With Malice Aforethought

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

* * *

The kitchen table at Number Four Privet Drive was a clean, white-painted pine, matching nicely the cabinetry. The linoleum shined under the fluorescents, and the crisp place mats were a deep blue against the white and blue dishes. Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley sat at three of the chairs around the table, eating breakfast in awkward silence. The fourth chair was conspicuously empty, no setting awaiting it. Dudley hunched over his plate and eyed the living room door, trying to decide if he could make good his getaway.

Every meal at Number Four Privet Drive was a strained affair this summer. It didn't matter if Harry Potter was eating with them, or not. The Dursley's had descended to the kitchen to find the toast made, the bacon and eggs warming in the oven, and the table set. The only trace of their nephew, Harry, were the soft creaks drifting down the stairs. This had been happening for several days a week for a month, and wasn't sitting well with Vernon.

"Exercise!" Vernon spat the word as though it were profane. "What kind of freak comes to a loving home for the summer, and locks himself in his room to exercise?"

Dudley looked up at his father, and thought of his own heavy bag hanging in the basement, a remnant of his aborted interest in boxing. He quickly looked back down at his plate of eggs, and ate faster.

With each creak from upstairs, Vernon's bristling grey mustache twitched. He scooped up his eggs with his toast. Creak. His face flushed further, and he twitched. He chewed his bite and - Creak. Vernon's eyes narrowed, and he glanced from his son Dudley to Petunia. Neither met his gaze. Creak. Vernon tossed down his fork with a clatter. "That's it! The ruddy boy is spoiling my digestion!"

With a rumble, Vernon Dursley thundered up the stairs, his wide frame easily filling the stairwell. He hardly paused at the door to his nephew's room, but flung it open with enough force to slam it into the wall. Dislodged dust rained onto his sweater-vest and tie, flecking his salt-and-pepper hair. With his splotchy red face covered in plaster dust, and shining eyes, he looked every inch the maniac. The sight that greeted him did little to slow him down.

The small cot was overturned, the steel fame propped on end against the right-hand wall. The thin mattress and bedsheets were wedged into a corner next to the desk, which was covered in parchments, feather quills, and a concerned-looking owl. Harry himself was stripped to the waist, hanging by his hands from the bed frame, determinedly working through pull-up after pull-up. He was short enough at sixteen years to dangle from the bed legs yet he kept his pyjama clad legs bent at the knees and crossed at the ankles as he went through his pull-ups, as though worried he might touch the floor. His sweat sheened back was to his uncle and despite the slamming door, he neither turned nor paused in his workout.

"Boy!" Vernon roared and shook a meaty fist at his nephew's thin frame. "You've been making a great bloody racket every bloody morning for bloody weeks!"

Harry dangled from the frame, and slowly lowered himself to the bare floor of his empty room with one hand. He turned to regard his florid uncle, no expression visible in his shadowed green eyes. "Sorry about the bloody noise, then."

Vernon's upper lip disappeared as his mustache bristled. "Don't you curse in my house, boy. This isn't some abnormal outhouse like your kind have."

Harry blew his bangs out of his eyes, and tuned away. Padding on bare feet across the dusty floorboards, he whipped his pyjama top off his desk chair and dried himself off. Tossing the top back onto the chair, Harry went to his school trunk, and began pulling his clothes out and setting them on the desktop.

"Did you hear me, boy?"

Harry turned back to his uncle. He spoke tonelessly, obviously bored. "I'm not cursing now, Uncle Vernon. I'm not making noise anymore. Did you want something else, then?"

"Don't get insolent with me!" Vernon took what he thought was a threatening step forward. "I put up with your useless presence every ruddy summer! I'll not take any cheek from the likes of you."

Harry held his flat stare for a few moments, then quietly turned his back on his uncle and pulled on an over sized shirt.

Vernon grabbed his shoulder and spun him around furiously. "Don't turn your back on me, boy! I'll have some respect around here!"

Harry looked up to meet his flushed Uncle's furious stare, a ghost of a smile on his face. "I doubt that."

Without thinking, Vernon slapped him across the cheek. Harry's head rocked, and he blinked. Red fingerprints appeared across his jaw, but his expression was unchanged. Vernon's brow beetled up over his small eyes as he realized that his nephew didn't even look angry. Irrationally, the idea that he was being ignored was all Vernon could think about. He raised his hand to strike him again when Harry abruptly spoke.

"You do realize I can use magic to defend myself, right Uncle Vernon?"

Vernon looked at the hand print at his nephew's jaw, and saw a spot of red well up at his lip. One drop of blood from his split lip, shining there. He looked at Harry, then looked at his own, thick-fingered hand. It was shaking ever so slightly. Vernon blinked repeatedly, then turned and left Harry's bedroom. At the landing, he called back to his nephew. "Well then. You better... get to the yard today. Yes, yes, the yard." Vernon's heavy footfalls faded down the stairs, and then away.

Harry finished getting dressed, and slipped on his trainers. He sat down at his desk, and rolled up the letter to Ginny Weasley into a small scroll. It was added to a small pile at the right of his desk. There were scrolls there labeled 'Neville Longbottom', 'Remus Lupin', 'Albus Dumbledore', 'Rubeus Hagrid', and 'Luna Lovegood'.

He pulled another piece of parchment toward himself, and dipped a turkey feather quill into his inkpot.

He ran a quick hand through his unruly black hair, briefly exposing his lighting bolt scar. With his artless and cramped penmanship, Harry printed the heading onto the page. Ron and Hermione. He paused, his quill dripping once onto the page, and turned to pet his owl, Hedwig. He smiled wanly. "You'd better rest girl. I'll have a lot of letters for you tonight."

* * *

The sun was high overhead, and Harry paused to lean on the end of his shovel. He tugged off a dirt smeared work glove, pulled his kerchief out of his pocket, and mopped his forehead. He looked around the small front yard, and up and down the empty street. Few neighbors parked on the street in Little Whinging, and few painted their houses anything but putty colours. If he hadn't been trapped in Number Four all his life, Harry might have had a hard time puzzling out which was his house. As was, the hedgerow he was planting would match the next six houses in line with the Dursley's.

"Wotcher! That's quite the ditch you got there!" Harry spun sharply, his wand out of his pocket before he spotted the speaker. Nymphadora Tonks was leaning her long, thin frame against the edge of the garage, arms crossed before her small chest a look of surprise on her slender face. The shovel hit the dirt with a dull ringing as Harry lifted his shirt hem and stuffed his wand into his back pocket.

"Sorry. Didn't see you." Harry looked her over and tried to figure out how he could have missed her. Black leather jacket, shining chrome decorations, a Union Jack pullover, and tight pants that matched her unnaturally red hair. Although she had managed to look like a muggle, she failed utterly to look like she belonged to the rabid normalcy of Privet Drive. He bent down, retrieved his dropped shovel, and returned to digging.

"Portkey." Tonks swung a rusted spatula in front her her by way of explanation. "Bit jumpy there, eh Harry?"

"It's been a bit of a year." He shrugged eloquently. "You can tell the Order I'm still alive."

Tonks sauntered across the brilliantly verdant lawn toward the teenager. Drawing near, she tipped her head appraisingly. "Alive, jumpy, and getting kind of muscle-y, eh?" This time, the shrug was his only response. "Mostly I thought I'd toss you a spot of the old career advise. You know, Auror-to-future-Auror?"

Harry matched the angle of her head, and looked at her with a pale sidelong grin. "I got an E in Potions. Needed an O. Being an Auror's right out, I guess."

Tonks grinned widely. "Well, there's where your a bit off. It just so happens that the Order, being an utterly brill group of folks, managed to swing for you and yer mates to get into NEWT level potions, OWL or no. Not surprising, given that the head of the Order also runs yer school, but still. Another couple 'a years, and I could be yer boss at the Ministry."

A breeze stirred Harry's perpetually messy hair, and he looked away from Tonks as he answered. "I'm not going to be an Auror, Tonks. I don't expect I'll work for the Ministry, anyways."

"Okay." Tonks frowned, an expression that looked seriously out of place on her young and open face. It took her a while to find a response. When she spoke, it was soft, breathy even, and very little like her usually brassy voice. "I thought you'd wanted to join us Aurors for years, Harry. Right? Isn't that what you wanted to do with the rest of your life?"

She couldn't explain why the wry, sad smile Harry gave her at this chilled her, despite the heat of the day. He changed subjects abruptly. "I'm glad to see you're out of hospital."

Her voice was a little stronger again. "Couple weeks now."

"I'm glad it wasn't-" He cleared his throat. "I wanted to tell you I was sorry. For leading everyone to the Ministry. For getting you hurt."

Tonks gave Harry a playful shove, but her voice was still worried. "C'mon Harry. That's what we Aurors do. Fight the bad guys, get fixed up, and in the morning have another go."

"You shouldn't have to chase runaway school kids into a trap, outnumbered three-to-one." Tonks started to speak, but Harry shook his head. "You did good though."

"So did your lot."

"No, we were pretty much a disaster." Harry grimaced, and seemed to change subjects again. "But I do have some Hogwarts questions for you."

"Ah!" Tonks rocked back on one heel, her hip jutting cockily to one side as her familiar grin reestablished itself. "Back to my old stomping ground. Bet you got yourself some questions about which NEWT classes to take, eh? Well shoot; I got the skinny on all the good classes there."

"All the members of the Order... when I saw you all at the Ministry... you were all fighting so fast." Harry's eyes were a bright green as he peered at her thoughtfully. "I had a hard time following what spells you were using, it was so fast. Are there any classes I could take to help me get to be like that? Fast."

"Cor, Harry! That's what Auror training is for. Sure you don't wanna..." Tonks trailed off suggestively.

Harry focused intently on the young woman. "Remus, Bellatrix... Sirius. I'm pretty sure none of them were Aurors. Honestly, Tonks, you must have some idea. What could I study, at Hogwarts, to get better?"

* * *

Ron and Hermione -

I'm sending you both just this one letter. Hopefully, you'll have found some way of spending at least some of your summer hols together, and I don't think I could write this more than once. So, Ron, push over, and let Hermione read this, too. I got all your letters, and no the Dursleys aren't treating me any worse than usual. Don't panic. I would have written earlier, but I needed to think about this before I tried writing it down. I've about a dozen parchments crumpled on the floor as I write this.

I've been giving a lot of thought to our friendship over the last month. You two have been the only friends I've ever known. Ron; between your family and Sirius, you've been the only family I've had, too. I can't think of a single good memory of Hogwarts that isn't tied up in the two of you. My first Christmas, my first birthday. Hermione; I don't know if you remember at the end of our first year, but you're the first person to ever hug me. I was embarrassed, but it meant a lot to me. I've also been thinking about what kind of a friend I've been to the two of you.

First off, I want to apologize for all the times I was impossible to deal with last year. We've been through so much together (three hours of it twice, Hermione.) And after all that, I let you both down as a friend. I'm sorry. It says something very nice about both of you that neither of you hexed me into next week; it would have been earned. You were both very nearly killed last year, and I'm still shaking, thinking about it. And it's not the first time, either. I suppose once would be bad enough, but I've led you two through three-headed dogs, cave trolls, murderous chessboards, giant spiders, a basilisk, several evil Dark Arts professors, giants, centaurs, dragons, merpeople, two dozen Death Eaters on three occasions, and Voldemort himself. Between the two of you, I'm responsible for several concussions, broken legs, petrification, near drownings, multiple cursings, and one brain attack. I'm sorry for putting you two through all of this.

I really don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to say it. I found out what the prophecy was last month. Either Voldemort is going to kill me, or I'm going to kill him. It doesn't matter how many Aurors the Ministry surrounds him with; only I can kill him. And it doesn't matter how many Death Eaters come after me; they can hurt everyone I care about, but only Voldemort could actually murder me. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to go and kill him, and the sooner I get ready, the safer everyone will be. Here's the hard part though.

I'm going to do it alone.

I'm not dragging you two into this again. I hope you can see why I can't visit the Burrow anymore Ron. I'd be hanging the target 'round the only family that's ever welcomed me in. Every minute you two are around is another minute you could die, just because some Death Eater decides to have a go at me. Of course, I'd survive. I have to fulfill this prophesy, after all. But I could get one or both of you killed. And that's not going to happen. I want to see you both alive and happy.

Which brings me to the last bit of this letter. It's been kind of painful to be your friend over the last two years, with the arguments that get started over the word 'Krum,' and the way you've been needling each other. Sometimes it seems like each of you wants the other one's attention, and neither of you care if it's in a good way or a massive fight in the middle of the common room. I'm probably the last person to make any kind of suggestions here; my only date involved more tears than anything else, and Lloyd's isn't giving me odds on living long enough to try again. But I have to admit, even I think maybe you two are dancing around the fact you fancy each other. So as partial penance for several years of being a lousy friend to you both, here's my two pence. Talk to each other and see how you feel about this bit of my letter. You are two excellent friends; maybe you could be happier together like that.

In any event, I'll see you both in September. And stay safe.

Harry

* * *

The bed frame was still tilted up against the wall, the thin mattress and sheets still jammed into a corner. But the room was darkened in the early evening. One bulb from the worn desk lamp illuminated the open books, and cast reflections off Harry's glasses as he flipped through his various textbooks. Hedwig sat at the edge of the desk, having returned from her previous night's deliveries. She hooted softly, the pages of the book ruffled. Every now and again, Harry's quill scratched out a note about a charm or hex he was reading about. Downstairs, soft clinks and scrapes reminded him that the Dursley's were still in the midst of dinner. Occasionally, the small wooden chair would creak under Harry as he shifted his books around.

