Unofficial Portkey Archive

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

September was fast drawing to a close, and the wind was already stirring the dried leaves into piles along the great curtain walls of the school. In the open courtyards, students had begun pulling their cloaks about them a little tighter. Mornings were just becoming a bit more difficult, as no one wanted to trade a warm bed for a cold dormitory bathroom.

And Harry's morning absences were getting more and more noticeable. For the fourth time that week, Harry bustled into the Great hall for breakfast a full twenty minutes late. Hermione looked up from her books and waffles as he wandered over to the table, running a hand through still-wet hair. Ron waved absently, still engrossed in a conversation with Ginny and Luna over Quidditch tactics.

Hermione slipped a few folded parchments into her book as an impromptu place holder. Harry sat down opposite her and Ron, tucking in between Ginny and Luna, who nodded to him before continuing with a spirited debate over the merits of something called 'flutterbacking.'

He piled food onto his plate, took the full glass of pumpkin juice, and tucked into breakfast. A few bites into it, he looked up, unnerved. Hermione remained sitting opposite him, not concealing the fact she was staring at him shrewdly.

"What," Harry asked. Her penetrating stare made him nervous.

She sighed. "Are you ever going to tell us where you're off to most mornings, Harry?"

"Huh?" Harry was confused enough to put his fork back down and laugh. "What do you mean?"

"Tuh!" Hermione waggled a finger at him. "If it's Order business or something, I understand not being able to tell us the details. It's just the disappearing with no word, Harry. It's worrisome."

Harry grinned. "Hermione, sometimes I think that the sun rising is worrisome to you. You need to relax a bit."

"I'll relax when I'm sure nobody is trying to off my friends, thank you very much. Until then, I plan on worrying the appropriate amount." She folded her hands, and leaned inwards. "And you, Mister Potter, are avoiding my question."

"No I'm not." Harry was the picture of innocence, not in the least because he was in fact completely innocent. "I've been out running. Have been all summer."

"Running?" Hermione wrinkled her nose delicately. "Were you being chased?"

Now Harry laughed openly, finally drawing the attention of both Luna and Ginny. "No. You know, running is exercise. It's supposed to be good for you."

Ginny looked down at his dark school robes. "You're running about in that? How come you don't trip?"

Harry blushed; this was more attention that he really wanted. "No, I, uh... I changed and showered. That's why I'm late mornings that I go running." He ducked back down to his food.

Hermione was not to be deterred so easily. "But why were you running about, Harry?"

Ron jumped in to answer this. "'Mione, can the bloke get a bite to eat, first? And what's wrong with him having a run. 'Sposed to do wonders for a Seeker."

She shook her head and returned to her books. "Seems a bit peculiar to me."

Ron chortled, and pulled the text out from under her nose. "Fine one you are to talk about peculiar, Miss Granger! I think you've read this one before! Now that's past swotty and into odd."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Ron. I reread books. If you tried to finish them, you might even pass your NEWTs. Now, give it here."

"Nuh-uh." Ron tucked her book behind his back. "I think you ought to spend a morning talking with us, rather than reading. What do you think, Harry?"

Harry glanced up from his fruit compote. "You drag me into this one, I'm siccing Ginny on you."

Hermione waved a hand. "Nevermind, you two. I've read that one enough. Harry, you have some texts for your, um, different classes? I've never read them; any chance I could borrow them for a bit?"

Harry snorted, and dug about for his books. Ginny helped him gather them up from the floor beneath her, and Harry passed the few books along to Hermione. "Enjoy."

She grinned widely. "Absolutely. New books!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Positively mental, this one."

* * *

The following Monday was quite a wakeup call for Harry. It wasn't a running day, so he had a chance to come downstairs to the common room with Ron to meet up with Hermione for breakfast. Harry and Ron were nearly side by side as they exited their dorm and started down the stairs.

Harry saw them first. A swarm of head-sized shiny spheres, in bright red or yellow, hovering near the rafters. He caught sight of them spiraling and swirling for a brief second before they veered abruptly downward. As one, two dozen of the things dove at Harry like birds of prey.

