Unofficial Portkey Archive

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

October was a memory of warmer days past, and November came storming in with torrents of icy rain and bursts of unpredictably swirling wind. The upper corridors whistled and lowed with each gust, and the slate roofed tops of the towers rattled with the pounding of the rain. The skies above were unrelieved grey, and the normally green grounds reflected that stony colour in the waters inundating them. Only the castle seemed to have any life, from the russets of the flickering torches to the yellowed stones of the castle walls. More so the Gryffindor common room, swathed as it was in rich maroons and golds. The castle seemed smaller somehow, with all the students cooped up inside it, small against the wind-whipped lake and brooding vast blackness of the Forbidden Forest. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stood a a beacon of light and warmth against the sea of cold darkness outside its' curtain walls.

Harry loved the weather just now. Running or flying through the muck northern Scotland referred to as 'winter' was an exercise in misery, this was true. But coming inside was like being wrapped in a warm blanket. And the fires lit in every hearth and sconce felt welcoming and cheery.

This early morning found Harry finishing off a post-run shower. Despite the Victorian era fittings in the Elizabethan period room, the castle's own magics ensured an endless supply of hot water, just what he needed to try to work some feeling back into his arms and feet.

He stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel to catch a hurled pillow dead in the face. From the bed to his right, Harry heard an Irish brogue call out to him from under a pile of bedclothes. "Oy, Harry! Yer walkin' loud again!"

Neville stumbled past Harry sleepily, scratching at his side absently while rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Don't mind Seamus. He was out with Lavender 'til after midnight."

Harry smiled awkwardly and threw the pillow back to its owner, who muttered irritably and shoved the pillow to the floor blindly before burrowing back under the covers.

Padding quickly across the incredibly cold floor, Harry reached his bed and hopped onto it, hoping to keep his toes from freezing to the ground. Forgoing the privacy of drawing the curtains around his four-poster, Harry quickly started throwing on his school uniform. Anything warm, he thought.

Across from him, Ron rolled out of bed, his head hanging, his eyes closed, and looking for all the world like he was asleep. Once his feet hit the refrigerated floor, however, he yelped loudly and bounced back onto his bed, eyes marginally open.

Harry grinned at his oldest friend. "Cold? Want me to fetch your slippers for you?"

Ron rubbed his hair sleepily, making his flaming ginger mop stand up in a more wild rooster comb. He answered with the biting sarcasm only a sixteen-year old could muster. "Would you, really Harry? Gee, I'd like that!"

Harry grabbed his wand, grinning. With Ron's eyes closed, he'd never see it coming. He gestured at Ron's worn out slippers on the ground and concentrated. Wordlessly, he swung his wand about to point at Ron's head, and the slippers flung themselves at the redhead.

Ron recoiled with a squawk. He finally opened his eyes, incredulous upon seeing his friend sitting on his own bed, pulling his trousers on. "How'd you do that one?"

Harry waggled his wand.

Ron shook his head. "I must not be awake, I didn't even hear you Leviosa them at me."

The dark haired boy grinned, and concentrated again. Again he gestured at the slippers wordlessly, and they lifted into the air. Ron gaped at them for a second before they swooped at him. He grabbed his pillow and batted the slippers into a far corner of the dormitory.

"You did that without saying anything!" Ron blinked the sleep out of his eyes, suddenly wide awake.

"You noticed-" Anything more Harry was going to say was cut off as he was hit by a second pillow in the face. This time, it was Ron bopping him solidly from the next bed over.

"You great prat!" Ron looked livid. "You figured out how to do that and you didn't tell me?"

Harry frowned. "I just told you. And I just figured out how to do it, so I haven't been keeping anything from you. Not like I'm off snogging a Gryffindor prefect and not telling my best mate, or anything..."

Ron dropped back on his bed. "You going to let up on that any time soon?"

"Sure." Harry pulled his shirt on and came over to drop onto the bed beside Ron. "When I can't yank your chain with it any more."

Ron groaned, one arm cast across his eyes. He wisely decided to change subjects. "So is this one of those things you've been reading up on, instead of going to classes?"

"Pretty much. I'm trying to learn Occlumency without Snape's help, too."

"That greasy git's not worth much, is he?" Ron snorted. "I mean, isn't someone paying him to teach people. I don't think the wanker has a contract that says 'sneer at the students and insult them.'"