A knock at the front door downstairs disrupted his concentration. A grinding scrape, followed by heavy footfalls echoed from below. A soft conversation at the door. Vernon Dursley's voice rose to a near roar before abruptly returning to a low murmur. Then soft footfalls sounded up the stairs, punctuated with a creak on the fifth tread. Harry quickly marked his place in his book, capped his inkwell, and picked up his wand from the desktop before him. He slipped out of the chair, and turned to face the door just as the first knock sounded.

Harry held his wand pointed at the door, but low at his side. "Come in," he called out softly.

The door swung open to reveal he drawn, middle aged form of Remus Lupin at the threshold. In his worn corduroy trousers and threadbare oxford he looked like neither a wizard, nor a werewolf. "Hello, Harry."

Harry's smile was genuine, and he tossed his wand back onto the desk. "Professor."

Remus smiled thinly, and gestured around the spartan room. "May I...?"

Harry blinked, and jumped slightly. He muttered a few polite apologies as he tipped the bed back onto its' legs and threw the mattress over it. A few tugs later, and it was marginally straightened out. Harry gestured to the sole chair, and settled onto the edge of the cot with a squeak of the springs. Remus crossed the room with an economy of movement, and eased himself into Harry's dilapidated desk chair. He crossed his legs, and tugged on his pants' cuff before speaking again.

"Sixteen already, Harry. Seems like yesterday you were thirteen. Of course, it seems like yesterday James and Lily were bringing you home. I'm getting to that middling age where everything seems like yesterday. I suppose all too soon I'll reach the next period in my life, when everything seems so very long ago.

Harry seemed content to wait for Remus to continue. With a weary smile, Lupin plunged onward. "I imagine you know I'm here about your choices for your next year's classes. The Headmaster and Professor McGonagall were both disturbed to see your letter regarding your classes. Those two seemed surprised you'd dug that deeply into the course listing to find such... unexpected choices."

Harry peered at the Remus' worn smile, and looked started. "Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were surprised? That means you weren't? Aren't?"

Lupin rubbed his chin thoughtfully, looking as though he was giving the answer serious thought. "Your choices were a little surprising, I suppose. But only because they weren't what most sixth year Hogwart's students would have picked. Once I read between the lines, no, it wasn't really very surprising at all. Actually, it had your name all over it, and not just on the line for your signature at the bottom."

"Really?" Harry grinned again, but looked puzzled. "How so?"

"Well, I seem to recall you pushing yourself to collapse over and over again, learning how to fight off Dementors a few years ago. And judging by the way Professor Dumbledore isn't twinkling so very much these days, I'd wager you've just been handed more to fight off. So seeing that you've dropped Potions, Divination, Magical Creatures, and Astronomy makes sense. It clears the board for you to try to become an Auror before you even graduate."

"What?" Harry looked nervously from side to side, and licked his lips. "Um, I can't become an Auror. I'd need a lot of NEWTs, and years after I graduate, and-"

Remus laughed softly, and waved the young wizard to silence. "Harry! Please, do your old teacher and father's friend the courtesy of being open with your sneaky plan. I grew up with Sirius and James for roommates; you might get Flitwick or Tonks to believe it, but I've got the mark of you. No, you don't plan on being an Auror. But you do plan to be trained as good as by next summer. Or am I wrong?"

Remus could see the muscles working under Harry's thin jaw as he thought, staring at the floor. Finally, he nodded to himself as though confirming something, and looked up to meet his old Defense teacher with shockingly clear green eyes and a rueful smile. "Alright, you spotted it. What gave me away? Artifaction?"

Remus leaned forward. "Not really. Oh, wanting to learn how to create enchanted objects is less than common, and certainly didn't fit your other choices at all. No, it was the Pre-Mediwizard Seminar that was the kicker. You couldn't be a Mediwizard, Healer, or even a Nurse at St. Mungo's without taking Potions. It only makes sense, really, if you want to learn how to treat injuries whilst outside of hospital."

"Ah. Um, yeah, that was pretty much what I was thinking. I figure I'll need Advanced Transfigurations, Charms and Defense. I'm pants at Potions, but I'm good at Charms, so maybe I could make enchanted items to help me out. You figured out the reasons for the Seminar."

Remus steepled his hands, and his tired voice grew more pensive. "I confess, I'm at a loss on your choosing Vocational and Domestic Sorcery, though. It's a non-NEWT class for the seventh years who haven't the academic background for other classes and need to learn more... practical skills. Seems an odd choice."

"All those 'practical' spells could come in really useful." Harry grinned. "Besides, as a remedial Seventh year class, they teach Apparation. And you get a learners' waiver if you're under aged."

Remus shook his head, laughing silently. "So you couldn't legally Apparate outside of class. But you still found a loophole to learn a year early. Oh Merlin, you are a Marauder"

"You didn't figure that out when you found me Ron, and Hermione out of bounds after hours in a shack in Hogsmeade with Sirius Black?" Harry's eyes were over bright, and his smile suddenly forced.

"I did. I just needed reminding." Remus's eyes tightened. "You want to talk about it."

His answer was too fast. "Not really, no."

"When you're ready." Harry only nodded in return. Remus continued. "Personally, I want to know why you've decided to be in such a rush to pick a fight?"

"I'm not picking a fight." Harry spoke whilst worrying the threads dangling from one of the holes in his blanket. "I just want to finish one up."

Remus winced. "Please, please listen to me. Your parents and Sirius loved you very much. Your friends love you a great deal more than you're willing to accept. None of them would want to see you haring off after Bellatrix Lestrange, looking for vengeance. Or absolution. You don't have to prove anything. Please promise me you won't try to take this on yourself."

Harry's expressive eyes betrayed a silent battle, as his lips tightened thoughtfully. Remus assumed the young man was debating whether or not to agree. As such, when Harry nodded to himself and spoke with a force beyond his years, it utterly floored the old werewolf. "Okay. So the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries? It said that I'm the one to kill Voldemort. So I need to learn how to get him. Kill him, and for good this time. I'm not going after Bellatrix. I'm going after Tom Riddle."

Remus stared at Harry in horror, his mouth open in shock. Harry blinked, and looked away, his voice dropping to a more normal waver than the hard clarity of before. "I'm sorry to drop this on you, Professor. I know it's a lot to... to have to hear. And I can't imagine what you must be thinking about me, but you should know why I'm... doing this."

At last, Remus found his voice. "You've got to be mistaken about this, Harry. You're not a killer, you don't need to become one. If you don't believe me, talk to Dumbledore, he-"

"He's the one who told me," Harry interrupted, sounding only faintly bitter. "And I am a killer. I killed Professor Quirrell when I was eleven. I murdered the sixteen year old shadow of Tom Riddle. It's the one thing I'm good at, apparently."

Remus leaned forward, and shook Harry's knee. "You are not a killer, Harry. You aren't; you care far too much, feel far too much to end a life like that. I talked with Dumbledore about what happened to you. You were only acting in self defense. Or in defense of another. That isn't murder, it's heroism."

"That isn't a distinction, that's semantics." Harry smirked at the surprised look on his old professor's face. "What, you're surprised that after five years of Hermione's nudging, I learned a few definitions?"

"No, I'm surprised that Lily's son is a cynic."

Harry exhaled sharply at this, and for a moment looked utterly devastated. "I told you about this, Professor, because you fought in the last war. I want your help preparing. I don't need it; I just want it."

Remus stood, and walked wearily to the door. There, he turned and faced Harry from the shadows outside the circle of the bare lamp bulb. "No Harry. You need to grieve, and you need to grow up, and you need to live. I don't know what Dumbledore said to lead you to believe... Harry, I promised Sirius I wouldn't let anything happen to you. I won't."

They faced each other in silence for long moments. With a sad sigh, Remus eventually slipped out the door and into the night.

* * *

Harry pulled the loose front to his worn t-shirt away from the wet edge of the kitchen counter as he sprayed the ammonia onto the garden window. He'd already gotten it pretty wet cleaning the counters, but it was a bright blue summer sky outside. If he didn't get too much wetter he'd probably be able to dry out by the time he finished the lawns. Harry turned the towel about exposing a dry bit, and wiped the streaks away, leaving a clear view of the side garden, and Aunt Petunia listening to the neighbors' picnic. Just as he was finishing up the windows, there came a knock at the front door. Harry knew well by now that the Dursleys had no desire for any visitor to see him anywhere in their house, so he loitered in the kitchen, and let Aunt Petunia scuttle into the house and to the door. Aunt Petunia's loud gasp, however, drew Harry away from his cleaning. Pulling his wand from a back pocket, he peered around the doorway separating the kitchen from the front hallway.

For a moment, Harry thought he was being visited by a member of the Weasley family. With her red hair and eyebrows, she certainly would have been able to blend in at the Burrow. However, her finely chiseled face was unfamiliar, and she was far too comfortable with her red skirt suit and leather attaché to be anything but a muggle. Harry was about to slip back into the kitchen when he heard his own name mentioned. Squinting at the two women speaking heatedly at the door, Harry settled down to listen in.

"...and I have never been so insulted in my life," Aunt Petunia concluded.

The strange woman sketched what might have been a polite smile. "Well, I'm definitely not trying to insult you Mrs. Dursley. It's just part of what we do; we just check in from time to time. And since I have all these notes and no visits recorded, you can see my problem."

Aunt Petunia sniffed, and seemed unable to decide if she wanted to keep her hand at her throat, or perched on her hip. "Not actually, I'm afraid, no. I don't see a problem at all. If he's been fine for fifteen years, I don't see why you need to bother me now."

"I'm sorry, I thought I explained that." The strange woman gestured to her attaché case. "The notes do seem to suggest that not everything has been fine for fif-"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Harry jerked out of his slouch as a quick blast of light and the words of a spell cut the stranger off. Frozen, she toppled in slow motion toward Aunt Petunia. As Petunia reflexively moved to catch her, a second flash caught Harry's aunt in the chest. Both women dropped heavily to the ground. Through the open doorway, Harry could see a figure in dark gray robes, standing bold as you please on the front lawn of Number Four Privet Drive. Wand held at his side, the wizard took a step toward the house.

Harry exploded forward from his hiding place behind the kitchen door. Taking quick aim down the hall and onto the lawn, he started snapping off spells as fast as he could. "Stupefy! Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Rictus Sempra!"

The figure on the lawn snapped backwards, tumbling across the lawn in a tangle of heavy robes. A second, deeper voice called out "Stupefy," and a bolt of red light struck the front door ahead of Harry. He slid to a stop in the hallway, dropping to the ground. Any ideas he had about heading for the door died swiftly. He saw a swirl of movement through the front picture window.

Casting around for a solution, Harry's bright green eyes were wide and panicky. He chewed his lip, and rapped himself sharply on the top of his own head. A cold, wet feeling cascaded down his body, and Harry hoped this meant he was successfully Disillusioned. He crawled over the stiff bodies of the stranger and his aunt, in time to see a second robed figure approach the crumpled body lying in the middle of the yard. A quick look around didn't show any other people visible up and down the street. The wizard still on his feet pointed a short, dark wand at the crumpled figure, and said 'Ennervate!" There was no sign of motion from the crumpled form.

That was enough distraction for Harry. "Stupefy," he cried out, leaning around the door jamb. The second wizard swept his stubby wand in a tight arc, and muttered "Protego." Harry's stunner glanced harmlessly off of a brief ripple before striking home. The wizard snapped off his own stunner in return, sizzling into the door several feet over Harry's head. Apparently, Harry's Disillusionment was working just fine; his adversary couldn't see him very well. Harry tried again, this time aiming to disarm his opponent. The return strike was a brilliantly accurate stunner, and Harry barely had a chance to utter Protego to shield himself.

Ducking behind the doorway, Harry saw a series of hexes and charms hit the space he had just occupied. The second assailant seemed to be aiming for the space he'd last seen Harry's spells come from. Harry sat back, and pulled off his trainers. Although no one could see it he smiled; the worn shoes remained Disillusioned, even after he took them off. He flung one overhand toward the driveway. A series of hastily cast curses bounced up and down the driveway. Harry poked his head back around the edge of the door, and started rattling off stinging hexes.

Swearing, the assailant threw himself over the hedgerow Harry himself had planted weeks earlier. Smoking leaves and twigs flew from the sites where his hexes hit the shrubbery, but none got through. The wizard shoved his hand through the foliage, and fired stunners blindly at the door to the house. Now it was Harry's turn to duck back swearing. None of his spells would penetrate the hedgerow; he'd have to hit his attacker's wand dead on.

Harry slapped his forehead as a thought occurred to him, and he poked his head out into the line of fire. Grinning, he yelled as fast as he could. "Reducto! Reducto! Reducto!"

The hedge exploded, and the mystery assailant threw his hands over his head to avoid being cut by flying brambles. Harry's joy was short lived as the wizard scurried to find cover behind the long, grey auto parked at the curb. There was little chance he could blast a hole in a two-tonne motor carriage.

His assailant called out to Harry from behind the cover of the auto. "Give up. There's reinforcements coming, and no way to Apparate out of here."