Ron yelled his name, and tried to tug him back into the dorm. For his part, Harry drew his wand and turned sideways, presenting a smaller target. He started casting Reducto charms without drawing a bead.

Three of the lead objects ruptured in a spray of clear liquid, but they were moving too fast towards them. Harry wouldn't be able to knock the rest down before they hit him. He reached back towards Ron with his left hand. A quick Accio, and Ron's wand spun forward to slap into Harry's outstretched palm. Whipping both wands at the flying objects, Harry hurled hexes as fast as he could utter them. The last red sphere jinked around his spells, and spun for Harry tightly from his right side. He ducked, and it splattered against the fitted stonework behind him.

A handful of liquid hit Harry across the cheek, and he realized it was water. Looking down, a torn bit or red rubber showed a recognizable knot in it. The red and yellow things had been balloons.

Harry looked out over the railing of the stairs, to see the stunned occupants of Gryffindor tower staring back up at him. In the midst of the students, Hermione stood tapping her foot and turning a matching shade of red. Ginny had a hand to her mouth, and as they locked eyes, Harry realized he was still standing there on the landing, both wands pointed out into the Common Room. Abashed, he put his wand away, and tossed the other back to Ron.

The lanky redhead slipped out of the dorm again, looking around. A bit of water balloon hung up on a chandelier slipped off, to land at Hermione's feet with a wet squish. Ron turned to his roommate, mouth open in shock. "Bloody hell, Harry."

Harry tried to slip down the stairs quietly, but Lavender Brown let out a piercing wolf whistle. That triggered the house into a bit of an uproar. A couple of the firsties started chanting for Harry to 'do it again, do it again.' He and Ron made their way down to the landing, and sidled through the applauding students to Hermione.

"Enchanted water balloons?" Harry bent over slightly to catch her gaze, which was focused on the floor.

"I thought 'How could this possibly go wrong.' It was a perfect prank." Hermione brushed drops of water and bits of balloon off her robes. She looked a sight, both cross and embarrassed. "I had it all planned out."

Harry picked a bit of balloon out of her hair. "You almost got me. And it was absolutely brilliant."

A little of the mad left her expression, though she looked no less embarrassed. "Really?"

"Really." Harry smiled.

"Are you both mental?" Ron looked back and forth. "Harry, what's with summoning my wand right out of my trousers? And Hermione! You nearly hit me with all that rubbish!"

Harry winced. He knew she was mad at herself for not being better as a practical joker. Quite frankly, there wasn't anything Hermione allowed herself not be be excellent at. This wasn't a direction he wanted the conversation to go. "Ron, it was a pretty clever gag."

"Clever?" Ron stared at his friend in horror. "Clever! She nearly took our heads off! And what kind a joke is it, battering a bloke with cold water first thing in the morning? We coulda' caught our death!"

Harry started to chuck Ron on the shoulder and say something soothing that might have ended the argument. Unfortunately, Hermione moved faster. "Well, Ron! If you'd drawn your wand instead of shrieking, you'd have solved both your problems,wouldn't you?"

Harry flinched openly. She managed to hit his masculinity and his competence in one volley, and it wasn't pretty. Ron snarled. "I did not shriek! You take that back!"

"Take it back?" Hermione scoffed, arms crossed before her chest defensively. "What are you, eleven again?"

"Fine!" Ron roared. He turned and headed for the portrait hole. "Harry, mate, lets get away from the Madwoman of Gryffindor Tower!"

"Fine! Run away, Ron!" Hermione tossed her hair back as she yelled to her boyfriend. "But don't try to pull our friends into your little problems!"

"Great!" Ron yelled from the portrait hole. "None of us get to have friends when you're being a madwoman. Perfect!"

He slammed the portrait shut as he stomped out. Hermione threw her hands in the air, in utter exasperation. "Perfect!" And with that, she stomped off, heading back to her room.

Harry looked around the Gryffindor common room in shock. Seamus pulled out a folded bit of parchment. He called out to the assembled crowd. "Who put the flutter on September 27th?"

"I did!" It was Colin Creevy who raised a hand, and wormed his way through the crowd to Seamus. "I had September 27th for the first Common Room screaming match!"