Harry laughed at this. "If anyone does, it's Snape."

Ron propped himself up on his elbow. "You want to show me how to do that 'no words' bit sometime?"

Harry nodded. "Sure. Only, it's taken me a month to figure it out."

"Mate," Ron began, shaking his head. "You do realize neither of my parents can do that, right?"

He was startled, and it showed in his eyes. Ron continued. "I'd expect Moody or Lupin to pull that off, no problem. But most wizards can't, even the adults."

"Great," Harry snarled. "Just another way I'm special."

Ron slapped him hard on the arm. "Knock it off. I'm not dealing with another nine-month snit. I nearly hexed you blue last year, and my patience is sort of out on loan right now."

Blowing out his breath, Harry laid back on the bed. Fortunately Ron tossed about in bed, and there was a big tangle of covers to prop his head on. He counted to ten backwards before replying. "Sorry, Ron. Sort of... slipped there for a moment."

"No worries." Ron grinned, raking his fingers through his hair. "Gives me something to yank your chain about, doesn't it?"

"I need it." Harry's lips twisted into a lopsided approximation of a smile.

"Loads," Ron agreed. "It's sort of my raison d'etre, isn't it?"

Harry took a deep breath. This was as good a time as any other, he thought. "Ron, I was talking to Hermione a couple of weeks ago-"

"You were talking to her last night, mate." Ron gestured towards his chest. "Remember, bushy hair, comes up to here on me, been holding my hand a lot lately? Ring any bells?"

Ron got a friendly shove in the shoulder for his troubles. "Prat. I'm serious."

"Right." Ron pulled a long face. "Well, this is never good. Should I get help?"

"Yes, Ron. Professional help." Harry snapped at his friend. The two glared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Harry broke into laughter, followed shortly by Ron.

"Okay, okay," said Ron. "You were being serious."

"Yeah." Harry drew in a breath. "We were talking, and Hermione pointed out that I don't tell people what I'm feeling often."

"Huh." Ron looked genuinely puzzled. "Seems sorta' obvious for Hermione. I'da expected something more, I dunno, obscure really."

"I'm that bad?"

Ron prodded Harry's arm. "I wouldn't say bad. I'd say 'special.'"

"Okay, well, I don't want to be like that." Harry sat up sharply. "So here goes. You're like, my best friend. And I think about all the times we've fought and not talked, like in fourth year-"

Ron flinched. "I'm sorry about that one, Harry."

For his part, Harry waved him off. "No, that's just it. We've yelled and thrown things at each other. And we've done some pretty stupidly dangerously things for each other."

"Course, mate." Ron looked embarrassed. "Like you said, I'm your best friend. And you're mine."

"No, just let me say this." Harry tried again. "I've seen you fight with Fred and George, and I've seen how you all care about each other. It's like, you can be mad at each other, but you still really care about your them. I'm not really sure what it's like to have brothers or anything, but I think it's kind of like being your best friend, Ron.

"I'm not really saying this very well."

Ron looked at him oddly. "Are you saying I'm like a brother to you?"

Harry looked stricken. "No! You've got a really wonderful family, Ron. I don't think I'd fit in. I'm just saying, I wish I did. Fit in, I mean."

"'Cept for the hair, you fit in." Ron smiled. "And seriously Harry, you're already like a brother to me."

"Really?" The worried look on Harry's face faded. "You don't mind?"

Ron shook his head. "Sometimes, Harry, you are the weirdest person I ever met. 'Course I don't mind. Now, if we could just trade you out for Percy, it'd be perfect!"

Harry smiled. "Thanks."

"Thank you. Never had anyone want to join the Wacky Weasley Household before." Ron tousled Harry's messy hair.

"Ahem," came the amused sound from the doorway to the bathroom. Seamus Finigan was standing there, dripping, wrapped in a towel. Behind him Neville and Dean were getting ready by the mirrors. "Am I interrupting you two love birds?"

Harry looked down, to his own open shirt, and over to Ron still in his pyjamas. He blinked.

Ron jumped in without hesitation. "Naw, Seamus. Plenty to go 'round. You want to have a go next?"

The stocky Irishman grinned widely. "Bite me Weasley."

"Not my kettle of tea, I'm afraid." Ron smirked. He looked over at Harry. "Common room, do you think?"

Harry grinned. "Common room."

Seamus looked confused. "Common room?"