"What a brilliant offer!" Harry called with bitter humor. "Fight and die, or surrender and die. What an amazing opportunity you've given me. Let me think a bit. Stupefy! Stupefy!"

Harry's charms bounced futilely off the gleaming grey curves of the auto. Harry pulled back behind the door too slowly, and the edge of a cutting charm caught him across his left shoulder. He hissed in pain as his attacker answered him. "I promise. You give us Harry Potter, you get to live. On my honor."

Harry's sharp laugh echoed down Privet Drive. "Hate to disappoint you, idiot. I'm Harry Potter!" With this, he leapt from cover, and crossed quickly to where the first wizard's wand lay discarded on the grass. Scooping it up, he tried gesturing with both hands in synchronization as he snapped charms off. His feral grin was rewarded as he managed to send pairs of stunners hurling toward the car. His adversary managed a shield charm against one, but the second caught him full in the face. He slumped over the hood with a gasp, the robes of his out flung arm caught upon the silver diver hood ornament.

Harry raised a hand to wipe the sweat out of his eyes, keeping his wand trained on the fallen wizard. A wide grin was just forming when a series of pops up and down the street drove a thrill of terror down his back. "He's Disillusioned," was the first cry he heard from over his left shoulder. Harry threw himself over the boot of the car as dozens of blue, red, and yellow hexes blasted the car and surrounding curb. Harry pushed himself up against the rear wheel of the car, feeling the tingling of hexes slapping the car behind him. Tucking under the rear end of the car, Harry loosed a volley of Stinging Hexes down the street, roughly aimed towards the spot some of the curses had come from.

Suddenly a gravelly, familiar voice called out. "Hold 'yer spells. That's Potter behind the Rolls." Mad-eye Moody.

"Oy, Harry!" Tonks called out from behind a sycamore. "That you?"

"Tonks? Is that really you?" Harry debated peering over the boot of the car. "Prove it."

"Um, I've got pink hair?" Tonks giggled. "No wait, I know! Last time I was here, you were planting those hedges."

Harry yelled over the car. "Last time you were here, I asked you how to throw curses faster."

"Cor, Harry!" Tonks stepped out from behind her tree, as other Order members stepped out from their hiding places. "Looks like you got that covered."

Harry Disillusioned himself, and stood up. He kept both wands out, pointed each way down the street. Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, and Kingsley Shacklebolt all stepped out from behind cover or appeared from behind invisibility cloaks. Harry glared at the gathering group of wizards. "You know, you all could check where you're shooting before you go throwing curses at me!"

Both Moody's electric blue magical eye and his remaining normal eye fixed Harry with a furious stare. He waved tightly at the two wizards on the ground. "Us! What were you doing stunning two members of the Order? Wanted a little target practice?"

Harry jerked more upright at this, then pointed from his bleeding shoulder to the crumpled forms of the two muggles lying in the doorway. "They're not ours. They're Death Eaters."

Lupin pulled the robe away from the face of the wizard laying across the hood, revealing the face of Sturgis Podmore.

* * *

-->

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

The muggle woman was now seated on one of Aunt Petunia's satin divans, her red coat folded across her lap, and a rapidly melting bag of frozen peas clasped to her bruised right arm. Petunia, almost as confused and just as angry looking, sat on the divan opposite her, a second plastic sack of vegetables braced against the back of her head. The various members of the Order of the Phoenix were perched throughout the room. This included a very stiff and very unhappy Sturgis Podmore slouched in a Queen Anne wingback near the picture window. Harry sat alongside his aunt, trying not to bleed onto the immaculate sofa.

"Magic." The muggle repeated still a little dazedly. "There are real magicians in the world. And they're muggers."

"I told you! I'm not a mugger!" Sturgis stopped to rub his face. His jaw was still hurting from where he'd collapsed into the Rolls' hood ornament.

"Um, isn't she the muggle?" Tonks asked from her position by the window, behind Harry.

"Mugger, not muggle." Lupin then turned his attention to the muggle in question. "And wizard, not magician."

Harry, having at some point in the conversation decided he would feel better if he kept his wand in his hand, spoke up. "Let's get back on track, please. This woman here-"

"Miss Morgan Ann Elizabeth Aedernmas, Em-Eff-See-See," interrupted the muggle with the red coat and copper-red hair.

"-Is a social worker," Harry continued. "Mine, apparently. And every time she's come 'round Privet Drive for the last fifteen years, you've stunned her, Obliviated her memories so she forgot she was supposed to be her, and sent her on her way?"

"Oh no," replied Sturgis, stopping massaging his jaw long enough to answer. "She's only been coming round for the last few years. 'Fore that, 'twas some old bloke. A Cravis, or Crabbit, I think. Reckon he musta retired by now."

"Lewis Crevit and yes, he retired due to encroaching Alzheimer's," responded Ms. Aedernmas testily.

Harry tried to wave them to silence, but winced when the cut on his left arm reopened. "Wait a minute. Why would the Order want to keep a social worker away? I mean, they're supposed to be dead helpful, right? And where do you come off attacking muggles, anyway? I thought that was Voldemort's idea of fun."

Almost everyone in the room winced at this. Remus spoke up first. "Actually, that's two excellent questions. Alastor, Sturgis? Anyone willing to elucidate?"

"Nobody in the Order is 'attacking muggles,' Potter!" Alastor jumped in first, his magical blue eye spinning slowly around the room.

Morgan rose immediately to the bait, leaning forward as she spoke. "All evidence to the contrary."

Sturgis took up the argument, waving Moody to silence. "We didn't attack you! If Harry hadn't interrupted, you wouldn't have remembered anything about it."

"Oh, well that makes it all better then!" Morgan's thin, high voice deepened as she worked herself to a yell. "Assaulting me is fine, so long as afterwards you rape my mind to make me forget, eh? Yes, that sounds just fine to me! I'll tell you; come near me again, I'll wipe your memories! I don't need magic! I've got a skillet! You son of a-"

"I think," Remus began, raising his hands and his voice to try to forestall a second duel for the day. "I think that Sturgis was trying to say that he did what he did with good intentions and not for sport. And what Ms. Aedernmas was trying to say was that the intentions don't matter much when you are struck from behind and your memory modified."

Sturgis and Morgan glared at each other, both clearly clenching their jaws to avoid continuing the argument. Tonks stepped forward, and leaned over Harry's shoulder to speak. When he pulled sharply away from her, shock and hurt were written clearly on her mobile features. But before anyone noticed , she continued as though nothing happened. "Okay all, I get that we've got a disagreement about what the good guys are 'sposed to be doin' with their time. But I still want to know why you were doing it in the first place."

"Sort of obvious isn't it, Tonks?" Sturgis nearly snarled it, still in a miserable mood. "Harry Potter is only protected from Voldemort if he stays here with this miserable excuse for a family. If Child Welfare pokes their nose in here, they'd send him somewhere else. Ergo, he wouldn't be protected from either diddley or from squat."

Tonks screwed up her face into an indelicate frown. "That's sorta' stupid, Sturgis. I mean, I don't think muggle social workers whisk kids off with no reason."

The silence following her words was echoing. Aunt Petunia went white and stared at the floor, Harry mirroring her. Lupin chewed his cheek, and the anger drained from Podmore's face. Only Moody didn't react. Tonks blinked rapidly, and looked from face to face. She dropped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry. Mate. Is there a reason this muggle here would want to take you away?"

"Not really." Harry's voice was a tiny thing.

"Would you please stop calling me 'muggle?' It's just a teensy bit annoying." Morgan snapped at Tonks. Her voice gentled as she turned to Harry. "And it's hard for... Tonks... here to believe you when you're looking down like that. Why don't you look at us and tell us."

When Harry looked up, it was at Aunt Petunia. She at least had the grace not to meet his even gaze. "I'm fine, really."

Morgan swallowed. "Mrs. Dursley? If you could step outside with me-"

"Oh for Merlin's sake!" Sturgis exclaimed exasperatedly. "We're not going to dance around this all night. Everyone already knows they lock him in the cupboard and smack him around."

The response was immediate and simultaneous.

"We gave him Dudley's second bedroom years ago!"

"Uncle Vernon hardly ever hits me!"

"Well I sure didn't know!"

A piercing whistle shut down all speech. Morgan removed her fingers from her mouth as everyone's attention returned to her. She spoke and moved with a calm too complete to be anything but a facade. "Am I to understand that Harry has been in an abusive environment for years, this magician's conference of yours has known about it, and none of you have done anything about it?"

"I'm fine," Harry snapped. "Would you please stop talking about me like this."

Remus leaned forward. "The last time I'd seen you, you had a split lip. At the time, I thought it was from working out, or practicing Quidditch, or something like that. Harry, look at me. Did your Uncle hit you."

Harry tried to answer. "Nothing... It's not... You have to understand-"

Remus's gentle face hardened as Harry stammered to find an excuse. He rose to his feet with canine agility, stalking Aunt Petunia, who recoiled into the hard cushions of her divan. "How could you allow this, Petunia? I knew you were jealous of Lily, but this? If it had been you and Vernon who died, can you imaging Lily and James treating your boy like this?"

Harry looked from Remus' sad, angry face to Petunia's withered, silently crying eyes. "You two know each other?"

Remus turned back to the teenager, dropping into a crouch to meet him eye to eye. "I was there when your parents got married, remember. Apparently, your Aunt is as foul an excuse for a person as she is a failure as your family. But your parents would never have left her out of their wedding, Harry."

"Oh." Harry bled a little onto the sofa. He looked down at the red spot for moment, then shrugged as if to say, 'who cares?' "But the rest of you... the rest of the Order of the Phoenix? You all knew what it was like living here?"

Sturgis looked once into Harry's flashing green eyes, and suddenly became very interested in the carpet. Mad-Eye Moody just nodded. "Better this than Voldemort."

"Okay." Morgan drew herself up to her full height, not much taller than Harry himself. "We're done here, I should think. Harry, if you could please wait in my car? I need to talk to everyone else for a moment."

The room exploded into action. Sturgis and Moody drew wands, leveling them at Morgan's chest. Harry leapt to his feet, blocking their line of sight with his body, wand at the ready. Petunia shrieked and tried to hide behind a tasseled throw pillow. Remus moved shoulder to shoulder with Harry, hands open in front of him. Tonks took one step, caught a trailing cord for a floor lamp over one boot toe, and went down in the corner in a tangle of limbs. The floor lamp was whipped to the ground after her, and the bulbs exploded in a flash. This plunged the room into a dim half-light.

Remus spoke first. "Lets all just sit back down, put the wands away, and talk. All right, then?"

"Remus, Harry can't leave this house," Moody growled.

Sturgis shrugged. "It's not that I want to be doing this. But she can't take him, and she can't know about us. You know that."

"You're not hurting her!" Harry shifted nervously on his feet as he held his wand on the two Aurors. "Just get out of here."

"It's what has to be done, boy." Both Moody's eyes were fixed upon Harry. "It's for the greater good."

"Now you sound like Voldemort." Harry laughed coldly as the two wizards flinched. "He seems to think that hurting people who can't defend themselves is 'the greater good' too. Is that what you want to be? A Death Eater with a badge?"

Sturgis paled at this, but spoke pleadingly nonetheless. "Harry, be reasonable. We have to wipe her memories. We can't let muggles know about our world. We're talking about the International Wizarding Secrecy Act."

"Excuse me?" Everyone turned fractionally from their drawn wands, to look at Aunt Petunia as she peeked out from around the edge of her pillow. "I'm normal, and I know about you frea- your kind."

"The sodding cow has a point," came the exclamation from the floor, where Tonks was still struggling to extricate herself from the murdered floor lamp.

"Petunia Dursley," Remus spoke her name as though it were an epithet. "Is, despite the magnitude of her personal failings, Harry's muggle guardian. Like any muggle-born wizard, she knows about us because she's, in theory at least, raising one of us."

"Perfect," came the high voice from over Harry's shoulder. "I'll be removing him from the appalling lack of care it seems that all of you have managed to provide thus far. Both I, and the NSPCC care house where he will be placed will be caring for him. Ergo, it should be acceptable that I keep my memories."

"Um, thanks, I think," Harry called over his shoulder. "I don't think that's going to work, though."

Remus turned, one hand gesturing to the two Aurors, the other held up in appeasement to the social worker. "Whatever ethical issues I may have with my colleagues here, they have a point. You absolutely cannot take Harry from this house, Ms. Aedernmas. Very simply, Voldemort will kill him."

"Here's the part I don't get." Morgan poked Remus in the shoulder sternly. "Who is this Voldemort, and why are you trying to protect Harry from him instead of from his Aunt and Uncle?"

"I can answer that, miss." Harry's bright green eyes didn't leave the two Aurors as he spoke. "Vernon Dursley is a bully, and he and my Aunt hate me because I'm different than they are. They don't mind locking me up and feeding me through a cat flap in the door to avoid having me at their table, but that's about the limit of their creativity. Besides, I'm allowed to use magic is self defense, so if it ever got out of hand, I think I'd just stun them and leave them alongside the M3 for someone to pick up.

