Harry whilst you are specialis non grata?"

Ron turned to Harry. "Mate? Gimme a hand here"

Harry's eyes widened, and he jerked back from the table. He reached out and snaked his schedule back from Ron. "Don't pull me into this! I'm an innocent bystander."

With that, Harry hefted his backpack and slipped away from the table. He didn't need to turn back around to know the 'conversation' was pulling into full swing behind him.

* * *

Harry traipsed into the Vocational and Domestic Sorcery classroom a few minutes early, having fled the brewing storm of a Ron and Hermione argument. The classroom, tucked into the upper reaches of the dungeons, looked a bit like Snape's classroom, redecorated. One rank of high windows let the early morning light filter into the arched sandstone room. Throughout the room, high stone tables set with cauldrons and crucibles suggested that Harry might not have completely escaped potion making. But the upper reaches of the stone room had been plastered over and whitewashed, and seemingly normal draperies bracketed the mullioned windows.

Harry settled into a table at the front, and waited. A handful of Seventh years Harry didn't know shuffled in in dribs and drabs, taking up various seats, mostly toward the back. Looking at the colours of their ties, the class was an amalgam of all four houses. The last two students to trail in were Crabbe and Goyle. They slid up to a table at the very back, and immediately collapsed onto their elbows. Harry was watching the other students, most of whom he'd never really met. Oddly enough, though, with the exception of the lumpy Slytherin delegation the entire class was staring at Harry with a mixture of awe and fear. It was disconcerting enough that he turned right around and pulled his supplies from his bag in preparation. He was surprised to see Madam Hooch, the Quidditch referee who'd taught broomstick riding in Harry's first year, open the office door to take over the class.

She strode into the room, rich tawny riding skirts cinched tight to her corset and bustle. "Welcome class. Vocational and Domestic Sorcery will cover every detail you will need in every day of your lives outside of Hogwarts. Not the theory, not the big items. The every day magicks that will matter to you a great deal more. By mid-year, we will be covering Apparation. If you fail to pay attention in my class, you will do more than fail. You will find out why every grown witch and wizard flinches when the word 'splinch' is uttered."

Madam Hooch paused at the front of the classroom. With her short cropped hair and piercing amber eyes, she managed to look predatory as she surveyed the class. "You should start taking notes now."

Their was a general rustle as some twenty sets of parchment and quills found their way into the students' hands. Harry was fortunately already taking notes, so he didn't have to hurry to withdraw his supplies. One of the many positive aspects of spending five years in classes with Hermione, was learning how to be prepared.

"Papers out? Good. Now then, you have already learned how to scourgify. That is one of a class of cleaning charms. We're going to spend some times going over several of the others. Write these down; Abluotify, Eluotify, Tergify, and Pergatiat and Mundiat. You'll notice the most common three share a Middle English '-ify' ending, while the less used two retain the older usage. These are used to wash a person, rinse something out, conjure up an animated scrub brush, purify liquid, and tidy clothing. Now, let's start with Tergify. Wands at the ready..."

* * *

Two hours later, Harry found himself trudging down the familiar corridors toward the hospital wing. The Mediwizard Seminar would be held there twice a week, taught by Madam Pomfrey. All in all, Harry would have preferred it be held in a classroom somewhere; he felt he spent too much time in hospital as is, and was starting to consider it comfortingly familiar. A voice in the back of his head, the one that usually said things like 'duck!' and 'run!' had an unusually lengthy exposition about why viewing hospital as comfortingly familiar was a terribly bad thing. Harry shook it off, and pushed the ornately carved door to the infirmary open.

Madam Pomfrey looked up from her desk, saw him, and leapt to her feet. She hurried forward, lecturing sternly. "Mister Potter! What on earth are you doing here this early in the year? Couldn't you wait a month to plummet fifty feet or get bitten by a dragon or whatever?"

Harry was torn between a smile and a grimace. "Um, sorry Madam Pomfrey. I'm not actually hurt. I'm in your ten o'clock seminar."

She slowed to a halt, as a handful of students entered the infirmary behind Harry. "You're in this class?"

"Yes." Harry smiled politely.

"My class?" Madam Pomfrey held a hand to her chest. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Harry's polite smile was straining. "I'm in the Pre-Mediwizard Seminar."

"But you're a sixth year."

"Yes, but it's an open elective. I elected to take it." Harry gestured overbroadly around the infirmary, and spoke in a hearty voice that didn't seem to belong to him. "So here I am, Madam Pomfrey. In your class!"