* * *

Ginny flipped through the study guide Hermione had given her idly. She was perched on an ottoman in the Gryffindor common room while the older girl stuffed her reams of notes back into her satchel. "Do you really think I'll need all this to prepare for my O.W.L.'s?"

"Thank and more," Hermione answered primly. "But this is an excellent primer, and a good place to start."

"Ugh." Ginny tossed the book into her own bag. "I'm not looking forward to this."

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by the sudden commotion from the top of the stairs to the boys' dormitories. Ron, dressed in his pyjamas, and Harry, half-dressed, had appeared in the doorway, driving Seamus Finnegan onto the staircase. Finnegan was, unfortunately, still wearing only a towel.

Finally forcing him through the doorway, they slammed it shut in his face. He rattled the ancient bronze knob futilely, then slapped his open palm against the door. "Oy, it's not damn funny, you two! Let me in!"

Seamus kicked the door. "I'm bloody near starkers out here! You sodding English tossers! Gimme my wand, I'll take the two of you on together! Hey! Are you listening? Hullo?"

Ginny was grinning, while Hermione's jaw merely hung open in shock. At last, the sixth year prefect managed to recover her poise. Feigning a cosmopolitan evenness, she turned back to Ginny. "Well, at least we know the boys are up."

* * *

A short while later Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Nevile made their way down from Gryffindor tower to the Great Hall for breakfast. Most of the noise from the group came from the boys recounting the look on Seamus' face when he got locked out of the boys dorm rooms. Hermione's nose twitched every time the subject came up, but she remained silent.

After two staircases of silence from Hermione, Ron turned to look over at her. "Okay, let me have it."

"Have what?" Hermione didn't turn to look at her boyfriend, but one eyebrow arched.

"The lecture." Ron shrugged, and decided to start tying his House tie before he reached the main floor. "You know, the one about how I'm a Prefect, and I shouldn't be playing pranks anymore."

Hermione's nose twitched. "I'm not your mother, Ron. I'm not about to lecture you."

"You aren't?" Ron's voice went up at this, and he dropped the ends of his tie. "You mean, ever?"

Both Hermione's brows lowered. "No, not ever."

Ron looked confused. "Why not?"

She pressed her lips together over the first few explanations to spring to mind. Finally, she ground out, "I gave it up for Lent." "Cool!" Ron grinned openly, and slapped Neville on the shoulder at this. "Here that Longbottom? No more lectures for me."

Hermione's nose twitched again.

Harry slipped past the two of them to reach Ginny. He felt bad for leaving Neville to handle Ron and Hermione's sparring all by himself. However, he felt as though he'd been playing referee all on his own for a while, and wanted a little more peace this morning. He looked out of the corner of his eye at Ginny and smiled.

This was something he'd been doing more and more often, looking at things out of the corner of his eye. With his glasses, they'd always been blurred. Now with his contacts he could actually see people's faces when he did it. It was novel, and kind of nice. Harry wondered how long he'd be doing this before it lost its' novelty.

As Harry pondered this, Ginny leaned over and bumped into him fairly deliberately. She smiled impishly. "Time to get out of your head, Mr. Potter, and join the rest of us out here."

He laughed at this. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Ginny clutched her books a little tighter, and looked up at him. "What were you thinking?"

"Hmm?" Harry blinked, thinking. How does one explain that one was playing with one's contacts lenses? He couldn't think of anything that didn't sound stupid. "Oh, nothing."

"Nothing, hmm?" Ginny didn't seem to be satisfied with this answer. "All that staring, and you're thinking of nothing at all?"

Harry started. They'd reached the Great Hall, and he turned to Ginny suddenly. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was staring."

"You're provisionally forgiven. See you." Ginny playfully pushed him in the chest toward one side of the Gryffindor table, and made her own way around toward the other side.

Harry wandered off to find Ron and Hermione again. They'd settled in, and saved him a place next to Hermione. He dropped down and looked over at his two friends.

Ron raised a ginger eyebrow at Harry. "What was all that about?"

Harry scratched at his perpetually messy black hair. "For a while there, I think Ginny was mad at me. But I think she's back to being my friend again."

Ron nodded. "Good."

Hermione made a noise at the back of her throat, and continued to butter her scone.

Harry looked up at her as he loaded his plate with eggs and compote. "Don't clear your throat at me. Ron may not get it, but I know that means you want to say something."