"Voldemort is a Dark wizard, and utterly evil. He's nearly immortal, and wants to finish it up. He wants all us wizards born to muggles dead, and everyone else cowering in fear. He wants to take over the world, and thanks to a daft Oracle, he's been trying to kill me since before I was born. He's also too damn powerful, and has a horde of Death Eater followers. Now, my mother died trying to protect me, and her blood still does. So if I live with Aunt Petunia, Voldemort can only come after me at school. So that's the choice; the Dursley's or a red-eyed nose-less monster. I pick the Dursley's. But only barely."

The house creaked softly into the silence following this speech. Morgan finally came up with a response. "Assuming that was at all accurate, this will be very hard to write up."

Moody snorted. "If anything, the boy understated things."

Morgan peeked out over Remus' shoulder. "Voldemort or the Dursley's?"

"Yup."

"Okay. Here's my offer." Morgan gestured at the stand-off in front of her. "You all stop pointing sticks at each other, or at me. Since Harry is a minor, and a citizen of Great Britain, then magician or not he's our responsibility. The Dursley's have demonstrated their inability to be parents without supervision, and you lot aren't showing more swot at this, either. As his welfare representative, that makes Harry's dispensation my responsibility. Now, in his best interests, I can't remove him to a better place than this, nor can I really report this whole 'evil wizard' bit. So I agree to do my spot for his welfare whilst also keeping him here and hiding the whole magic thing from my supervisors. Agreed?"

Moody's electric blue eye rolled in it's socket, checking the room before giving Morgan a once-over. At long last he tucked his wand into his sleeve, and gestured Sturgis to do the same. "Agreed."

As Harry tucked his wand into his pocket, a delicate hand took his shoulder, and turned him about. He found himself facing a pair of bright blue eyes up close as Morgan peered intently at him. "You're old enough to have a say too, Harry. How does all this sound to you?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, his gaze moving from one of her eyes to the other. "What if I don't like it? What if I decide to tell you to leave?"

Morgan tugged on her earlobe. "It's not exactly what I'd normally be able to do in this sort of thing, but I guess I'd leave. Hopefully I could convince the wand brigade here to leave my memories intact so I could check in on you from time to time. You know, make sure you weren't sold to pirates, or buried in the back yard or anything. Is that more what you want?"

Harry looked at his Aunt Petunia, then at Remus Lupin standing next to him. He spoke slowly, haltingly. "No, I think. I think your idea seems pretty good."

"Alright then." Morgan smiled and patted him on his uninjured shoulder. "Let's get that cut looked after, and then I suspect we'll have a bit of talking to do."

* * *

In some ways, the summer passed as it always did for Harry. Half the time was spent in dragging, tedious boredom while he marked day after day off on his calendar, praying the first of September might come early this year. The other half moved too quickly, not handing him near enough time to get everything done before he fell into bed at night. Other than these constants, Harry's summer was very different from his previous ones.

Oddly enough, his efforts to get prepared to fight Voldemort were fast becoming the most normal and pleasant parts of his days. He awoke early, and didn't have to think about anything for a couple of hours. Each night, he ran until he was too tired to dream. Every now and again he spotted an Order member watching over him and they exchanged sneers. But for the most part, it was mindless activity.

The Dursley's were in a strange way, worse than ever. They prepared food for him three times a day. A week after Harry first met the social worker, Aunt Petunia left a shopping bag on his bed full of new clothes. They all smiled at him, in the worst and most strained manner possible. It was patently clear; the Dursley household hated Harry more deeply than ever before. They were now so scared of being arrested for endangering the welfare of a child that they forced smiles whenever Harry was in sight. It drove him to hide from them more that ever; at least when they were openly hostile they were honest about it. The quiet fear and hatred directed his way, coupled with Aunt Petunia's newly found servility made Harry want to scream. He'd taken to checking them for tattoos on their forearms surreptitiously as they ate.

As a result of his mistaken identity duel, Harry had received a summons from Mafalda Hopkirk from the Improper Use of Magic Office. Again he was summoned to the full Wizengamot, to be reprimanded for using magic outside of school despite being an underage wizard. This was, in Harry's opinion, an exercise in deliberate and premeditated humiliation. The fact that he had good reason for his actions, combined with Dumbledore's return to his position of High Mugwump of the Wizengamot, meant that Harry's complete exoneration was assured. However Ms. Morgan Aedernmas insisted on accompanying him as his care representative. Explaining why the Order had been Obliviating muggle social workers meant recounting, in excruciating detail, his treatment for the last fifteen years at the hands of the Dursley's. The room full of witches and wizards, all staring down at Harry from their benches high above, had agreed to Ms. Aedernmas' position, that he required an outside party to represent his interests. As that she already knew about the wizarding world, and it was her career in the muggle world, the Wizengamot approved her to act as his case worker. Harry paid little attention as some kind of agreement was brokered between the muggle Ministry of Social Welfare and the Ministry of Magic's Muggle Affairs Department.

As a practical upshot, this meant Harry now had an invasive guardian angel he never asked for bending his ear once a week. Every time her grey Rolls Royce Phantom VI growled up the street, Harry winced. And it wasn't her behavior he disliked; she seemed to hit the right note with him on every conversation. She never mollycoddled him, or wanted to know about his feelings. She didn't fuss over his appearance, or try feed him like Mrs. Weasley would have. Nor did she offer delicate advice and concern like Remus. Rather she spoke directly, honestly, and more than a little sense of humor. She asked only after what Harry was doing, and seemed to just want to catch up on a good conversation for an hour or two each week. It reminded him of how Sirius used to talk him. Harry couldn't quite put into words how he felt about this, except to note that he didn't like it in the least.

Harry also found himself avoiding writing to his friends, quite an unpleasant first for him. Neville wrote two letters, both clearly concerned about Harry's well-being. However, after a few weeks passed without Harry writing back, the correspondence dried up. Neither Luna nor Ginny had responded to Harry's letters, which he supposed was a good thing. Hermione and Ron, somewhat predictably, were relentless in writing to Harry. Despite having carefully avoided explicitly stating the simple fact that they needed to avoid him like the plague he was, it seemed that both had sussed it out. Both were quite clear in their messages that they disagreed with him, and that they intended to remain his friends. Hermione's letters were lengthy, combining ongoing details of her vacation in Spain and Morocco with wordy arguments against abandoning Harry. Ron's responses were eloquent only for their brevity: Harry - Still going to be your friend, mate. Give up, come by the Burrow. I know where you live. - Ron

He'd started out sending brief notes back. Harry was very clear in explaining the dangers to them, and why he couldn't be near either of them. Their entreaties kept coming, and he asked them to stop writing. In desperation, he had simply stopped responded to any of their letters. A week back, Harry decided he couldn't keep reading their letters; Ron's angry insistence in caring about him in spite of the danger Harry put his whole family in, and Hermione's clearly tearful concern were too much to deal with. He'd started sending letters back to them unopened.

By the time the end of August had rolled around Harry's social circle had shrunk from anemic to skeletal. Sturgis Podmore had stopped by with Harry's books and supplies for the upcoming year's classes. Harry had written to Remus and requested that someone pick up his supplies, since he had no method of getting to Diagon Alley. Harry wasn't too surprised to see Podmore delivering the goods. In recent weeks, it seemed to Harry that Remus was avoiding him.

So Harry sat alone, illuminated by the small circle of light from his desk lamp, and read. He was tucked into his small desk, enjoying the fact that it was the middle of the night. After all, it was normal to be alone at that hour. As such, he was surprised to hear a knock at the door of his bedroom. Harry's wand jumped into his hand, and he turned to face the door. "Come in."

Mr. Weasley entered, taking his pointed wizard hat off of his balding red hair, and tucking it into a pocket in his green Donegal tweed robes. "Harry," he said warmly.

"Mr. Weasley!" Harry's surprise was plain on his face, and he jumped up, wand still in his hand. "Is everything alright? Ron? Ginny?"

"Are fine." Mr. Weasley smiled slightly, and looked uncomfortably around the room for a place to sit. As with Remus, Harry gestured his best friend's father into the chair, and tipped his bed back onto its' feet.

Once Harry was settled, Mr. Weasley spoke up, looking eagerly around the room. "I've never seen your room before, Harry. It doesn't quite seem to look like the downstairs, somehow."

"Er."

Mr. Weasley's attention snapped back to Harry, and an embarrassed flush sufficed his face. More than ever, harry could see Ron in his father. "Right then. Not important. So, I understand from Ron that you don't plan on visiting the Burrow again?"

"Er." It seemed to be Harry's only real response tonight. He shook his head softly, and tried again. "Yes, sir. It's just that... with Voldemort after me..."

Like his son, Mr. Weasley winced when Harry used that name. "Whatever it is that V-Voldemort may be getting up to, I do know what my children will be up to. And I rather think you might not have as much control over whom they are friends with as you may think. We Weasleys' aren't merely pillars of the communities. You might have noticed we are also a bit stubborn."

Harry couldn't suppress a snort. This was like claiming Hagrid was 'a bit tall.' "I might have noticed that."

Mr. Weasley fumbled about for words for a moment, before plowing onward. "Erm. I think the point I was trying to make is that it isn't very healthy for you to push your friends away, Harry. I know my two youngest were very hurt by your letters, and I imagine you aren't any happier."

Harry blinked, his eyes over bright. "I am very sorry to hurt their feelings, sir. Ron and Ginny's. Hermione's too, I imagine. But they've been hurt worse by being my friend, than they could be by not."

Arthur Weasley stood up, and patted Harry on his shoulder. He withdrew his slightly tilted wizard hat from a pocket in his robes, and set it jauntily atop his thinning red hair. "You know Harry, you forgot to write a few more of those letters of yours. Bill, Charlie, Molly and I should have heard from you. We consider you a member of the family, and shan't stop ever. So you've rather a few more stubborn Weasleys' to try to push away. Just a bit of a heads up for you." And with that, he smiled and slipped out of the door and into the night.

* * *

The next morning, Harry had packed his trunk and bustled it down to the front room by nine. At long last it was time to return to Hogwarts, and Harry was quite ready. Every time Harry looked at the Dursley's, camped out in the breakfast room, they fought to reshape their snarls into something resembling smiles. After a few tries, he stopped looking over his shoulder at them. He sat on top of his trunk, and waited for a member of the Order of the Phoenix to pick him up. A low rumbling growl echoed down Privet Drive, and Harry dropped his head into his hand. It wasn't an Order member coming for him today.

Harry stood, and opened the door to see a low grey auto pulling up the curb, all four doors, bonnet, and boot decked in heavy chrome. It slid to a halt on wide whitewalls, and the engine rumble disintegrated. The driver's door swung open, and Ms. Aedernmas hopped out. Still wearing her vividly red jacket, she was now wearing a heather jumper and corduroy skirt. With her long red hair pulled back into a tail, she seemed somehow years younger than when last he'd seen her. Harry's smile was forced, but he managed to wave to her as he started dragging his trunk out to the car.

Morgan popped the boot, and helped him heave his Hogwart's trunk inside. She eyed Hedwig's cage with curiosity as Harry tucked her into the backseat. She clicked the trunk closed, and eyed Number Four Privet Drive speculatively. "Aren't they coming out to say goodbye."

Harry shot his case worker a dark look and snorted. Then he walked around the long auto and slid into the passenger's seat. Morgan's red eyebrows climbed her forehead. "Right then."

She tucked herself back behind the wheel, and coaxed the auto to rumbling life. Casting a gaze at Harry across what seemed like a hectare of leather, Morgan spoke first. "I don't think those friends of your fixed the paint on my Phantom. You know, where those thing-a-ma-jigs hit it."

Harry looked out past the burl wood dash, at the long, sloping hood. There was no evidence Sturgis Podmore had been dangling senseless off the ornament, nor were any of the score marks left. He blinked his green eyes in confusion. "It looks like they did, ma'am."

"I'm not so sure. Seems a bit spotty." Morgan gestured casually with her left hand as she swung the Rolls-Royce onto the M3 and let the pedal graze the plush carpeting.

Harry looked at the hood, and saw the road notices reflected legibly in the smoky metallic grey paint. "You're car is awfully shiny, Ms. Aedernmas. I think it's probably okay."

"Harrumph. And if they'd torn up that broomstick you were telling me about, you wouldn't be a scotch bit picky, now?"

"They did, actually." Harry stopped looking at Surrey rolling past him, and grinned unevenly. "Nevermind. I think they might have bollixed up the paint, ma'am."

"Good." She grinned at him, blue eyes tight. "I thought so."

The south end of London rolled by quickly, save for the traffic abatement stops. Harry debated the pros and cons of muggle travel. On the one hand, Floo powder would have gotten him to the Hogwarts Express long before the auto even reached the expressway. On the other hand, Floo powder would have thrown him out of a fireplace, covered in soot and woozy. Harry nestled into the leather upholstery and grinned. Maybe being picked up by his muggle case worker wasn't completely without merit.

"I understand that Hogwarts is the safest place in Britain, according to what I'm reading from your Ministry of Magic." Morgan's comment came out of the blue as they crossed a narrow bridge and turned north.

"Yeah." Harry pulled his attention back to Ms. Aedernmas.

Morgan nodded, shooting him a sidelong look with her brilliant blue eyes narrowed. "I've never had one of my charges who was hunted by an evil, nearly immortal magician and his crew of henchmen before. It's nice to know at least nine months of the year, he can't reach you."