Ginny groaned. "I thought they'd wait a week."

Harry felt very lonely as a Colin collected his handful of Galleons from Seamus, to the collected mutterings of his fellow Gryffindors. Ginny saw the look on his face, and made her way over to him. "Don't feel so bad. They'll get over it by Monday, I'm sure."

"Sure." Harry looked down at her, blankly.

Ginny took hold of his elbow. "Let's get something to eat, hmm?"

* * *

Later that day, Harry slipped into Vocational Sorcery. Thankfully, the sixth year Gryffindor prefects were still not speaking to each other. Harry couldn't imagine they'd say anything good to each other right now.

Harry pulled his notes out, and settled into the front desk. His attention was distracted by two loud thumps directly behind him. He turned about in his seat to find Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe slouched in the seats directly behind him. Harry was confused, and it showed; the two Slytherin thugs always took seats in the absolute back of the room.

Apparently, the bewildered expression wasn't welcoming. Goyle looked up at Harry and muttered. "What? We can't sit up front now?"

Harry turned back to his things quietly.

Madam Hooch swept into the classroom, wearing an open black robe like her students. Under it she wore riding clothes, and pulled her riding gloves off as she passed her desk.

"Class, attention!" She tossed the gloves onto her desk. "Today, we'll cover preparing food magically."

Harry stifled a smile as the two thugs behind him snapped to attention of fast he could actually hear their stools creaking. He figured that there might be a few classes at Hogwarts that might draw their attention.

The three of them didn't talk in class, but it was a fairly involving lesson nonetheless.

* * *

That evening, Harry hurried down the stairs headed for Professor McGonagall's office. Dinner hour was starting in a few minutes, and like all the teachers she would be sitting at the Head Table, and rather unapproachable for a matter like Harry had in mind. He took the spiral stairs at the base of the west tower two at a time, then crossed the southwest upper gallery to get to the inner keep. Professor McGonagall's office was on the fourth level of the inner keep, its mullioned stained glass drinking in the southern exposure. Harry trotted down the southwest gallery, past several dim suits of armor. Finally he reached his Head of House's office, and knocked on the split plank door.

"Enter!" Professor McGonagall had elevated curtness to a one-word art form, apparently.

He opened the door partway, and peered about the jamb. "It's me, ma'am. Harry Potter."

McGonagall fixed him with a beady eye. "I know you by sight, thank you very much. Now, in and sit!"

Harry smiled self-consciously and took the proffered seat. "Thank you ma'am."

"Well?" She put down the book she'd been reading. "Supper is in minutes, Mister Potter. If you want to schedule team tryouts, perhaps we could meet later in the week?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "This will only take- Hang on. Schedule team tryouts?"

"Well, Mister Potter." It was her turn to smile kindly. "It has been tradition for the team captain to hold tryouts in December."

Harry opened his mouth, closed it, and then repeated the process. Eventually he managed to squeak out a few words. "Quidditch captain?"

Professor McGonagall passed a red enameled badge across her desk top. "Yes, Mister Potter. You should get ready to hold tryouts soon."

Harry stared at the Captain's Badge, smiling slightly. He remembered being so hurt to be passed over for prefect the previous year, and it felt oddly good to be chosen for this. He sat and thought for a while, pretending there was nothing more complicated in his life than the Quidditch team and his classes.

"Mister Potter?" Professor McGonagall disturbed him from his reverie. "You came to see me about something, I believe?"

"Sorry." He rummaged through his robes, until he found what he was looking for. Harry set a small scroll of parchment on her desk, tied with a length of burgundy ribbon.

Professor McGonagall held the scroll in one hand, her robe falling back to reveal her thin wrist. "A letter, Mister Potter? Surely you could just tell me whatever it is."

"Oh, no. Sorry." Harry realized he'd need a bit of explanation. "I didn't really know who to leave that with, so I figured as my head of house, you might know."

She peered at the scroll as though she thought she might be able to read it without unrolling it. "And this is..."

"A will." Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "Mine, actually. I figured that what with the way things have been going, I should probably, you know. Write one."

"Mister Potter!" She looked nearly speechless. "I quite assure you that such foolishness is completely unnecessary. Provided that you remember to duck when you see a bludger coming."