She set down her scone with a sigh, and turned to face him. "Ginny has never been mad at you, Harry. And I think she's having trouble with just being 'friends.'"

Harry's dark brows met over his rich green eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Hermione started to answer, but at that moment Ginny sat down opposite them. With a quick glance at the younger redhead, Hermione continued smoothly. "We can talk about your Charms homework later."

"Right." Harry felt absolutely baffled by all of this. He had the distinct impression that there was more of this conversation going on than he was aware of. Harry shook his head, dismissing his musings as very likely fruitless. He looked up to find Ginny toying with her compote opposite him, and shot her a quick smile. Whatever Hermione thought, he was certain Ginny wasn't mad at him anymore. "Good classes today?"

"Not even close." Ginny pushed the melon balls to one side of her plate, so she could eat the berries and the grapes separately. "Double Potions, double Divination. It's sort of the academic equivalent to Chinese water torture."

Harry threw her a lopsided grin. "Give Snape my regards."

"Prat." He dodged a flung melon ball. Ginny returned to toying with her plate, playing with her hair to keep it out of her face. "Listen, Harry, about the other day... I'm sorry I acted like a barking crazy. It was kind of an odd day."

Harry looked up from working through his eggs. "I was worried you were mad at me about something."

"What would I be mad at you about?" Ginny rolled her eyes with exaggerated theatricality. "You're a good friend, Harry."

To his left, Hermione made a little noise in the back of her throat. Harry glanced at her sideways, but she was nibbling her scone and staring off into the distance. Harry shook his head, and returned his attention to Ginny. "I'm glad to hear it. Say, where's Dean?"

"Um, I dunno." Ginny pinked noticeably, scanning the table for her boyfriend. Harry grinned, thinking that the mere mention of Dean Thomas had her blushing. Things there must be going pretty well. Ginny pointed surreptitiously down the table to where Dean and Seamus were sitting. "He's over there."

Harry looked down the table, and waved to the other two sixth-year Gryffindors. He frowned as Dean scowled back at him. It set Harry on his mental heels for a moment, and he picked over his eggs as he thought about it. He looked up to find both Ginny and Hermione peering at him intently. The concerted attention was unnerving. He stammered, trying to explain. "I think Dean didn't appreciate the joke Ron and I played on his friend Seamus."

Ginny pinked even further, and toyed with her hair. Hermione made that back-of-the-throat noise again, and even wrinkled her nose for extra emphasis. Harry looked back down at his plate, and vowed not to look up again until it was time to run to class.

* * *

That evening found Harry and Ron back at the Quidditch pitch, taking care of the Gryffindor team's gear. The rest of the team had called it quits and headed back in to the castle a few minutes ago. The team brooms needed their handles cleaned, the twigs trimmed, and the brass binding checked. Harry and Ron still had on their Quidditch robes, brooms on knees, preparing them for their first game of the year.

Ron paused in his nipping of bent twigs on Kirke's Cleansweep Eight, and looked up at Harry. The light inside the locker room was poor, and Harry was half in shadow, hunched over Ginny's Nimbus Ninety-Nine. Ron hesitated, then plunged on. "Harry, what do you think of Hermione?"

Harry sighed. "I'm trying not to."

This earned him a muddled look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry sighed again, and this time leaned back to stretch muscles cramped by bending over a broom for too long a time. "I've been trying to figure out why Ginny's been acting odd all of a sudden, and Hermione's started clearing her throat at me about it."

"Ooh, the dreaded You're Stupid Cough." Ron smiled. "And what's so patently obvious she wants to hit you for not figuring it out?"

"That's just it." Harry tossed his clippers to the bench in consternation. "She's just being vague, and it's annoying me."

"Join the club," Ron answered with a snort.

"What club?"

Ron tightened the Cleansweep's bindings with a quick charm. "The club for blokes who haven't clue figuring out what girls mean when they say things."

"There's a club?" Harry smiled.

"Sure." Ron set the broom aside and picked up the next. "I reckon Merlin musta been a member years ago. Near as I can figure, every guy's a member, even if he doesn't know it yet."

"Ah." Harry picked up the clippers and kept working on the Ninety-Nine's tail, which was in need of a good trimming. "Is this a bit of Weasley family advice?"

"Yep. Now you're in as an honorary brother, you get the pearls of wisdom we've passed on through the generations." Ron pulled out the broom polish and set to work. "Lesson the first, don't even try to understand them. Just say 'yes, dear' and stay out of their way when they're on the warpath."