"Er." Harry's mouth stuck open. He shut it, and looked around the car a little desperately. He pointed to the polished trim around the ventilation grilles. "Say, is this real wood?"

"Harry..." Morgan's voice dropped sharply. "What aren't you telling me right now."

"Oh." Harry sunk into his seat a bit. "Loads, I imagine."

"And..." Morgan let that trail off. When he still had not responded, she snapped. "Harry! Is it possible you might not be safe at school?"

"Maybe."

Her eyes were as sharp as always, and she cocked an eyebrow speculatively. "Does that mean 'maybe, you don't know' or 'maybe, you know and don't want to tell me?'"

Harry sighed. "Yeah, he can reach me there. About, um, three times so far. And once he lured me out of Hogwarts."

The Rolls swerved noticeably in the lane, and a tiny Cooper shied nervously away from a quarter panel that dwarfed it. "And that's the safest place in Britain? Why aren't you in hiding somewhere?"

"I sort of am." Harry shrugged fatalistically. "The Dursley's are pretty much as hidden as possible. And Hogwarts is almost as untouchable."

"Maybe we should think about you staying in hiding until someone arrests this Voldemort character." Morgan frowned, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.

Harry laughed hollowly. "I need to learn magic. That means going to Hogwarts. Sorry, it's not that easy."

Morgan held out her left hand to Harry, mollifying. "Not permanently Harry. Just until someone locks this guy up. In my world, it would be like protective custody, or witness relocation. On the plus side, it would mean no Dursley's."

"Er. Er... Okay, so the thing is that the reason why Voldemort is trying to kill me is that there's a prophecy, and it says that one of us has to kill the other one, so if anyone's going to stop him, it'll have to be me, so hiding out won't really help, and I really need to know more magic, because I've tried dueling him before, and there's no way I can stop him right now, so no, I really can't stay anywhere else, and I have to go to Hogwarts, even though, yes, most likely I'll be attacked by Voldemort before July if he sticks to his usual schedule, see?" Harry rushed through it all in one breath.

The Rolls glided down the M3, the correct turn off for the station vanishing behind them as they careened onwards. The only sounds in the car were the rumble of the engine, the hiss of the pavement, and the clicking of the turn signal left on. A few kilometers passed in silence before Morgan spoke up again.

"You just keep on doing what you're doing then."

"What?" Harry's bright green eyes snapped up to look at Morgan in shock.

She slewed the Rolls into a slow turn towards an offramp, casting about for the roadway back towards the rail yards. "I take it you were expecting something else, right?"

He nodded. "Um, yeah. Mostly adults have lots of 'advice' about what I should be doing."

"Bull pucky." Morgan nodded. "I'm out of my depth with all this magic and fortune-telling going on. Normally, I'd have a raft of options to use, to get you out of harms way. Here I am, I can't get you away from a family that mistreats you. I have to let you toddle off to a school where you're likely to be attacked at. Apparently, you even have to dispose of this wizard by yourself. Everything I should be doing to help you, I can't.

"Well, you've survived this far as close to on your own as I've ever seen. And you're a good kid, too. You stepped in to help me, first time we met. You're polite and helpful, even when you're hurting and don't want to talk to anyone. I don't really understand how you can be so well adjusted; maybe it's part of being a wizard. In any event, I rarely see people who do get some intervention coming out as well off as you seem to be.

"So you just go on doing whatever you've been doing. It's working."

"Thanks." Harry nodded, and smiled. "I... It's oddly nice to hear that."

"Just one word of advice, Harry." Morgan pulled the car over in front of the train station and killed the engine before turning in her seat. She leaned forward intently. "This Voldemort, he's a murderer and a torturer, eh? Stay safe, and none of this wishy-washy sweet Fanny Adams. You don't try to send him to the Isle of Wight, or to hospital. He comes after you, this Voldemort, you get help. And then you send him to the morgue."

Harry nodded, wide eyed. Morgan continued. "I've had one of my boys killed by a monster, Harry. Don't make me ride home with you like that."

"I won't."

They were quiet as they pulled Harry's belongings from the boot and scuttled off towards Platform Nine. They crossed through the grand foyer, and out onto the brick expanse of the platforms, Harry found himself in the odd position of having a hand through the crowd. At long last, he pulled his cart up to the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. Morgan looked at the signs above each train, trying to spot which was headed for Hogwarts. Harry smiled again.

"Thanks for the ride. I'll see you in about a year then, ma'am." And with that, Harry turned and ran through the wall separating Platforms Nine and ten.

Morgan's jaw dropped, and she walked forward tentatively. Reaching out, she brushed her fingers against the brick, finding it rough and cold. She pulled her hand back, and slapped her open palm against the brickwork. It remained as solid as ever. She spun around and strode off. "Harrumph. Wouldn't have minded seeing something a bit flashier..."

* * *

-->

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

Harry only had to work his way through two cars before he came across a compartment mercifully free of other students. The fewer people he saw, the better. There was rather a lot of pointing and staring, two things Harry usually got to wait until December or so before facing. It seemed that the undesired celebrity was kicking in earlier than usual this year. Harry set Hedwig's cage on the bench and sat opposite her, looking backwards out of the window. The train rocked twice, then slowly crawled out of the station. As the platform slid away from Harry, the Express worked itself up to its' comforting side-to-side sway.

The door to the compartment squeaked open. Harry turned abruptly to see Crabbe and Goyle occupying the open doorway. They stared at him, looking more than a little lost. Harry glared at them, waiting for the slew of insults he expected. When nobody said anything, Harry looked at them more carefully. Draco Malfoy wasn't with them.

"Where's your ferret?" Harry didn't manage to put much venom into his question.

The taller, more muscular Goyle answered after a moment. "Uh, Prefect's meeting."

Harry stared for a few long seconds. Crabbe glared at him, then looked up at Goyle as if seeking direction. Finally, Harry spoke up again. "Let me guess; you always come by to bother me, so here you are. But without Malfoy, you don't really have any good insults prepared."

Crabbe smiled and nodded. He ran a ham fist over his stubbly hair. "Yeah. Got nuthin', really."

Harry's dark brows contracted over his bright green eyes. "You don't actually have to try to get a rise out of me. You could go back to your compartment and wait for the refreshment trolley to come by."

Goyle looked confused, and Crabbe gnawed at his lip. Goyle opened his mouth and closed it several times. Crabbe tapped Goyle on his shoulder, raising his nearly non-existent brows. Goyle looked like he was considering something, then shook his head thickly. They both turned back to Harry and shrugged.

Harry quirked a lopsided smile. "Okay. How about this. You could ask why I'm alone."

Goyle frowned. "Why should I care?"

Harry resisted the urge to slap himself on the head. "No, like an insult. You know, 'Where are all your friends?' You could sneer..."

Goyle nodded, grinning. Then he tried to sneer, and came up looking more like he was picking lunch out of his teeth. "Um, your friends aren't here, are they?"

"Actually we are." Goyle jumped into the compartment as a young woman's voice drifted over his shoulder. Past him and Crabbe, Harry could see Ginny Weasley leaning insolently against the opposite compartment door, wand in hand. Looking oddly threatening, Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood flanked her like a bodyguard.

Harry put his fist to his mouth, struggling to hold in a laugh. "It's okay Ginny. We were just catching up."

Goyle's shoulder's sagged in relief as Ginny lowered her wand. He reached down, grabbed Crabbe by his thick shoulders and steered him out of the compartment. Harry's mirth was short lived, as the three Gryffindors and one Ravenclaw bustled into the compartment. Neville and Luna bracketed Hedwig's cage, while Dean sat at the other end of the bench from him, Ginny squeezing in between them.

"Um, hi." Harry sketched a half-hearted wave. He smiled nervously.

Ginny smiled warmly, tucking her wand into the sleeve of her school robe. "Hello, Harry. And don't worry, none of us are going to take the mickey out of you."

"Although we have plenty of reason to." Neville piped up from across the way, glaring pointedly at Harry, almost as ferociously as he had at Malfoy's lost goons.

"Yes, well." Ginny tipped her head at Neville, and patted Harry's hand. "Thinking we'd abandon you to save ourselves is a mite insulting really. But honestly, Harry. We're not here to jump you, or argue with you in any way."

"You're not." Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Nope." Dean spoke up for the first time, grinning at Harry from over his girlfriend's red head. "I heard 'em talking as they went looking for you."

Neville's glare loosened. "Nah. We're just going to hang out in here. You know, some Exploding Snap, some 'how were the hols.'"

Ginny smiled warmly, and leaned into Harry's shoulder. She looked up him through lowered lashes, and Harry's mouth dried out as she dropped her voice seductively. Her words were so jarringly out of place, it took Harry several seconds to parse them. "We'll just wait 'til Hermione and my brother get their claws on you. None of us can beat them at tearing you apart."

Neville finished it up for her. "Then we all get to watch. And mock. And laugh."

"Er." Harry found his back was pressed against the glass of the window. Oddly, it was Luna who rescued him.

"Oh, the letter I received was very sweet." Luna's wide grey eyes were focused entirely on Ginny. "How often does a boy tell you he would do anything to protect you? It wasn't very bright of him, and I really don't think his penmanship is very legible, and there was a spot of what I'm fairly sure was drool on one corner, but it was a sweet gesture."

Everyone except for Luna laughed at this.

"So Harry, what did you do for summer?" Neville grinned at him.

Harry thought furiously. He didn't want to be trapped in this compartment for several hours, talking about why exactly he was trying to get into shape to fight Voldemort. He raised his eyebrows tentatively. "Um, you mean other than writing letters and drooling on them?"

Again, the compartment was filled with laughter. Again, Luna didn't join in, and Harry had the distinct impression that she was listening in to his thoughts as clearly as if he were speaking.

But Neville continued. "Well, my Gran got me a new wand. What do you think?"

There followed a period where Neville passed his wand about, and everybody examined it and muttered something appreciative. Harry mumbled something nice and fairly vague. He wasn't sure what exactly it was he was supposed to be commenting on. But Neville was clearly proud of his new wand, so everyone spent some time talking about yew versus oak, and unicorn hair versus hippogryff feathers.

The conversation veered across many topics, and everyone seemed quite content for Harry to remain mostly silent. The sun sank lower on the horizon, as the landscape flashing by sprouted boulders and gullies. At some point, Dean grew tired of hearing Ginny and Luna discussing the most recent article in the Quibbler, and turned to Harry.

"Hey mate. I guess all that's left is fixing you and Neville up, eh?" Dean smiled conspiratorially from two seats over.

"Huh." Harry was stuck trying to figure out the what exactly that sentence meant.

"You and Neville? You know, the last of the Gryffindor bachelors? Time to find you two some birds. I think Luna knows some Ravenclaws for you to, you know, say hi to."

Harry's brow furrowed, then he broke into a smile. "You mean Ron finally told Hermione he fancied her?"

"Yeah." Now it was Dean's turn to wrinkle his brow. "About six months ago, mate. Kinda behind the times... aren't... you."

Dean trailed off as Ginny poked him repeatedly. He and Harry looked across the compartment to see Neville trying to wave Dean off, shaking his head furiously. When he saw Harry looking at him, he suddenly switched to trying to swipe imaginary lint from his sleeves. Only Luna looked unperturbed.

Dean grabbed Ginny's hand to stop her from poking a hole through his chest. "Sorry, mate. I didn't know it was a secret."

Harry looked around, realization in his eyes. "I don't think it was." His gaze returned to Dean. "I was kind of... self-involved last year. I guess I kind of missed it, really."

Neville looked slightly green, and he gulped. "I know you're mad, Harry, but-"

"I'm not." Harry shook his head, still smiling. "Really, I promise. Look, that was what I was trying to write to you all about. I'd like to see all of you happy and safe. So, er, I actually am glad they admitted it."

Ginny flushed red, looking very much like Ron did when he was guilty. "But we didn't tell you. I am sorry about that."

Luna nodded. "I'm sure they planned to tell you at some point. But so much time has passed, I imagine they don't know how to bring it up anymore. I think that's why the Ministry refuses to talk about the Heliotropes."

Harry shook his head. "Er, yeah, Luna. I imagine that is why the Ministry isn't talking about Heliotropes. But I understand. I wouldn't have wanted to talk to me at the end of last year, either."

Dean tipped his head to one side, looking at Harry as though he were some new specimen in Care of Magical Creatures. "What do you mean? Seemed fine to me. And you were doing damn good in the DA, too."

Ginny looked up at her boyfriend. "Yeah, well, Harry was a little... er, intense... outside of class."

"I think Ron's phrase was 'right tosser,' Gin." Harry shrugged.

She wrinkled her nose prettily. "Ew. Not an image I needed."

"What do you... oh. Uh, I... Sorry." Harry attempted to Disillusion himself without a wand. Again, the rest of the compartment laughed, and conversation resumed.

* * *

The Express rattled into Hogsmead station as night fell, the gleaming scarlet engine and shining brass work wreathed in steam from the ancient boilers. Dozens of coach doors opened, and the mass of Hogwarts students spilled out of the train, their black robes billowing in the light fall breeze. Harry looked about the mass of students criss-crossing the platform, but didn't catch sight of either Ron or Hermione. Honestly, he wasn't really looking for Hermione; his extraordinarily tall and red-headed friend would be the person he'd be most likely to see in the middle of a crowd. At night. Blindfolded.