She studied Harry for a moment. "Oh, very well Mister Potter. At least it will be a shorter trip to get you here this year."

Harry rolled his eyes and dumped his book bag in the corner, where the other students' belongings were piled. Turning to face the class, he saw it was entirely composed of seventh years. And much to his horror, Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecomb were in the forefront of the class, unpleasant looks plastered to their faces. Harry narrowly managed to avoid groaning out loud. There were less than ten students in the class, so fully one-quarter of the class was staring daggers at Harry.

The rest of the class, however, regarded him in silence and with eyes wide. Harry was reminded forcefully of the looks he'd drawn both on the Hogwarts Express and in Vocational Sorcery. As Madam Pomfrey headed to the back of the infirmary and started rolling an ancient cart laden with potions back towards the class, Harry leaned towards the nearest student, a tiny girl with white blonde hair in a pixie cut. "Why is everyone staring at me?"

The girl regarded him with deep brown eyes open wide. She touched the tip of her tongue to her lips before she found the nerve to respond. "Did you really lead an army to fight Voldemort last year?"

Harry winced. There was just enough truth to the statement to make it impossible to flatly deny. He hedged. "Um, I don't think I'd put it quite that way."

The girl, a Ravenclaw looked Harry up and down appraisingly, then turned forward to watch Madam Pomfrey move the cart in place before the group.

"All right then everyone. Between now and holidays we're going to be going over basic remedies, familiarizing you all with the basic procedures you'll need later. After holidays, we'll go over anatomy and simple healing spells.

"So first up, these are the potions that make up a basic infirmary kit. Who here, aside from Mister Potter, can tell me about Skele-grow?"

* * *

Walking quickly into the Great Hall, Harry found both Ron and Hermione already seated. From the rather pleading tone Harry could hear from the doorway, he guessed Ron was still trying to recover from calling her a 'swimbo.' He thought for a moment, and decided that if it had anything to do with her non-magical parents, then best friend or not Harry would have to punch Ron in the nose. Given that he had to look up to locate Ron's nose these days, Harry rather desperately hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Harry dropped his bag on the bench opposite the dueling lovebirds, and cleared his throat for attention. Hermione held up a hand to stifle Ron, and asked, "What is it?"

He shrugged. "Do I get injured more than most around here?"

Ron laughed. "More than most what, mate? Dormitory, yes? Whole Houses, probably not."

Hermione looked concerned. "What brought about your sudden interest in your safety. Not that I'm complaining; I would like to go a year without worrying you've up and died."

He pulled a plate towards himself, noting that she'd already loaded up a sandwich for him. "I just got out of my Medi-Wizard Seminar. Madam Pomfrey spent the whole time bothering me."

Ron's ginger eyebrows climbed his face. "Bothering you?" His tone suggested he was horrified.

"Yeah." Harry munched on his chips idly. "Every potion was 'good for regrowing bones, eh, Mister Potter' or 'hopefully never to be used at this school, is that understood Mister Potter.' Like I'm some kind of danger magnet. Oh, wait, I am."

Ron shrugged. "If you'd asked, I could've told you that by second year."

Harry looked down at his plate in interest, then opened his sandwich to reveal a small candy tucked atop the roast turkey. "Hang on a minute. Why is there a Weasley Wizard Wheeze stuffed in my food?"

Harry looked up, perplexed. He met Ron's eyes and saw that his friend was as surprised as him. Then he looked over at Hermione, who was flushing furiously and focused completely upon her own lunch. "Um, Hermione? Is this a , uh, practical joke?"

She sighed and threw her sandwich back down. "Yes, yes, yes. It was a practical joke, and apparently I'm rubbish at them. What on earth made you check inside your sandwich?"

"I hang around the Burrow," he said simply, as though this was answer enough. In a way, it was.

Ron looked at his girlfriend askance. "Would you mind telling me why you're trying to slip Harry a magic mickey? Doesn't he have enough problems with You-Know-Who?"

"Honestly Ron!" Hermione was still flushed as she corrected him. "It was only last night that I got the short end of a joke. Harry's joke."

Harry managed to smile and flinch at the same time. "Sorry Hermione. I didn't mean for it to be that bad. And I got Ron, too."

Hermione brushed this off casually. "Oh, no. It was a brilliant practical joke. And really, it doesn't bother me at all. But I really ought to return the favor, don't you think? I mean, that is the way jokes work."