Harry gaped at her. It was an off year that he didn't face Voldemort at some point or another. "Professor McGonagall, I don't exactly plan on, you know. Needing that. But with Voldemort-"

She winced at the name, and Harry though she looked older and more sad than he'd seen her before.. "Mister Potter. Harry. I just hate for you to have to worry about such things. You are so very young, child..."

"It's alright." Harry reached out to pat her hand as he realized that she was upset enough that the rationality or reasons for this conversation were irrelevant. This was just going to upset her further. For a crazy moment, Harry thought about calling her 'Minerva.' "P-Professor McGonagall, don't worry. I'm sure nothing will happen to me. I just thought you might pass that letter on to Professor Dumbledore."

"Yes, of course, Mister Potter." McGonagall did not, however, look reassured. She seemed to shake herself, and her brisk tone returned. "Now then, as you're very late to supper, off you go."

Harry smiled tightly at her, squeezed her hand, and left. There wasn't really any more to do, so he hurried down the corridor for the south-most moving staircase. Usually it was the quickest way down to the Great Hall, provided the stairs weren't waving about.

They were, in fact, fairly stationary. Harry hopped over the trick step, and made his way down to dinner. Turning right into the Hall, Harry found the walls aglow with cheery yellows and oranges of magically floating candlelight. The ceiling overhead was enchanted to reflect the nigth sky outside, and so the gently drifting candles were backdropped by the twinkling of stars against an infinitely dark night. The heavy trestle tables were already laden with food and fine fittings, and the whole school was a crowded around talking happily through another mealtime. All in all, it was the kind of evening that made up Harry's best memories of school.

Harry found his two best friends sitting on opposite sides of the Gryffindor table from each other, with matching dark looks on their faces. Although this was pretty much exactly what he didn't want to have to sit though, Harry forced himself to sit next to Ron, and smile at both of them. Neither managed to greet him, as it would have interrupted their scowling match. Harry heaved a sigh, and spooned the twice baked potatoes onto his plate.

Ron nudged Harry with a bony elbow. "Harry, could you ask Hermione to pass the pork chops?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but Hermione cut him off. "Ron Weasley, you could ask me that directly!"

Ron held up a hand, palm outstretched to his girlfriend. She exhaled noisily in exasperation, and returned to her meal, muttering.

A minute of silence was all Harry could stomach. He threw his fork down with a clatter. "All right you two. Enough of this! I was a right prat last year, and I didn't listen to you both when you told me off. Well, now I'm telling you two off, so now you get to decide if you want to listen."

"I wish I'd listened earlier." And with that he picked up his fork and returned to eating mulishly.

"I'm sorry, mate." Ron clapped him on the back awkwardly. "I'm being awful."

Hermione looked genuinely contrite. "Me too."

Harry looked up at them. "I'm not the one you've been awful to. I've just been sitting next to you both."

The couple eyed each other, their faces a mass of conflicting emotions. They muttered various, vaguely apologetic things to each other. Harry rolled his eyes. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

"So," Harry began with a smile. "How's Snape?"

It was a bit of a joke with them that he didn't have class with the sour and malicious Potions Master. Ron groaned. "Without you there, I think he's decided I'm his new least favorite student."

"Ronald Weasley," Harry purred in a fairly good impersonation of the Professor himself. "Our newest celebrity. And has winning the Quidditch Cup helped you to remember the difference between Dragon's Heart and Serpentine?"

Ron snorted. "You need to stop bathing for a few weeks to do a good job at that!"

Harry put his palms flat on the table, and fairly crawled towards his friends. "When I want you to mock me for being a greasy git, I'll call on you, Mister Weasley! A thousand points from Gryffindor. Mister Malfoy, I haven't kissed up to you in a week. Fifty points to Slytherin for being able to walk... upright."

Ron howled. "Crabbe and Goyle would cost them the House Cup every year at that rate!"

Hermione stared at the two friends, no trace of a smile on her shocked, white face. Seeing her look ever too stiff and proper to taunt the school's least favorite teacher, Ron reached out to tap her arm. "Hermy, c'mon. You got to admit the sneer is funny. Do the sneer Harry."