After several students had jostled him this way and that, Harry saw another of his distinctive looking friends parting the crowd. Hagrid's mountainous and shaggy form pressed through the much shorter students, a gaslight swinging from a pole in one giant hand. "Firs' years! Firs' years to me! Firs' years this way!"

Harry waved a hand over his head at Hagrid, and was rewarded by one of the caretaker's full-face smiles. Hagrid waved back briefly, then returned to rounding up the first year students to take them across the lake towards the castle proper. Harry shook his head as all the new students flocked towards the half-giant. Harry found it hard to believe he'd arrived here that short.

Finally, he gave up on trying to find his friends in the mass of students. Sighing heavily, he turned and headed for the carriages the older students rode to the castle. Harry had to surpress a shudder as he saw the emaciated, lizard-like, and winged horses that pulled the coaches. Fortunately, they were invisible to the other students; even if he hadn't last seen them the night his godfather had died, Harry would have been disturbed by their frankly horrible appearance.

Seamus Finnegan, a fellow Gryffindor sixth year, pulled even with Harry. Seamus was normally ginning broadly, as though perpetually amused by a joke only he heard. But tonight, he looked a little concerned as he called to Harry. "Oy, Harry! Wait up!"

Harry sighed again. He was sure this had to do with the problems he had experienced with Seamus the prior year. Instead, he was surprised when the stocky Irishman continued. "You know yer back at Hogwarts, mate?"

He had to smile at this. "Yeah. It's home to me."

Seamus gestured awkwardly. "Nah. I mean, yer back at school. Ya know, like ya can use magic 'n all, right?"

Harry stopped in front of one of the carriages to look Seamus full in the face. The lamps from the train were reflecting full off his round glasses, but his puzzled expression was easily visible. "Yes. I don't get it. Is there something I'm forgetting?"

"Naw. Just wanted to warn you." Seamus flinched, and stuffed his fingers in his ears.

"Petrificus Totalus!" The extremely familiar woman's voice rang out from behind Harry, and he suddenly found himself locked as stiff as a board. He couldn't turn his head at all, but he could see Seamus unplug his ears and look past him.

"Well," Seamus said as he backed away. "I thought that would be worse. Ta!"

Ron's face slid into view over Harry's right shoulder. He stood an easy head taller than Harry, and while petrified he had a hard time looking up to see his friend's face. Hermione stepped around Harry from the left. She spoke first, wand still out. "Hullo, Harry. Sorry about this."

Ron grinned guiltily. "Yeah, me too. Really." With that he hefted Harry around the waist and lugged him to the carriage. "Oy, mate! What, you carrying rocks in your pockets?"

Finally, Ron tossed Harry into the carriage. Then he and Hermione climbed aboard, and she sealed the door with a quick spell. The coach jerked into motion, and Harry tipped slightly toward the door. Ron and Hermione quickly leaned forward, and angled him so he was propped against the seat opposite them. Hermione straightened his robes, and reseated his glasses upon the bridge of his nose.

"There. All comfy?" Hermione tucked her wand away, and smiled smugly. "Good. We've got less than five minutes until we reach the castle."

Ron grinned. "Yep, and we figure locking you up solid is the only way to get you to listen to us. 'Cause I'm not going through the Feast with you being all quiet."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ron. This is more important than food. Harry," said earnestly. "You need to understand that we're your friends. Nothing is going to change that."

"Nope. You-Know-Who can toss off for all we care." Ron's attempt a a cavalier delivery was marred by his inability to say the word 'Voldemort.' Hermione rolled her eyes but Ron pressed on, ignoring her. "Listen mate, we can do things three ways here. One, you try to avoid us like you said you would. You hurt both our feelings by being a terrible friend, she cries a lot and I get mad. 'Course we're still your friends, and neither of us sleeps more than fifty feet from you, so you still won't be able to get away from us. Option two, you lie to us, say you'll give up on pushing us away, and try to be sneaky."

Hermione jumped in at this point. "You're terrible at being sneaky. I mean, Filtch can tell when you're lying, for heaven's sake. So if you try to run away from everyone who cares about you, you'll hurt our feelings, Ron will cry, I'll hex you, and we'll both be mad that actually lied to your best friends since you were eleven."

"Hey!" Ron looked a bit indignant at this, but he continued on smoothly. "Option three, you realize that nothing will separate us, you figure out that this summer you were a right prat, and you get to have the two best friends in the whole school at your side."

Hermione nodded, pulling her hair back and tying it at her nape. "Of course, nothing will change, since everyone already knows we're friends. It's not like avoiding you could make us any safer. So you might as well get Ron's sense of humor and my notes in History of Magic to go along with our constant presence, Harry."

Ron tugged at his ear, looking uncomfortable. "I guess... Well, what we're saying is we love you. And anyone wants to hurt our friend is going to have to get through us. And we already know you'd jump in front of arse all for us two. I mean, I wouldn't want to give that up for anything."

Hermione leaned in, her hair finally pulled back into a bushy tail. "But the real question, Harry, is would you?"

She pulled her wand out, and with a quiet "Finite Incantatem" Harry slackened and fell to the jostling floor of the carriage. He rubbed his back , eyes downcast. Finally he looked up. "I reckon not."

Hermione smiled widely, and leaned down to hug him forcefully. Ron tousled Harry's perpetually messy hair, and dragged him back up onto a seat. Hermione leaned out of the window and said, "Four minutes, thirty seconds. I told you, Ron; plenty of time."

* * *

Harry barely set foot through the heavy doors of the castle before Professor McGonagall descended upon him in a swirl of deep green robes and tartan trim. As though drawn along in her wake, Ginny Weasley followed in the vortex of the Head of Gryffindor's passing. The old witch pulled up short in front of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, looking down on them over her square framed glasses. "Mister Potter? I will need to see you and Miss Weasley in my office. If you would please wait there now?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged a worried glance before he spoke. "Yes, Professor."

With that, Harry and Ginny trudged up the second stairwell, headed for Professor McGonagall's office. Harry turned to her, and spoke softly. "Know what this is about?"

Ginny shook her head. "Not a clue. I just hope we don't miss the whole Welcoming Feast."

Harry grunted his response; he'd done just that before, and it was never a pleasant or auspicious start to the year. Upon reaching the door to the Professor's office, Harry leaned back against it and crossed his arms, waiting. Ginny paced the corridor. Both knew it would take Professor McGonagall some time to get to them; she traditionally officiated the Sorting Ceremony at the start of every feast. Realizing this, Harry jumped slightly. "Ginny! This means you're missing the Sorting Hat's song. I'm sorry."

For her part, Ginny rolled her eyes, and cocked her head. "In the first place, could you drop the martyr routine with me, please. Just because we're here, it's not automatically your fault."

"Oh," Harry said in a small voice. "Sorry-"

"Gaah!" Ginny waved her hands in the air. "Will you stop it with the apologizing!"

"So-" Harry's arms dropped to his sides as he thought about what he was saying. "Got it. No apologizing."

Ginny nodded. "Good."

"And the second place?" Harry cocked an eyebrow, cleaning his glasses on his grey school jumper.

"Pardon?"

"My, uh, 'martyr routine?'" He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. "You said that was 'in the first place,' which kind of suggests there was a second place, too."

"Oh, that." Ginny slumped against the limestone wall opposite Harry. "Yes, well, I'm not Hermione. She'd be upset to miss that manky old hat's poetry. Me, I think it's just a bit... icky."

"Ah." Harry smiled, and put his glasses back on. "Sorting Hat; icky. Got it."

Ginny cocked her head to one side, and eyed him speculatively. "Are you making some sort of list?"

Harry had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Sort of. Talking to Hermione and Ron, well, I guess I can't keep you all safe by staying away from you. So I figure, if you have to put up with me, maybe I ought to be a better friend."

Ginny looked for a moment as though she wasn't going to say anything, but then words burst out almost of their own volition. "Don't, Harry. Do me a favor, and don't try... too hard."

"What?" Harry looked stricken.

"No!" Ginny returned to pacing. "I'm not saying I don't want you as my friend. Just... don't try to be extra nice to me or anything."

Harry came off the wall with a thrust of his hips, crossing the corridor to halt Ginny in the middle of her pacing. He tipped her head up to face him, and stared at her intently, his eyes a deep shade of viridian. "I don't know what I said to upset you. And I know you told me not to do this, but I am sorry. I am. I just don't know why." The question was left unspoken.

Ginny stepped backward quickly. "You didn't say anything to upset me, Harry. Don't be ridiculous."

His voice deepened in his disbelief. "Ginny..."

She snapped back at him, "Don't do that!"

Harry started to speak, and she waved him to silence. "Fine. Okay. So here's the thing, Harry. You've always been awfully... intense. Every thing's always at full volume, every thing's all passionate commitment with you. It- It's kind of... I can deal with that if you're Ron's best friend. You can whirl in all brooding and deep, and it's fine, I suppose, if Ron and Hermione get the full brunt of it. Of you, really.

"Please don't focus on me like that, Harry. You get concerned sometimes, and I don't know how Hermione doesn't... melt... when you look at her like that. Like you're looking at me right now. Damn it, you even do it to Ron; you get so... I don't know... there. You get so there that he faces down giant spiders and steals cars just being near you. It's like Tom, sometimes. So...intense."

"Tom?" Harry stumbled. "I remind you of Voldemort..."

"No!" Ginny was flushed, even shaking slightly. Harry fancied it might be fear of him, and his chest constricted. She continued. "No, you don't remind me of him, Harry. It's just, he was intense like that. Like you. And I felt- I was really, really lost when he- when I met him. Look, I really like Dean. He's nice, he makes me laugh. He focuses on me a lot, and I like it. I like it, and I- I don't feel like I'm losing myself when he does. Do you understand?"

"No." It was Harry's turn to tremble slightly. He took up looking at a statue across the hall. "But I promise I won't focus on you."

"Harry-"

Whatever Ginny was going to say was interrupted by Professor McGonagall's arrival. She strode to the door of her office, gave it the pass phrase ("Nocis Vocis Remandant") and bustled inside. The two teens followed along behind her, and settled into the chairs facing her desk. Once everyone was situated, Professor McGonagall steepled her hands and gazed intently at the both.

"I imagine you both know what this is about." Her brogue was exceptionally thick, a sure sign she was emotionally involved.

Harry and Ginny exchanged nervous glances. He shook his head mutely, while Ginny answered with a demure, "No, ma'am."

"You two," and McGonagall paused here to give the teens an uncomfortable stare, "have left me in a terrible spot. This is an unfortunate matter, to be sure, but if you both behave maturely, I think things will work out for the best in the end."

"No!" Harry's green eyes widened in a rising panic. "Um, Professor McGonagall, you have it all wrong. I don't know what you heard in the corridor, actually I don't know what I heard, really. But I think you might have the wrong impression. Really, really the wrong impression!"

The old professor eyed him shrewdly. "I didn't think the two of you were discussing this year's Gryffindor Quidditch team."

His brows collided in confusion, and he sat back in his chair. "Quidditch?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter." The head of Gryffindor house pursed her lips to quell a rogue smile, and cocked an eyebrow at her sixth year. "What, may I ask, did you think I was talking about."

Harry's mouth hung open as he tried to formulate a response. Ginny surreptitiously trod on his toes beneath the desk and answered for him. "Oh, Quidditch. Harry wrote me a letter this summer about the team, and I think he is under the impression he's not on it this year. Professor."

"That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you both about." Professor McGonagall smiled tightly. "Mister Potter, I have spoken to the Headmaster, and your... unreasonable suspension from last year has been lifted. I expect you'll be pleased to see your broom has been returned to your dormitory?"

Harry smiled wistfully. "Thank you, Professor. But Gryffindor already has a seeker, and-"

Ginny forwent stepping on his toes, and brazenly cuffed him on the arm. "Prat! I'll have you know I'd rather play Chaser than Seeker, thank you for asking!"

"Miss Weasley!" McGonagall scolded her. "I'll ask you not to batter Mister Potter... unless of course you also want to try out as a Beater?"

"Um, no, Professor." Ginny flushed abashedly. "It's just-"

"Hang on a moment!" Harry interrupted, sounding upset. "I can't play on the Quidditch team!"

McGonagall fixed him with a penetrating stare. "As I said, you are no longer banned from playing. I've seen your class schedule, such as it is, and I imagine you should have plenty of free time in which to practice."

"It's just..." Harry cast around for the words to use. Sitting in his head of House's office in a plush damask armchair made the very sentiment he felt seem unreal. "With Voldemort back, ma'am, and with everything going on with the Ministry, shouldn't I be preparing? For all that, I mean."

Professor McGonagall looked as though she'd eaten something bitter. She tapped her fingers on the desktop as she thought, her bright eyes never leaving Harry's face. At last she spoke. "Did it never occur to you that hours of strenuous Quidditch practices might well serve as excellent preparation? For anything?"

Harry started to answer, but McGonagall continued. "In addition, I should not have to tell you how much the Quidditch Cup means to us all. I, and your fellow Gryffindors, would hate to hand the Cup over to Professor Snape."

"Well..." Harry looked torn.

Ginny stood, and pulled him to his feet by the sleeve of his robe. "It's all set, then. Harry's back in as Seeker and I'll move to Chaser. Thank you Professor McGonagall!"

With that, the shortest of the Weasleys turned and steered him out of the door. Once in the hall, she turned and closed the door behind them.