Harry tossed some clippings at the lanky redhead. "How's that working out with Hermione?"

"Not as well as you might imagine." Ron went back to working on the broom.

After a while, Harry set aside Ginny's broom, and moved on to Sloper's. He looked up at Ron. "But things with you and Hermione are okay, right?"

"Sure." Ron grinned widely. "And the snogging, Harry, is-"

"Please, don't." Harry held up a hand to forestall what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation. "She's my friend; I don't need to hear that."

"Hey, I'm getting snogging, Harry." Ron looked genuinely hurt. "Who am I supposed to tell about it if not you?"

"And how would you like her to be telling Lavender and Parvati all about you?" Harry peered at Ron from under raised brows.

"She'd never tell the gossip brigade anything, mate!" Ron shook himself. "Yick. Can you imagine them yacking to everyone in earshot. It'd be a nightmare."

"Exactly." Harry shrugged. "I imagine Hermione would think it was a nightmare if I knew the details. Her best friend, knowing all that."

"Good point." Ron nodded. "On second thought, I'm not telling you nothing."

"Good." Harry bent back to Jack Sloper's Comet Two-Fifty.

Ron continued. "I s'pose I can still tell Seamus and Dean. Hermione barely talks to those two."

Harry flinched. At some point, he thought, I'm not going to here to remind him of what not to say or do. That'll be a bad day at Hogwarts.

* * *

It was dark, and hard to see.

The glistening black stone walls were barely visible as a series of wet reflections surrounding him. The only light came from the vaguely luminescent fog swirling inches from the flagged stone floor. The air was humid and warm, but the fog was superficially chilling. Every drop of water echoed, noise bouncing around the large circular room.

The standing stones were oddly squat, shorter than the height of a man, and made from some lighter colour rock than the walls. They were dry, and though it seemed odd to even think it, they managed to look warm. They were scattered about the room seemingly at random, cask-shaped and squat.

Tom Marvolo Riddle nee Lord Voldemort perched on one of hunched stones, the sweeping black fabrics of his robes gathered about his long, pallid limbs. The layers of silks and black-on-black toile did little to insulate his unnaturally white skin from the cold and damp.

Fortunately for him, Lord Voldemort no longer needed warmth.

The softly glowing fog swirled into little vortices as the second figure entered the room. Voldemort turned his red, slitted gaze upon the unctuous wizard who bowed and scraped as he intruded. "The preparations are moving slowly, Wormtail. Too slowly."

"My-my Lord. I am abjectly sorry that-" Wormtail's babbling apologia disintegrated into incoherent shrieking as he dropped into the fog. He writhed upon the wet stone flags for long seconds before Voldemort's wand raised, and the Crucio was lifted.

"I am unmoved by your sorrow." Voldemort unfolded himself from the standing stone and crept to the floor. His skeletally thin hands and feet almost seemed to grip the stone as he rose. Eventually, his unnatural frame found the floor, the robes dropped to cover most of his length. Lord Voldemort rose to his full, considerable height. "I want to know, Wormtail, what my little rat is doing to please me."

Wormtail sobbed into the stone before pushing himself up on his shining silver hand. The man who used to be Peter Pettigrew used his one remaining human hand to wipe the traces of vomit from his chin. "I-I-"

Voldemort glided between the standing stones, moving about the room in a manner which in a mortal human would have been pacing. "Because my little rat is doing something to please me, isn't he? He wouldn't fail me would he?"

"My Lord, we have several plans, p-please!" Wormtail reached out with his grubby hand in supplication. "Please! To return your followers to you, and the children-"

"Silence, Wormtail!" Voldemort's high, icy voice echoed off the stone walls, and Wormtail cringed lower into the ground, hand raised over his head. He walked over to his servant, and towered over him. "I have that miserable Gryffindor orphan in my head just now."

Wormtail's head snapped up, and his horrified, watery eyes stared up into his Lord's blood red ones. "Harry? Harry Potter is in there now?"

Voldemort bent at the waist his nearly featureless excuse for a face mere inches from Wormtail. Peter quivered in terror, as the icy cold Lord Voldemort radiated seemed to suck the life from his skin. Voldemort smiled, and Wormtail couldn't help but notice that the gleaming white blocks that were his teeth were as artificial and unnatural as every other feature of the Dark Lord. "Yes, Wormtail. He is in here, behind my eyes, looking at you even now as you drip vomit."