"Yes Harry, do the sneer," came a sneering voice over Ron and Harry's shoulders. With a tremendous sinking sensation, they turned slowly to find the great dark form of the Potions Master towering over them. He gathered the sleeves of his black robe about himself as he crossed his arms and glared at them from down his hooked nose. "I imagine the sneer would be even more amusing than the rest of the impersonation."

Harry hung his head. "Sorry, sir."

Professor Snape's black eyes narrowed. "I rather doubt it. Ten points from Gryffindor."

With that, he swept off toward the staff table, black cloak billowing about his long form like bat wings. Harry and Ron turned back to the table, feeling a little sick.

"I feel bad we just lost ten points for telling the truth." Ron bit into a roll.

Harry looked at him sideways. "I feel bad for making fun of him."

"What?" Ron raised a red eyebrow. "Why? Everyone does."

"Exactly." Hermione tipped her head sideways. "No one respects him or his feelings."

"So?" Ron smiled. "So what?"

"So, Ron." She actually looked a little sad as she explained. "That's exactly how the Slytherins treat me. Because I'm muggleborn."

"That's completely different!" Ron looked outraged. "They don't like you for what you were born as. They don't care that you're brilliant, or nice, or anything. I don't like Snape 'cause he's Snape. Because he chooses to be an unfair, mean, petty wanker."

Hermione tried a different tack. "Wouldn't everyone treat him different if he were head of Hufflepuff? I mean, no one trusts him, and everyone hates him. How could he wander around in a good mood?"

Ron shook his head. "Life's tough all over. I'm not about to start grading him on a curve, Hermione. How about you, Harry?"

Harry looked up at this. "I hate him, and I sure don't want to be nice to him or anything. I just wish I hadn't embarrassed him in public like that."

Ron shrugged, and the three of them settled into an uncomfortable silence. By the time the plates were magically wiped clean of crumbs for the first time and the fruit tarts appeared upon the tables with a soft pop, Hermione looked like she had a question to ask.

Harry smiled slightly. "Go on with whatever it is Hermione. You look like you're about to burst."

"Harry, I've been going over those books you lent me..."

It was Ron's turn to roll his eyes. "Lord, Hermy, the bloke's only just got back to school. It's a bit early to start quizzing him on chapters, isn't it? I mean, only you would have read those all in a week."

"No, Ron, I haven' read them all." She briefly glared at her boyfriend before returning her focus to Harry. "I have, however, gone through the indices. And I couldn't help but notice that you're scheduled to learn Apparation in December."

Ron's eyes bulged, and he looked gobsmacked. Then the huge, goofy grin took over. "Wicked! How'd you pull that off, Harry?"

Harry tried to avoid his friends' eyes. "'S just part of the Domestic Sorcery class, is all..."

Hermione's deep hazel eyes narrowed. She looked predatory, but her tone was light. "Yes, it is. And healing cuts and broken bones with a wand is part of your Mediwizard training, correct?"

"I haven't really read through the texts yet." It wasn't a lie, technically. He hadn't read the books. However, he knew full well what Madam Pomfrey was going to be teaching this year.

Ron dropped his fork, and pushed his fruit tart away warily. "Hang on a moment. First Apparation and now broken bones. What's up with this?"

"Yes, Harry." Hermione's light tone disintegrated with worry. "What is up with this?"

"Just my classes?" Harry looked a little green. There was no way to get out of this conversation, but that didn't mean he wouldn't try like mad.

"Bull puckey, mate." Ron dropped a hand on Harry's slim shoulders and shook him gently. "Hermione's sniffing around something, and the lady's never wrong. Plus, you look guiltier than my brothers. You must think I'm dumber than a sack of hammers if I'm going to buy that line of guff."

Harry started to answer, but Hermione cut him off. "It's V-Voldemort. You're planning on going after him, aren't you?"

"He can't be." Ron glanced at Harry. "You're not?"

Harry sat upright, looking resigned. "I'm going to fight him, whether Riddle comes after me or I go looking for him. I'm just going to even the odds."