Harry glared at her. "Why do I have a suspicion you orchestrated that?"

"I've no idea." Ginny smiled innocently and headed off towards the Great Hall. Harry only managed to catch up to her as they reached the double doors to the hall.

Harry crossed to the Gryffindor table, and bent to catch Neville's ear. "Did anyone tell Ron and Hermione I know about them?"

Neville looked horrified. "No. Oh, I should have told them, but what with the sorting, and the feast, I-"

"Good." Harry smiled broadly. "I'm glad they don't know."

Neville looked perplexed. "Why?"

"Just because I'm happy for them," Harry smirked, "doesn't mean I can't have some fun with them first."

The look of horror returned to Neville's open face. "What are you going to do?"

"Just let anyone who wants to see the show know." Harry slid onto the bench next to Neville. "Gryffindor common room, right after the feast."

* * *

After the Welcoming Feast, the whole of Gryffindor tower seemed to be running through the common room as Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped through the passage. Their classmates were still catching up, while Ginny and Colin lectured the Firsties about House rules. Harry glanced around the tapestry laden room, nearly full to bursting. He grinned, then quickly wiped the expression off his face. Putting on a look of urgency and nervousness, he caught his friends by their elbows, and pulled them towards one of the already occupied divans. Looking down and seeing all the seats occupied, Harry stopped them here as though he couldn't find a place for them to sit.

Seeing his friends' concerned faces almost drew a laugh, but Harry repressed it, and spoke urgently. "Um, Ron? After you got my letter, did you, you know... Did you ask Hermione out?"

The reaction was instant. Hermione flushed, and suddenly found the pattern of the worn Persian underfoot to be utterly fascinating. Ron blushed as well, and his mobile features went through four or five half-formed expressions as he tried to find words. His voice broke slightly. "After I got your letter? Uh, well, no, not exactly..."

"Thank God." Harry clapped a heavy hand on his friend's shoulder and sank slightly as he let out a breath. Hermione froze, then slowly looked up, eyes wide. At least half the tower slowed in their bustling, observing the drama unfolding near the fireplace.

Ron's flush, however, deepened a few shades. His dark eyes narrowed. "Thank God?"

"I'm so sorry, Ron." Harry's green eyes danced. "I don't know what I was thinking when I wrote that. And I'm really glad you weren't joking when last year when you said you weren't interested in her.

Ron froze, and Hermione's head snapped over to look at him. Harry continued on, seemingly oblivious. "I know last May you said you were taking Lavender out on the sly. I don't know why I tried to change your mind."

Ron's mouth hung open, and he looked green. He was caught between staring in horror as Harry continued speaking, and looking at Hermione's ill-disguised and rapidly building fury. Harry couldn't hold himself together too much longer, so he decided to deliver the coup d' grace. He dropped his hand from Ron's shoulder, and turned to Hermione. Sweeping one of her hands up in his own, he captured her attention and pulled her towards his chest. "Hermione. I was so worried I'd be too late. Too late to tell you how much I love you. How much I've always loved you. This summer, staying away from you, it was torturous. I could sooner pluck out my still beating heart. Please, please tell me you feel some part of what I feel for you?"

Harry held his brilliant green eyes wide, trying desperately to look earnest. For her part, Hermione was absolutely transparent. She swayed wavering between horror, stark raving terror, mortification, flattered embarrassment, and utter anger. Over Harry's shoulder, Ron was less complicated. He looked ready to rescind Harry's title of 'The Boy Who Lived.'

"Gnngh." It was all Hermione could get out, and it killed Gryffindor tower. Neville, Ginny, Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Parvati, Collin, and Dennis all disintegrated into great whooping gales of laughter. Ginny's face was redder than her hair, and she stood, shoulder's heaving, face raised, laughing so hard she was soundless. Neville was bent forward, making a great deal of noise. Dean and Seamus held each other up.

Face bright and shiny with tears, Seamus howled across the tower. "Harry-bloody-Potter! Slayer of basilisks and boyfriends!"

Ashen, Ron and Hermione turned back from the collected mirth of the occupants of their House to see Harry slumped against the couch, laughing uncontrollably. He gasped from between his tears and giggles. "I'm sorry. I know- I know- I know. I... couldn't... resist!"

Ron struggled mightily, jaw working as his face built back up to a burning pink. "A practical joke?" Finally he collapsed to the floor, slapping Harry's legs as he surrendered to laughter. "You bloody arse! You had me! I was- I was- Hah!"

Harry dragged Ron up by one long arm. Through his laughter, he got a word out. "Lavender?"

Ron grabbed Harry's throat in jest, still laughing. "Bloody funny! My girlfriend is over here planning my future as a throw rug! Ha Ha, you prat!"

Harry and Ron staggered toward the stairs to their dormitory. Harry tried to continue, pushing his glasses up so he could wipe his streaming eyes. "'Pluck out my heart!'"

"Remind me to cuff you for getting all poetry-like with Hermy. On second thought..." Ron pulled back long enough to slap the back of Harry's head, then grabbed him about the shoulders, and they made their way up the stairs.

Hermione shook herself, seeming to come back to life. She spun, bushy hair swirling about her shoulders as she shouted shakily after the pair. "That wasn't funny!"

By now, most of the other students were going back to the tasks of settling in, but a number were still laughing. Those still listening laughed even harder at this. She stamped a foot, trembling slightly. "Drat it! That wasn't funny! You two, get back here!"

The upstairs door clicked shut. Hermione called out, her voice fading. "Harry? Ron? Come here? That wasn't very bloody funny."

Finally Ginny detached herself from Dean with a kiss, and swept across the common room. She took one of Hermione's arms as Lavender took the other, and they escorted the shell-shocked Prefect upstairs to have a bit of a lie-in.

* * *

-->

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."

* * *

-->

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."

* * *

-->

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

Two weeks later Hermione and Ron sat at one desk in the front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Harry sharing a desk next to them with Susan Bones. Professor Lupin had spent September and the first half on October reviewing the previous five years worth of material, and was just now moving on to cover all new territory in this advanced course. Currently, he was leaning up against the table at the head of the classroom, threadbare robes pulled back and hands tucked into a dusty cardigan. Arrayed across the table behind him were various items; mouldering books, mirrors, ornate necklaces, and even, horrifically, a severed mummy's hand.

"So then," Lupin began, looking out over the classroom. "Over the last five years, you've studied Dark Creatures and Dark Spells. Would anyone like to venture a guess at what we'll be looking at next?"

Unsurprisingly, Hermione's hand was the first into the air. Lupin smiled indulgently, and called on her to answer. "Dark Objects, or items that have been enchanted or cursed to do Dark acts on their own."

"Correct, and five points to Gryffindor." Professor Lupin extracted his hands from his pockets, and clasped them together. "Now, does anyone know of any Dark objects?"

Oddly enough, Ron's hand shot up alongside his girlfriend's. "Yes, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron cleared his throat before speaking. "A lot of the old Egyptian wizards used to use cursed objects to protect tombs. Either Dark objects as cover stones and the like, so you'd get hit when you opened the chamber, or cursed trinkets scattered about with the treasure, so that robbers would pick them up and get hit."

"Excellent! Not just the items, but their uses, hmm? Ten points to Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley." Hermione beamed proudly at Ron, and sighed lightly. Lupin continued. "So we have Egyptian objects. Anyone know any others?"

Harry raised his hand, and Lupin nodded at him. "Portkeys can be Dark, sir."

The class went dead silent, and Harry could hear Hermione's sharp intake of breath to his left. After the Quibbler article last year, the entire student body knew that Voldemort had used a Portkey to abduct Harry and Cedric Diggory, and trap them far from help. No one other than Hermione had, however, actually heard him speak about it.

"Portkeys can be used as traps by Dark Wizards, true. But then, pretty much everything we teach you all about can be misused by Dark Wizards. A little later in the course, we're going to cover innocuous magics, and how they can be abused."

Remus leaned back to pick up a tarnished silver mirror, and held it up for the class to look at. "For now, let's focus on those objects whose enchantments can only be used for ill. For example, this is a Morgraine's Mirror. Does anyone recognize the name?"

As one, the class shook their heads. Ron and Harry looked over at Hermione, but she merely shrugged. Harry noted that their Professor had the mirror pointed oddly at the ceiling. At the lack of recognition, Professor Lupin continued. "Prior to the Dementor Treaties, these mirrors were used to help incarcerate wizarding prisoners. As long as the looking glass is facing a wizard, it temporarily saps them of their ability to use magic."

The class shivered at this, and Lupin smiled ruefully. "Yes, a pretty awful thing, isn't it?"

But Hermione's hand had shot back up into the air, and when the teacher called upon her, she had a question already. "But why is that a Dark object, specifically? You said it was temporary, and if it doesn't hurt you, why is it different than a Weasley Wizard Wheeze?"

Ron made a strangled sound at this, and looked at Hermione as though she'd gone mad. But Lupin nodded. "Excellent question, Hermione. How about a comparison to something more familiar. You all know dozens of spells that could cause someone pain. Why then is the Cruciatus Curse unforgivable? Does anyone know how it works?"

Harry answered without raising his hand. "You have to want to cause pain."

"Yes." Remus pointed at him. "You have to want, with all your will, to torture someone. Cruciatus works by focusing malicious cruelty at a victim. And that is why it is an Unforgivable. Accidental, or even incidental infliction of pain can be understood, or at the very least forgiven. But deliberately learning to embrace causing the absolute agony of others without the least doubt in your mind, that is what is Unforgivable."

Hermione's hazel eyes narrowed in thought, and she spoke almost to herself. "So the real dividing line between right and wrong, between acceptable and Dark, isn't action, but intent."

"And a Mirror of Morgraine is intended to subject one wizard to another." Lupin shook a finger at Hermione. "It's intent is to control, to subjugate. And it works by sucking the power, the magic, out of its' victim."

Ron's lip curled as he pondered the implications of this. "So you mean to say, that little bauble has the intentions of an Imperious Curse, and the methods of a Dementor?" His voice went up on the last few words.

Lupin nodded grimly. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

Neville jumped in at this. "And the Ministry of Magic used these things?"

Lupin leaned back upon the table. "They still use Dementors, Mister Longbottom, and those are far worse. I'm afraid that the older you get, the more you will come to find that governments are all too willing to sacrifice principle for expediency, whenever the chips are down."

He pushed away from the table, put his hands into his pockets, and began pacing around the room. "But before I instigate a second S.P.E.W. campaign, let's also remember that these are the kind of Dark object I can safely show you all in class. These are controlled, not forbidden items. We will study just what is out there, but much of it is far too dangerous to bring onto Hogwarts grounds. The Mirror is pretty awful, but it was meant to counter much worse.

"Now, turn to page seventy-three in your texts, and we'll take a look at some of the 'worse,' shall we?"

And with that, twenty books opened, and pages ruffled to find the assigned reading.

* * *

Later that morning Harry, Ron, and Hermione tromped down the stairs into the entrance hall. Defense had just let out, and Harry had decided to walk them out to Care of Magical Creatures. He didn't have that class this year, and his odd schedule was blank at this hour. But he figured he could greet Hagrid, and spend some time outdoors. He needed to work on carving a couple of figures for Artifaction, and didn't want to do his work cooped up in the library if he didn't have to.

They pushed open the oaken the rear doors, and passed the clock tower as they walked through the southern courtyard. Hermione had forgone her oversized bags of previous years, and only had a small messenger's bag with her as she lead the way. "I still think the difference between a Dark artifact and a legitimate one is awfully fuzzy. I mean, it isn't really something you can codify."

Harry remained mum. Ron, however, jumped into the fray. "I dunno, Hermione. It seemed pretty easy to look at an artifact and figure out if it was Dark."

She shook her head at this. "But what are the rules for figuring it out!"

Ron shrugged. "I guess the only thing I can think of is that I'd know one if I saw it."

Hermione pulled the satchel closer. "Seems a frightful way to define something that's illegal."

"If it works, it works," was Ron's response.

"Yes," answered Hermione, looking worried. "If it works."

"Er, 'Mione?" Ron tapped her arm, and pointed down the slope towards Hagrid's hut. "Do I have a cousin I don't know about, or something?"

Hermione turned to look at Ron, ignoring his pointing. "Honestly, how would I know that?"

He shrugged. "You know everything."

Harry, however, had followed Ron's outstretched finger. Down by the pumpkin patch next to the rude hut stood a figure, dwarfed by Hagrid's immense bulk. The brilliant red hair, and fiery red jacket were a dead giveaway; it was Morgan. Harry groaned, and slapped his forehead.

Hermione spun to face him so rapidly, her hair whipped about her face. "Harry! Is your scar hurting?"

"No." Harry gestured toward his muggle guardian. "Just my pride."

"You know her?" Ron cocked his head at Harry, clearly expecting an answer. He was disappointed; Harry headed off down the hill towards Morgan, looking for answers of his own.

"'Arry, Ron, 'Ermione!" Hagrid saw them scampering towards his hut, and waved them down. "I was just inviting Miss Aedernmas in for a cuppa and kettle cakes. You three can come in, and tell me why I 'aven't heard abou' you gettin' a social worker."

Ron tuned to Harry, puzzlement stamped on his features. "A social what?"