He didn't look entirely convinced. "Sure thing, Hermione. Uh, if I eat this now, does that mean you'll give up on this practical joke idea?"

Harry flinched as Hermione uncharacteristically turned her glare on him. "Absolutely not, Harry James Potter! I intend to surprise you fair and square. You'll get your comeuppance, just you wait."

"Joy." Harry looked distinctly pale as he started in on his novelty-free sandwich.

A couple of Ravenclaws passed the trio, one of them a tall boy who whispered behind his hand as they passed. The other, a girl, nodded. Neither took their eyes off the back of Harry's head.

Harry threw down his sandwich. "That's another thing. I've been getting stared at in every class."

Ron forced down his mouthful of food before replying. "Well, you ought to be used to that by now."

He jolted as Hermione trod his foot under the table. "I think what Ron is trying to say is that everyone's seen the articles in the Daily Prophet, Harry."

Harry tried to slide under the table. "They're still going on about all the rubbish from last year?"

Hermione looked confused. "No, they read all the ones about Voldemort's return. Wait; did you stop subscribing to the Prophet?"

"Yeah." Harry shrugged. "It was all lies, so why bother?"

"Ah." Hermione swallowed abruptly, suddenly nervous.

Ron stepped in "Well, you see Harry, the Prophet sort of changed their tunes once You-Know-Who showed up again, didn't they?"

Hermione looked like she expected an explosion. "Now, I'm sure you're terribly mad about it all, but it actually has been helpful. People reading about Voldemort's - oh, stop it Ron, get used to the name - about Voldemort's return. We can't fight him if no one believes he's back, and at least they believe you now."

Ron nodded. "And the pictures were kind of flattering, mate." Then he stopped, and exchanged a horrified look with Hermione. "Not that there were a lot of pictures of you, or anything! I just... well..."

Harry sat up a bit from his slouch, eying his two best friends speculatively. "I'm really sorry about how I acted last year."

They each answered at once. "Harry, mate, forget about it-"

"We've been over that, Harry, and-"

He waved them both to silence. "Wait a moment. You two looked like you thought I'd bite your heads off. And I realized, last year I probably would have. Anyway, you two deserve more than having to tiptoe around me."

Hermione looked dubious. "No tiptoe-ing around you?"

Harry smiled. "Nope."

"All right," she drawled. Hermione pushed her goblet of pumpkin juice out of the way. "Then I think it's time you started talking about Sirius."

His open smile died instantly. "Not really much to talk about."

Hermione reached across the table to pat his hand comfortingly. "Well, we'll tiptoe around that, until you want to talk."

* * *

The first week of school went surprisingly smoothly, and very fast. Harry found his NEWT-Level classes picked up right where they'd left off after sitting their OWLs. Professor McGonagall merely welcomed everyone who was continuing in her Advanced class, and set right to work. It seemed that Advanced Transfigurations was much more exciting than the basic course. Already they had worked on transfiguring blocks of wood into simple machines like clocks or watches. Thus everyone but Hermione was a dismal failure, but it was exciting, especially when the clocks spontaneously re-transfigured into wooden blocks in the middle of a mechanism seize-up. It seemed a common occurrence for a week to have flying gears and minute hands shimmer into hunks of wood as they whipped past Harry's face. Advanced Charms was less explosive, but no less interesting. The week was focused on Animating charms, and all class long the low ottomans and poufs from Professor Trelawney's tower classroom were borrowed and set to gamboling about the lower floors of the castle. Harry was fairly certain one or two broke loose and made for the Forbidden Forest.

The only surprise in the NEWT classes was Remus Lupin's quiet return as their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He had not shown up to the Welcoming Feast, and the subject of the new teacher just hadn't ever been raised. Certainly the whole of Gryffindor was thrilled to see his return; he was the best teacher they'd had in the last six years, and the only one not certifiably evil. However, Harry was a little surprised to see him back, as he'd left in a hurry once his 'condition' as a werewolf was made public. Nothing had changed, yet there seemed to be no complaints raised about his return. Harry would have spoken to him about it, but they never seemed to have a moment to say even a passing 'hello.'

Harry found the Vocational Magic class to be oddly useful. Several of the simple cleaning and straightening charms had mitigated the damage caused by Seamus' berserk clocks in Advanced Transfigurations. And certainly having his textbooks line themselves up and leap into his bag each morning saved him from having to figure out which ones he would need on that day.