"I take it back." Ron looked horror struck from Harry to Hermione's pale face. "You must be the one dumber than a sack of hammers."

Harry turned his cold eyes on his friend. "Ron-"

"Nuh-uh. This is Lord You-Know-Who were talkin' about here." Ron grabbed his upper arm, and leaned in. "Now, you've come off alright before, but Harry! Actually trying to fight him is about as smart as cut bait! As in, the cheese has slid off your cracker? Am I making a dent here?"

Conversation at the table was slowing down, and the heads of nearby Gryffindor's were turning to track Ron's rapidly escalating tone. Harry grabbed Ron's bicep in turn, and dragged the two of them to their feet. Hermione jumped up, and followed them as Harry steered the conversation out of the Great Hall and into the entrance hall. "Keep it down! People can hear you!"

"Good!" Ron shrugged Harry's hands off. "I hope they do! Maybe there's someone in there that can talk some sense into you! You told us you weren't going to lie to us, or avoid us, or anything like that!"

Harry's jaw clenched. "I'm not."

"No?" Ron waved a hand over his head wildly. "You're not, are you? Well, the way I see it, haring off after You-Know-Who alone is pretty much the same thing."

"I'm not haring off after anyone." Harry pulled his robes back and thrust his hands into his pockets as he started pacing. "I just want to be ready for next time."

"And you want to be alone next time, don't you." Hermione worried the inside of her lip. "That's why you're learning how to Apparate. So we couldn't follow you."

"No!" He shook his head, and spun away, unable to look at the naked fear written on her face, knowing he'd put it there. "No, I just... I need every advantage I can get. Everything I can use to kill Voldemort."

"What if it kills you, mate?" Ron scuffed the flagged floor with the toe of his trainers. "Then what's the good of all this?"

Harry turned back to face him. "So what if it does? Can you honestly tell me that if I died, but it meant that your brothers and Ginny lived, you wouldn't think 'thank God?' Or Hermione; if we had to pick between me and her, you don't think we'd both pick the same thing?"

"Don't say that." The tears were in her eyes and in her voice. She backed away, bumping blindly into a banister. "Don't you ever say that Harry James Potter!"

Ron stepped forward, and grabbed Harry around the back of his neck, and bent so they were eye to eye and nose to nose. "Harry, you sorry prat. I love my brothers, and I love Ginny, and I love Hermione, and I'm telling you I don't care who you save, if anything happens to you I promise I won't be thinking 'Thank God.'"

* * *

October began with cool breezes, and the changing colours of the Forbidden Forest from blue-green to russet. The trees were browning, and casting their worn out leaves across the lake to swirl around the flagged courtyards of Hogwarts castle. Within it's stone walls, the castle seemed to be pulling ever so slowly in on itself, as students and factulty started congregating closer and closer to the fireplaces and those rooms lined in tapestries.

In Artifaction, that meant that Harry's classmates tended now to cluster around the open firepit of the magical forge in the center of the room. The wooden slat walls of the former barn turned enchanted object classroom only barely stopped any of the wind. Already there was a pronounced draft that came and went. For the first time, Harry realized that come winter, this class could become fairly uncomfortable.

But for tonight, Harry was more involved in gathering the bits and pieces for his assignment and packing then away as quickly as possible. They were learning that the more particularly an object was handcrafted by the caster, the longer lasting any enchantment laid upon it. So Harry was packing away a set of borrowed carving tools, a few half-heartedly whittled blocks of wood, and some chunks of semi-precious rocks. These were wrapped up and tossed into his backpack as he stuffed his books and parchments in on top. He was hurrying, so he could get out to the Quidditch pitch in time to run the tryouts for the Gryffindor team.

He was almost to the double doors out when a voice from over his shoulder stopped him. "A word, if I may, Harry." It was Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Yes sir?" Harry spun about. Generally when he drew Dumbledore's personal attention, something bad happened.

Dumbledore brushed the soap flakes from his orange and gold robes, and set down the example dolls he'd been carving before unfolding himself and rising to his feet. Once he was upright, he smiled gently and peered down at Harry from over his half-moon glasses. "I was surprised that I had not yet seen an announcement that you were restarting the Defense Association."