"But I do know how to drive him out." Voldemort kept his face up close to Wormtail as he wielded his wand. "Crucio!"

* * *

"Harry! Wake up!" It was dark, and the blue light pouring through the curtainless windows painted Ron's face in ice and his red hair black.

Soaked in sweat, Harry's eyes snapped open. His mouth was sore, and his throat raw. It belatedly occurred to him he must have been screaming. He clapped a hand to the burning scar on his forehead, and sat up. Just as quickly he dropped back to his cold, wet sheets. His back and limbs ached as though he himself had been the one struck by the Cruciatus Curse.

Harry looked blearily around the room. Dean and Seamus were awake in their beds, staring at him. Ron was perched at Harry's bedside, and with his arms on Harry's shoulders, it was clear he'd been trying to wake his friend. Neville stood in the middle of the room, arms tight about himself. He looked frozen, and Harry wasn't certain it was the cold November night air.

Fumbling for his glasses, Harry tried a second time to sit up. With Ron's assistance, he managed. Ron looked worried. "You-Know-Who again?"

"Yeah." Harry rubbed his eyes, and slid out of bed onto shaky feet. "Sorry to wake you guys."

Seamus laughed nervously. "You're screaming fit to wake the dead, and yer' sorry for wakin' us? Harry, mate, I think you got bigger problems than tickin' off some roommates, eh?"

"You should lie down, you look a wreck." Ron took hold of Harry's shoulder. He called out over his shoulder. "Seamus, if you're awake enough for a joke, you're awake enough to get Madam Pomfrey.

Harry shook Ron's hands off unsteadily. "No. Have to get to Dumbledore."

He took a few steps and collapsed against the post at the foot of his bed. Ron came up behind him, threw one of Harry's arms over his own, much taller shoulder's, and levered him upright. "You sure? I don't think you're up to much right now..."

Harry glared at him, so Ron started off toward the staircase down from the dormitories. Ron turned to everyone else in the room as he reached the doorway. "Back to bed, everyone." Harry, leaning heavily on Ron, trudged off down the stairs.

The castle was dark, and freezing cold. Harry felt like he was still dreaming, as the hallways tipped crazily past him. Soon enough, they found themselves before the looming gargoyle that guarded the staircase to Professor Dumbledore's offices. Ron looked over at Harry expectantly. "Okay, now what?"

Harry pulled a hand away from his scar. There was a trace of blood smeared there. "Password's always a candy."

Ron nodded. "Right then. Chocolate Frog, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean, Sugar Quills, Pepper Imps, Toothflossing Stringmints-"

Harry looked over at Ron quizzically. Ron shrugged. "What, they're about the only thing I can get for Hermione at Honeyduke's. Dentist parents, what a fright. Anyway..."

And with that he launched into a exhaustive recitation of every item Honeyduke's Sweet Shoppe sold. It occurred to Harry that if Ron had memorized spells the way he had obviously fixated upon candies, he might very well give Hermione a scholastic run for her money. Somewhere down around 'Blood Lollies' and 'Jelly Babies,' the gargoyle jumped aside. Ron trundled his friend into the stairwell, and up to the Headmaster's office.

Ron knocked on the door as he spoke under his breath to Harry. "You'd think he'd have given you the password at least. I mean, is he off his nut. 'Here, you toddle off and take on Lord You-Know-Who all on your own, but I'm not giving you the password to come and see me, 'cause that would be useful in an emergency!'"

"Ron," Harry muttered.

"No, seriously, Harry." Ron's face was flushed pink, and only partially from exertion. "What's he playing at?"

Harry tugged on Ron's pyjama top. "Ron?"

"What if you was unconscious, mate?" Ron ground his teeth. "What would we do then?"

The wide oaken door swung open, revealing Albus Dumbledore in a set of off-white flying bear pyjamas. "Hopefully, you would have contacted your Head of House in that circumstance, Mr. Weasley."

Ron's jaw flapped, and he paled. Dumbledore continued, beckoning the two teenagers into his study. He pointed at the fireplace, and a roaring fire burst to life within it. "Fortunately, that was not required tonight. Now, Harry, I assume it is your scar that is hurting?"