Although Harry was singled out almost once a class in the Medi-wizard Seminar, the other students had stopped staring, and Harry found he didn't mind much anymore. Cho and her friend Marietta , seemed to be alternating between open hostility and aloof coldness. After a few days, even this managed to become utterly forgettable. Harry wasn't sure that being able to forget that the most beautiful girl in the school was glaring at you was a good thing, but he was running with it anyway. Oddly, Cho's occasional cutting remark seemed to improve his standing with the other Ravenclaws.

And Harry's life seemed short on cutting remarks. The entire first week of school, Draco Malfoy had managed to avoid being in the same corridor as Harry. It was peculiar. Once or twice, Harry was absolutely certain he'd seem Draco turn the other way when he'd seen Harry coming down a hallway. But whatever the issue was, Harry couldn't complain; the start of his school year was marked by an utter dearth of offensive and racist remarks from the schools Death Eater in residence.

Friday morning saw Harry up for his second run around the Hogwarts grounds just after dawn. The Forbidden Forest looked nearly black in the twilight gloom as he jogged down the broken ground past Hagrid's hut. At the forest line he turned and headed out toward the lake. He was starting to feel winded as he watched the giant squid wave its' tentacles lazily in the air. Not for the first time, Harry was stuck by the thought that it wasn't waving randomly, but at him personally. Feeling slightly foolish, he waved back before turning back uphill to head for the castle gates.

The school was already descending the main stairs down to the Great Hall for breakfast, so Harry turned up a back stairwell. By the time he reached Gryffindor tower, it was nearly empty. He showered quickly, then shot back downstairs. He barely had time to bolt down some cauldron cakes and pumpkin juice before racing out to his first class of the morning, Artifaction.

Much to Harry's shock, it turned out that Artifaction was taught by none other than the Headmaster of the school, Albus Dumbledore. Tucked away between Greenhouse Six and the north lawn was a low wooden workshop. With a series of wide wooden doors Harry thought it might have once been a stable, though Dumbledore referred to it as a workshop. Moreover, other than Hagrid's hut, it was the only wooden structure at Hogwarts. Shelves around the perimeter of the workshop held tools, parts, and half-dismantled clocks. The fact that it also held a fully functional and magically heated forge was slightly worrisome.

As had happened at their last class, Harry arrived at the workshop to find the portable blackboard blank save for a question. It read 'What is easier, permanently charming an object, or permanently transfiguring it?' The students who'd arrived first were already sitting at low benches trying to find out how to answer the question. Dumbledore himself sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, bony knees protruding from beneath his robes, helping a Hufflepuff seventh year to turn broken watch cogs into miniature dogs. There were, in fact, two textbooks for the class. They were by far the shortest Harry had ever seen at Hogwarts. The first was almost a cookbook, or perhaps manual was a better analogy. Packed with diagrams and procedures, it was no more than a hundred pages, one such recipe per page. The second book was shorter still; a Ministry of Magic publication, it was the regulations regarding enchanting objects.

Professor Dumbledore wandered through the class, always helping students without actually answering their questions. Although it was a useful way to learn, it rubbed Harry slightly wrong. It just seemed all too familiar. Every lesson was a blind search to answer an abstract question. Every homework assignment was picked from the book, with a vague muttering about 'Why don't you try to build this for next time, hmm?' The last assignment was to enchant a parchment so that its' writing would appear and disappear on command. In honor of Hogwart's Gryffindors of years past, Harry made his parchment say 'Messrs. Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs Present the Marauder's Map.' The diagram below didn't move at all, but Harry hoped that for a moment he might manage to throw Professor Dumbledore a nasty shock.

Harry pulled his assignment out of his bag and set it upon the shelf at the back of the room everyone was using to hand in their assignments. Then he picked out a bench, and started enchanting stubby bits of balsa wood to turn blue. Once he had a couple, he set the enchantment with a quick incantation, "Nostrorum Vocatorum Infero." They quickly faded back to a rather boring wooden colour. From previous classes, he knew that tapping them and saying 'Remandant' would ignite the enchantment already on them, and they would revert to blue as though freshly cast. Harry then picked up the balsa pegs he hadn't worked with yet, and tried to think of a transfiguration he could do that was similarly easy.

A thick voice whispering to him from over his shoulder distracted Harry from thoughts of the assignment. It was Draco's taller, marginally brighter thug, Goyle, from the bench behind him. "Potter! Hey, Potter!"