"I'm not doing it. " Harry blinked, clearly surprised. Then, as an afterthought he added, "Sir."

Dumbledore continued to peer down his nose at Harry, though his voice was kindly. "May I ask why?"

"It's too dangerous."

"Is it now?" Dumbledore smiled absently, and began straightening up the small disasters that littered the workbenches. Oddly, he did it by hand, and not with a wand. "I do not recall Madam Pomfrey complaining that you'd sent her anyone particularly injured from your class."

"I'm not worried about everyone getting hurt in class, Professor." Harry hefted his backpack again, as it was threatening to slip from his shoulder. "I'm worried about what'll happen when they get out there."

"Ah. The Department of Mysteries, then." Dumbledore dusted his hands off, and turned back to Harry. "So you are concerned, are you not, that your students might misuse what you teach them? That in so doing, they could receive injury, or be killed?"

Harry nodded mutely.

"And do you not think that every teacher here at Hogwarts has had similar thoughts?" At his student's puzzled look, Dumbledore sighed gently and continued. "We all teach our students, Harry. And we all hope that no harm will ever come to them. We also know that what we teach can be used for great good or evil.

"I would ask that you remember something about a school, Harry. We give knowledge to all who seek it. We do not, no matter how old or wise we become, get the final say in how that knowledge is used."

"But we're not talking about classes, Professor." Harry's voice was clipped with exasperation. "I'm not talking about Transfiguration, or Potions. The Defense Association was teaching dueling!"

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes dimmed as he regarded Harry from over his glasses. "I should not need to remind you that young Peter Pettigrew learned both those subjects here at Hogwarts, and you have seen him, first hand, misuse both these skills."

Harry's jaw clenched. For a moment, he was far away from the grounds at Hogwarts, tied to a headstone and watching Pettigrew brew the potion that would restore his master. With a shake of his head, Harry dispersed the memory.

But Professor Dumbledore was already continuing. "I would have thought Professor Lupin might have broached the subject with you already."

Harry was confused. "Professor Lupin, sir?"

The twinkle had returned to his eyes. "Indeed. I had asked him at the outset of term to... persuade you to continue your work with your fellow students. I take it from your look of apparent surprise that he has not broached the subject as yet?"

"No, sir" Harry very nearly hung his head before forcing himself to maintain an even expression. "We haven't had much opportunity to talk, sir."

"Surprising, isn't it?" Dumbledore managed to look utterly unsurprised as he said this. "Perhaps it slipped his mind. Some topics do seem to get... shunted aside? If possible, you could remind him for me."

With that, Professor Dumbledore turned and swept from the classroom.

Harry thought for a few moments about what his teacher had said. Then he too turned, and ran from the classroom. Only he turned left, and tore off toward the Quidditch pitch. He knew he was going to be late, but hopefully no one was going to really take the mickey out of him, as he was the captain of the team.

He ran flat out around the greenhouses, open robes blowing about him, his backpack bumping awkwardly into his side on every other step. He kept one elbow out, his hand on the strap, trying to balance it, as he'd forgotten to loop it over both arms. Well before he reached the Quidditch pitch, Harry could see a small crowd gathered in front of the locker rooms. As he approached the small gathering, a ragged round of applause broke out.

"Oi, Harry," Ron call out to him. "Making a fashionably late appearance?"

"It beats Oliver 'OCD' Wood's approach, I suppose." Ginny smiled, leaning on her broomstick. The handle was driven into the soft green of the pitch by her foot. "Still, I hope he doesn't plan on showing up ten minutes into our first match."

"I know, I know." Harry dumped his bag beside the low changing room walls. "Anyone else have a wisecrack to make?"

"Are we limited to just one wisecrack, each?" Ron smirked at him, and Harry shoved him playfully in response.

"All right everyone." Harry turned to the small crowd, feeling suddenly self conscious. "Um, Ginny Weasley has decided to play as chaser this year, so I'm back as seeker. That leaves us down two more chasers. So, anyone wanting to try for those spots, why don't you start by, um, three laps around the pitch? Sound good?"