Ron set Harry down in one of the armchairs by the fire, and took a second himself. Ron caught the Headmaster staring at him, and he looked down quickly. He and the headmaster had the same pyjamas on. A glance at their feet showed they had the same fuzzy bunny slippers. Ron wasn't sure what to think about this. Professor Dumbledore handed him a cup of tea, and Ron sipped it absently. Harry meanwhile, was nodding in response to the Headmaster's question. "It was Crucio again. On Wormtail, for being to slow."

Professor Dumbledore sank into the third armchair, long hands steepled before his white beard. "I see."

Harry squinted his eyes shut, trying to remember what he'd seen. "It was underground, someplace dark. With glowing fog."

"Harry," Dumbledore began, and he sounded very tired. "I think that it is time you recommenced your Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape."

"What?" Ron looked horrified. As Dumbledore raised a solitary white eyebrow at the young man, Ron added, "Sir."

Harry shook his head. "No, Ron's right, sir. Snape and I-"

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore corrected.

"Professor Snape and I," Harry continued. "Don't work together. It didn't help."

Dumbledore leaned forward, his long beard trailing across his knees. He peered at his students from over his half-moon spectacles. "Need I remind you, Harry, that sealing your mind from Voldemort is critically important."

Harry's head snapped up, and for a moment he glared at his headmaster. Ron whitened; he'd never heard of anyone giving Albus Dumbledore, the Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot and Head of the International Confederation of Warlocks such a look before. Harry shuddered, and looked away. "No, you don't need to remind me, sir. I know that perfectly well, sir."

Professor Dumbledore looked saddened. "Harry-"

"I have a plan, sir." Harry looked back up at his headmaster, and his bright green eyes had lost the anger that was behind them moments before.

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I am sorry, Harry, but I truly cannot teach you Occlumency. You would see into my mind, and Voldemort would see through you into me. It simply is too great a risk."

"No, not that." Harry smiled wryly. "I know that won't work. Maybe I have something that will, though."

* * *

The next morning, Harry arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom well before the first lesson of the day. Without knocking, he slipped in and made his way to Professor Lupin's office. He knocked on this door, and waited 'til the occupant called for him to enter before opening the office door.

Lupin looked up at him from his chair on the far side of the room. As always, Professor Lupin was dressed in threadbare robes and a slightly worn camel cable-knit. He smiled lightly, pale eyes tightening ever so slightly. "Harry, haven't come to see me recently. Tea?"

"I think we've been avoiding each other, Professor." Lupin looked up from his tea kettle at this, obviously surprised. Harry shrugged, hands in his pockets. "I'll take the tea, if it's okay?"

"Of course, Harry." For a while, there was no conversation, as Lupin busied himself with preparing tea and crumpets. This was one of the invaluable truths of tea; it delayed inevitable conversations.

Finally the tea had been poured, the cream and sugar dispensed, the crumpets dismissed out of hand, and there was no more delaying. Lupin spoke first. "I should have spoken to you about your Defense Association, Harry. Dumbledore asked me to. Perhaps it's foolish, but I keep remembering you asking me to teach you how to fight. And I keep thinking, perhaps if I don't talk to you about the DA, perhaps you won't teach them. Perhaps you won't rush into this war with Voldemort."

"I'm not teaching the DA." Harry ignored his tea. "I don't want anyone else getting hurt because of me."

Lupin winced, and Harry continued. "I don't have a choice about the war, though. And I need a defense against Legilimency fast. That's why I'm here."

Lupin set aside his tea. "Harry, I don't know the first thing about Occlumency. I wouldn't even know where to begin."

Harry shook his head. "I wanted to borrow Morgraine's Mirror."

"What?" Lupin was suddenly very glad he'd put his tea aside already.

"It blocks out magic, doesn't it?" Harry stared at him intensely. "Cancels it? That should work on Legilimency, right?"

"Perhaps." Lupin stood up, and tucked his hands into his cardigan as he paced the small office. "Harry, why in the world would you want such a horrible thing, though?"

Harry set aside his tea as well. "Every time Voldemort uses the Cruciatus, I feel it in my dreams. He can trick me that way too. That's how I got Sirius killed." Lupin started to interrupt, but Harry plowed onwards. "So either I let Snape into my head and hope he can actually teach me something, I find another way to keep Voldemort out, or I go mad very, very slowly."

Harry looked up into Lupin's scarred, pale face. "Can I please borrow that mirror?"

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