Harry sighed, and tried to reign in his annoyance. Even though the class was too 'low class and common' for a Malfoy, Harry had known ever since he'd seen the two Goons loping into the workshop that eventually they'd start bumping heads. He just wished it didn't have to happen with Professor Dumbledore around; although he was still angry with the old man, Harry wanted to retain Dumbledore's respect. "What is it Goyle? Got a good taunt?"

"Uh, no." Goyle looked vaguely surprised. "I, uh, wanted to know why you're turning all those bits of wood blue."

Harry gave the two thugs his undivided attention. They were sitting on a bench behind him, looking confused.

"I'm trying to answer the question on the board." Harry shrugged diffidently.

"Oh." Goyle nodded and smiled slightly. Then he frowned. "What's that got to do with answering the question?"

Harry looked from one open face to the other and sighed. He didn't think this was a setup. "Ok, how're you figuring out the answer?"

Crabbe looked scandalized. "I's a secret!"

Harry raised an eyebrow disbelievingly.

"It is a secret, right?" Crabbe looked at Goyle expectantly. Goyle shrugged. "Well, I thought it was a secret."

Goyle looked over at Harry and shook his head. "Um, we finished already. We figured since I had a harder time charming stuff, it was harder."

"What about Crabbe?" Harry looked over Goyle's shoulder at the bristle-headed boy, who was currently picking his nails with an eyetooth.

Goyle waved a thick hand dismissively. "Can't do either of 'em, really."

"Eh?" Crabbe looked up.

"Never mind." Called Goyle, and Crabbe returned to working on a thumbnail. Goyle turned a blank eye back to Harry. "So why're you turning things blue?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at this. "Ah. Well, I figured that enchanting or transfiguring seemed relatively easy, if I used minor spells. But I know I have an easier time in Charms class than in Transfiguration. So I thought maybe that wouldn't be a good way to answer the question."

Goyle looked at him and shrugged, head shaking. Harry tried again. "How easy it is for me to do a spell is just that. It's what it's like for me. Maybe if I'm bad at something, I'd do worse at that, even if it was easy. See?"

Goyle nodded. "Um, no."

Harry's lips twisted to one side as he tried to find an answer. "It's like I'd really be answering the question 'What's easier for me to do, not what's easier in general."

Goyle grinned. "Got it. So why the blue wood?"

It was Harry's turn to shrug. "I figured I could charm some wood and transfigure some other bits, and see which holds the longest."

Crabbe pulled a finger out of his mouth. "'Course if being better at summat makes your charm last longer than your transfiguration, you'd still only be figurin' out which is easier for you. 'S a bit of a confounding variable, see?"

Goyle and Harry both stared at Crabbe slackly. Crabbe shrugged, and rummaged through his bag for a bit of roll he'd tucked away at breakfast. Finding it, he started munching. Finally Goyle shook himself off and turned to Harry. "Well, at least you've got nothing too."

"Hang on." Harry tipped his head sideways as he thought. "We could work together!"

Goyle snorted. Crabbe snorted, and nearly respirated breakfast roll. Goyle thwacked him enthusiastically as he answer. "What, with you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, with me. Look, if we all tried what I was doing, we could average the results. I mean, we can't all be good or bad at the same things, so averaging out how long the spells work should work, right?"

Goyle shrugged. "You helping us with homework?"

Harry shrugged back. "You'd be helping me, too."

Crabbe raised one crumb-dusted hand as though to get permission to speak. "Can't do either one."

"No problem." Harry tucked his bench over toward the other two. He figured he didn't have to like them, he just had to answer the question on the board, and learn artifaction. "I'll show you how."

* * *

That night, Harry sat at the Gryffindor dinner table, Ron and Hermione sitting opposite him, cuddling. Odd, he thought, how quickly they went from arguing to leaning on each other. Ron was working his way steadily through a beef and barley stew, with Hermione leaning lightly on one arm. It might have been Harry's imagination, but he thought Ron looked slightly nervous.

Harry felt odd, like something was missing. He put away half a bowl before it occurred to him. Generally speaking, the trio had two forms of conversation; those Hermione led, and those she tolerated. The latter pretty much revolved around Harry and Ron talking Quidditch, while she read. Harry sat eating soup and biscuits in silence, because she wasn't saying anything.

He cleared his throat. "So, I take it you too made up?"

Ron looked like he was trying to shush Harry, but stopped when Hermione noticed his left arm waving. "Er, yeah. But thanks for bringing it up."

"Sorry." Harry went back to his soup. He wondered if all conversations with Ron and Hermione now that they were a couple would be this stilted.