There was a general murmur, and five Gryffindors' grabbed their brooms and took off to circle the stands. All of them were on school brooms, but moving pretty fast nonetheless.

Harry turned to look at the team left standing around the locker room. "Well, I don't really know how to captain the team or anything, so I hope I can count on all of you to help out every step of the way. Ron, you kind of live Quidditch plays, plus you'll spend every game hovering about the goals. So if you can plan on working out plays with me, and taking a look at the chasers, that'd be brilliant.

"Ginny, as our only Chaser you can handle training two new ones up to snuff. Try working with those five, and let them have a go at Ron. I guess we'll all talk afterward about who you want on the team.

"Kirke, Sloper as our beaters, I just want to see you disrupt everything they try up there. You've had some games under your belts, so they shouldn't stand a chance against you. And I want you two to keep track of which chasers were harder to stop than the others."

Kirke raised his hand as an embarrassed flush spread over his face. "Me and Jack," and he gestured to Sloper as he spoke. "We talked, and maybe you might want to try out another couple of beaters."

Harry was stunned. Was he such a bad Captain, in asking for everyone's help, that they wanted to get away as soon as possible? "You're quitting? Why?"

"Not quitting, no." Jack Sloper shrugged. "We just know we pretty much tanked all last year. I mean, we only got on the team 'cause the twins got banned with you."

Kirke nodded along. "Yeah, and we want Gryffindor to win this year. Maybe you should try to find a couple of, you know, real beaters. We'll stay if you can't find anyone better."

Harry looked at his two beaters. Sloper was nodding along with his friend. Harry looked over his shoulder, and Ron shrugged while Ginny avoided his gaze. Clearly this was going to be entirely on him. He exhaled tightly, teeth grinding. "Okay. I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do.

"So you can quit right now if you're afraid. If you're afraid of losing, or looking foolish, or whatever, you can leave this team right now. I won't stop you. But you two are the Gryffindor Quidditch team beaters, and we play when we're sick, and we play when we're hurt, and we'll damn well play if we're scared. You two won the Cup last year, and you're going to stay in those uniforms right up until the minute you graduate or quit. So, either go and hit some bludgers at the chasers, or go back to the castle."

With that, Harry turned around and headed into the locker room to change. Maybe this was why people made dramatic exits, he thought. They just didn't know what to say next, and had to flee before they were reduced to saying things like 'so, um, yeah, just like that.' This might explain a lot about Professor Snape.

Once in the men's half of the building, Harry yanked off his school robes and tossed them furiously into a locker. That conversation went just about as poorly as possible. He started pulling on his pads, and settling his brightly coloured Quidditch robes about him. He didn't have time to run back to the castle to get his Firebolt, so Harry plucked a school broom from the rack along one wall. It was a Comet 250, and would handle pretty poorly, but Harry only really needed to get enough altitude to watch the tryouts.

Just then, Ron entered the locker room. Harry slammed the locker door shut, and leaned his head on it. "I guess we need to look for some beaters too, Ron."

"Naw." The smile in Ron's voice brought Harry about to face him. Ron was leaning one shoulder against the door frame, arms crossed. "Kirke and Sloper are both up there now. I actually think they're flying better than usual. Though, they're pretty terrible, so it's hard to tell."

Harry tried smiling a little. "So I didn't drive them off?"

"Drive them off?" Ron looked at Harry disbelievingly. "Harry, what are us Gryffindors' known for?"

Harry puzzled at the non-sequiter, brows knitted. "Being brave, I suppose."

"Exactly." Ron used an elbow to shove off from the door frame. "You told them they could quit if they were afraid. I think that right now, they'd rather face a dragon than leave."

He rolled his eyes, running a hand through his messy hair. "I was serious when I said I didn't want to make them do something they didn't want to."

"You didn't." Ron chucked him on the shoulder. "You just reminded them that they're Griffs, did what you're supposed to."

"Okay. Maybe not so bad for my first day as Captain." Harry pulled his half-gloves on, and slung his borrowed broom over one shoulder.

"Abso-bloody-lutely." Ron threw an arm around his shoulders and steered him toward the exit. "Now, let's go find a couple of pretty, high flying birds who'll really stick it to Slytherin."

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