All of a sudden, two delicate figures landed on the bench, one on either side of Harry. He looked left to see Ginny sitting backwards, and leaning against the table edge. To his right Luna had settled in cross legged, butter beer earrings tinkling gently.

"Hey, Harry." Ginny started off, smiling.

"And hello Hermione and Ronald." Luna interrupted smoothly.

Ginny cut back in. "We've got a question for you."

Harry looked back and forth between the two girls. "Okay?"

"When are you starting up the DA again?" Ginny reached across the table to steal a shortbread cookie from Hermione's plate. She nibbled on it, awaiting a reply.

Harry's brows furrowed, and he looked back and forth between the two. He couldn't believe they were asking about the incredibly poorly named 'Dumbledore's Army' he'd taught last year. "I'm not, actually. Starting it up I mean."

"Why ever not?" Luna stared through the table in from of Harry as she spoke. "You're not thinking that keeping us out of the Defense Association would keep us out of another fight with Death Eaters, are you? Because I rather think they'd choose to attack us, whether we wanted them to or not."

"Er, no, not really." Actually, that was exactly what he'd been thinking. "It's just, Professor Lupin is back, so we actually have a real Defense instructor. So there's no need."

"No need?" Ginny goggled. "Are you daft? With You-Know-Who flapping around everywhere, I think everyone could use as much practice as possible. And who better than you?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "Again, Professor Lupin."

"He might get pressed into the underground army, however." Everyone turned to look at Luna as she spoke into the table. "With Minister Fudge putting together a covert army of Dark Creatures to fight Voldemort, he might not be here all year."

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. "If this is another article in the Quibbler-"

Ron laid a restraining hand on her arm. "I guess we can all agree that we should plan for the worst, right? And we can all agree that we don't really know what's going to happen, right?"

Hermione managed to bite back a quip, or at least mutter it under her breath. Aloud, she said only, "Right."

"So." Ginny flicked Harry's shoulder. "That just means even Ronnikins here thinks you should be running the DA this year. You know, planning for the worst."

Harry bent lower over his soup. "Better if I don't. I'd hate to upset Professor Lupin."

Ron scoffed openly. "Harry! This is, you know, the last of the Marauders we're talking about, mate. I don't reckon you could do anything he wouldn't be mighty chuffed about."

Harry stared intently at his best friend. He willed the lanky ginger-haired boy to get the message. "I've a rather busy schedule, Ron. I don't think I'll have the time."

"I've seen that schedule." Ron continued, clearly not reading his friends darkened green eyes. "I figure nobody in the schools got more free time than you. 'Cept maybe Dumbledore. Don't really know what he gets up to all day..."

Ginny pressed a hand onto Harry arm. "See, no problems Harry. When do we start?"

Harry stared at her, wondering why on earth she wasn't picking up on his obvious reluctance. Instead she flushed under his level gaze, and started worrying her lower lip. Harry returned his gaze to his soup bowl. He'd forgotten, no focusing on Ginny Weasley.

Luna chimed in. "Next Monday would be a good time."

Harry looked across the table. Ron was nodding thoughtfully, clearly agreeing with his sister and her friend. Only Hermione was staring back at Harry, a dark look in her eyes. Harry met her gaze, and tried to communicate just how much he didn't want to run the DA any more.

"We don't want to rush anything!" Hermione burst out, sitting upright. The whole table turned to look at her. "I mean, it's best to let things settle in a bit, before we have to worry about starting the DA up again. So there shouldn't be any rush."

"Hermione!" Ron looked at her in confusion. "I think that a mad Dark Lord running amok is a plenty good reason to rush!"

Luna looked up from the table, her wide silvery gaze wandering across all three of the trio's faces. "Ah. So we won't be rushing into anything. Thank you, Hermione, I didn't realize that. Ronald, you should listen to her for now. And close your mouth, please."

Luna swept off the bench, and dragged a sputtering Ginny with her.

Ron watched them leave, head tipped to one side in a portrait of confusion. He turned to look at Harry and Hermione. "Huh? I thought we'd agreed that starting the DA was a good idea."

"You thought it was a good idea, obviously." Harry grumbled as he sipped his soup.

"Honestly, Ron." Hermione tutted, arms crossed defensively in front of her. "Harry was clearly opposed to the whole idea. Didn't you notice?"

Ron shook his head mutely. Harry looked up at his two best friends. "Not... Just not now. I don't think I can deal with all that right now. Thanks, 'Mione."

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