Hermione grimaced in sudden understanding, and leaned in towards the dark-haired boy so that only he could hear. Taking Harry's arm gently, she whispered, "Do you want us to leave?"

Harry shook his head 'no,' and lead the way into Hagrid's hut. Everyone followed along in his wake including Fang, Hagrid's boar hound. Once the door was shut tight, Harry moved away from Hermione and rounded on the social worker. "What are you doing here?"

Morgan hadn't heard Hermione's whisper, so she gestured around at the other occupants of the room. "Would you rather talk about this privately?"

He threw his arms up in sudden exasperation. "Might as well get it all done with at once. What are you doing at Hogwarts?"

"I'm your social worker, Harry," Morgan answered simply. "I'll be checking up on you regularly to make sure things are going well. I thought you understood that when we removed the Dursley's as your guardians."

Ron turned to look at Harry. "You got away from the Dursley's?"

"No, I still have to stay there. Ms. Aedernmas just comes by to make sure I get fed regularly." Harry turned back to Morgan. "And I know you're checking up on me when I'm living with the Dursley's. But that doesn't explain why you're here."

"Fed regularly?" Hermione looked pale, her hazel eyes worried. "Is that why you're always asking us to send you food over the summer? Oh, I thought-"

"Don't look at me like that, Hermione." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I'm fine, really."

"Obviously," Morgan interjected dryly. "That's why you have a social worker; because things have been going oh-so-well."

"Wait just a moment here!" Hagrid dropped into his hugely over sized chair. "Harry, why didn't you tell anyone abou' this?"

"Because I'm fine, Hagrid. Really." He held up a hand to forestall any more questions from the half-giant. "I still want to know why you're here, Ms. Aedernmas."

"Obviously, I'm checking up on your treatment here as well." Morgan planted her hands on her hips, and harrumphed. "Or have you forgotten it was your headmaster who abandoned you to those... to the Dursley's."

"He would not!" Hagrid bolted to his feet, jostling the cured hams and pots dangling from the ceiling. "Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard who ever lived!"

Hermione moved over to Harry and set lightly upon the edge of the window seat next to him. "But the Headmaster was the one who put Harry with the Dursley's, wasn't he Hagrid?"

"And he knew it was an inappropriate environment for a young boy," Morgan ground out, her voice sharp as cut glass. "Since he kept Obliterating all the social workers who went there to help."

"Obliviating, you mean." Harry corrected her misstep without thinking.

"Obliviating?" Ron looked horrified.

Hagrid's thick brows and bushy beard contracted so intensely, his beetle-black eyes were nearly obscured. He seemed at a loss as to where to put his hands. "He did that, did he?"

Harry flinched. "It sounds worse than it is..."

Hagrid pulled his moleskin overcoat off the table, and tossed it across one tree-trunk sized arm. He spoke under his breath before heading for the door. "'Scuse me a minute. I need to go talk to a wizard about summat."

Hagrid stumped up the hill, calling out abruptly to his Advanced Care of Magical Creatures class that it was cancelled for today. Harry and Ron exchanged horrified glances.

Harry spoke first. "This can't be good."

Ron frowned sarcastically. "You think?"

"I think it actually could be a good thing," Hermione said in a soft, strong voice.

"How?" Harry dropped into Hagrid's recently vacated seat by the window. Fang made a low, muffled sound between a moan and a whine, and settled his drooling chin upon Harry's knees. "I don't want Hagrid to get in trouble with Dumbledore because of me."

"Harry." Hermione smiled softly at him, torn between sadness and mirth. She patted his shoulder comfortingly. "I think Dumbledore is the one in trouble with Hagrid. And that seems like a good thing."

Ron snorted. "How do you reckon?"

"If I ever make a mistake," Hermione answered from her window sill perch. "I'd hope my friends would tell me about it, Ron."

"But this is, like, Dumbledore!" Ron looked shocked and worried. "He can't make mistakes! He's... Dumbledore!"

"Of course he can." Harry shrugged. "He just makes bigger, more impressive mistakes."

Morgan folded her arms and set her jaw. "This is a bit of a somber conversation for three sixteen-year olds, don't you think?"

"Welcome to Hogwarts." Ron smiled at her. "If it's not life or death, it's not time for classes yet."

"Sorry." Hermione interrupted, gesturing to herself and her boyfriend. "Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley."

"I recognized you from Harry's description." Morgan smiled back. "Morgan Aedernmas, and delighted to meet you both."

"'Harry's description,' you say?" Hermione's eyes narrowed, and she sketched a none-to-threatening glare at the dark haired boy. She shook his sleeve playfully. "I'd love to hear 'Harry's description' sometime."

"Very positive, I assure you," said Morgan with a laugh.

"I'm sure," Hermione drawled.

"Oh, c'mon 'Mione." Ron laughed openly. "How are you afraid Harry described you? Bushy hair, or walking encyclopedia?"

Harry winced at this, and Hermione gathered herself up, lips tightening. As he awaited the inevitable explosion, Morgan smoothly stepped in. "I think it was more along the lines of 'thick, pretty hair,' and 'really brilliant,' actually."

Harry noticed Hermione's hackles relax at this, and the tension left her slight frame. He relaxed, thankful that her explosion, however understandable, had been cut off at the pass.

His relief was short lived. Ron went red to his ears. "What? You're talking about my girlfriend as pretty?"

"What Ron?" Hermione's temper flared to life in an instant. "I'm not, am I? Not pretty, I mean. Not more interesting than an encyclopedia!"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it!" Ron glared at her, crossing his arms stubbornly.

Just as she opened her mouth to fire off a stinging retort, Harry grabbed her hand and squeezed gently. He addressed Ron, however. "Ron, I know that what Hermione said isn't what you were trying to say. But what came out sounded... pretty bad. Maybe you-"

"Maybe I what?" Ron snapped. "I got a better idea. Maybe you should butt out of conversations that don't concern you."

With that, Ron turned and stormed out of Hagrid's hut and marched grimly up toward the castle. The door swung crazily behind him. Harry, Morgan, and Hermione stared at each other in silence. Hermione broke the silence first. "Typical! He insults us both, then disappears before either of us get to say anything about it!"

"Oh, I think everyone argued enough for one day." Harry grinned weakly. "I just hope he gets over it soon. I'd like to spend time with my friends without yelling sometime soon."

"Hmm. Yes." Hermione sat still, thinking.

Morgan cleared her throat, clearly a little uncomfortable. "So Harry... You didn't tell me your two friends were dating."

"We weren't." Hermione looked across Harry at Morgan, smiling wanly. "Or at least, Harry didn't know it yet."

"Ah. Well, when you came in, I thought you two were the, well, you know..." Morgan gestured down at Harry and Hermione's hands, which were still touching, forgotten. At this the two teens blushed, and their hands jumped back to their laps. Morgan laughed. "Sorry, my mistake."

"I'm very sorry you had to be here for this." Hermione spoke without quite meeting the social worker's gaze. "Ron's just very difficult sometimes."

Harry shrugged. "You're not exactly catching us at our best."

"I'll bet." Morgan moved toward the door, then turned and came back to Harry. Pulling a box out of her pocket, she handed it to the teenager. "Before I forget, Happy Birthday."

Harry blinked in wonder, holding the box in front of his face. "It's not my birthday."

Morgan smiled. "Then think of it as a thank you for saving me from getting zapped."

Harry unwrapped the box, and stared in surprise. He found a the white cardboard box, decorated with text and swooping primary colours. With no idea what he was looking at, he merely looked up at Morgan and smiled. "Thank you. It's, er, very nice."

She blinked at him. "No idea what they are, huh?"

"They?" So there was more than one something inside. He opened the box, and found a number of smaller, similarly decorated boxes inside. "Er, sorry, no."

"Contacts, Harry." At his continued blank look, Morgan smiled and squatted down to help him open the smaller boxes. "They're contact lenses, to replace your glasses. You told me you played sports here, and these are supposed to be loads better than glasses for that sort of thing."

Harry looked up from the package in frank wonder. In his head, he was picturing flying flying high over the crowded stands, with no glasses to get wet or broken. "Brilliant! I can't wait 'til our first game!"

"Actually, you shouldn't wait 'til your first game, Harry," Hermione said from the window ledge. "You'll need to give your eyes time to adjust to the lenses, so you should wear the contacts for several weeks before you try competing with them in."

Morgan and Harry stared at her for a few beats. Visibly uncomfortable, Hermione continued. "What? Just because I don't need contacts doesn't mean I'm unfamiliar with them."

Morgan hid a smile, but Harry smiled openly. "I'm not surprised you know all about them."

Morgan straightened, her knees popping audibly. "And I'm off to the castle. I need to interrogate your teachers, you know."

Harry's smile faded. "Do you have to?"

"Yes." Morgan reached the door. "And I got zapped repeatedly in order to be able to do my job, so you just say thank you and leave it at that."

She waited at the door, until finally Harry swallowed. "Thank you, I guess."

Morgan laughed, and waggled a finger at the two teens. "That'll have to do. Now, why don't you two go and patch things up with your friend, hmm?"

They watched her head away from the hut and towards the castle. After a little while, they got up to follow along. Harry pet Fang for a moment, and tossed the giant dog one of Hagrid's rock cakes for a snack. Fang caught it, engulfing it with his enormous jowls. A couple of experimental chews later, the giant dog spat the cake onto the hardwood floor with a heavy 'thunk.' Fang slid to the ground, disgruntled, and grunted his displeasure. Hermione laughed, and passed the dog some kitty treats from her backpack.

They left the hut, and Hermione turned to Harry. "Does sort of make you wonder what he eats, with Hagrid cooking."

"Probably has an iron stomach by now." Harry shouldered his bag. "Or he knows the house elves."

"Hmm." Hermione let the house elf comment pass. As the only wizard she knew who managed to free a house elf, and make them happy about it, Harry had a certain leeway on this topic that others didn't. Still, house elves made her think of arguments. Arguments made her think of Ron. This brought her back to something that had been bothering her for a while. "Harry, do you think Ron and I argue a lot."

Harry snorted, and turned with a smile to toss back a friendly gibe. When he saw the serious expression clouding her features, he came up short. "Seriously?"

"Yes." They kept moving toward the castle, but walked slower now, in order to make time to finish this conversation.

Harry knew his answer instantly, but he took a long time finding words to express it. "You both fight with each other an awful lot. But I think it's kind of okay, still."

She furrowed her brow at this. "How is having shouting matches with your boyfriend a good thing, exactly?"

He didn't have a lot of words to describe this. "Well, look at his parents."

"I don't see what they have to do with Ron and I, Harry."

"They're like the opposite of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, really." Harry tried working it through in his head. It was a thought he'd had before, but hadn't ever been able to verbalize, really. "My Aunt and Uncle are always polite. Civil. And they never show any love, ever. No hugs, or kisses, or anything. Well, Mrs. Weasley sort of yells at Mr Weasley and tells him what to do all the time. But she loves him, and takes care of him, and I know they're really in love. So maybe love is all about caring enough to fight and make up about it."

"'Holy Cricket!" Hermione looked absolutely aghast. She froze in spot on the path. "Ron wants me to be... his mother! Oh, no. No, I don't think so!"

Harry wasn't sure he was saying this clearly. It was still such a muddled concept even in his own head. "It isn't a bad thing, Hermione. I mean look, they really, really love each other, so it's like-"

"'No, Harry, I assure you it's plenty awful." Hermione shuddered. "I don't care if she is nice, I don't want to be a fifty year old housewife, thank you very much. Nor do I want to mother Ron."

"Well," Harry shrugged. "You do tell him to do his homework, and chew with his mouth closed, and- what?"

Hermione gaped. "I'm not like that, am I? I'm not really... you know."

"No, of course not," Harry answered reassuringly. "No mothering. More, I don't know. Supportive girlfriend. That's good, right?"

"Oh dear," was all Hermione could manage for a moment. She sighed and continued up towards Hogwarts Castle. "This will be be quite a fight, won't it?"

"What do you mean?" Harry was utterly lost.

She looked sidelong at him. "I'm nipping this disturbing little Oedipal issue in the bud. And I can't imagine Ron will be please when I tell him I don't want to be his mother."

"Ah." Harry was wide-eyed. "Right. Uh, Hermione, could you have that conversation with him when I'm not around?"

She laughed humourlessly. "I imagine I'll have that conversation someplace I can put a Silencing Charm around."

They walked in companionable silence for a while. Eventually, Hermione spoke up again. "It's odd, really. I guess I was expecting a relationship more like my parents have."

Harry gestured for her to continue. He'd only seen her parents at a distance on a scant handful of occasions, and didn't know how to respond. Fortunately the ambiguous wave was sufficient, for she continued. "They're both dentists, you know. Professionals. They definitely love each other, and like to spend time together. But they, I don't know... They don't have big, blazing rows about things. They talk to each other."

Harry smiled. "Well, you're not your parents, any more than Ron's his."

"Yes, but they..." She snapped her fingers, a clarity appearing in her deep brown eyes. "They respect each other! That's what it is. The wouldn't have these rows because they respect each other too much."

Harry blinked, startled. "You don't respect Ron?"

"Of course I do," Hermione snapped.

He grimaced. "So it's all his fault then?"

Hermione looked furious, and bunched up to start arguing with Harry. Seeing his sad, concerned look drained the combativeness from her. She thought about what he said. "I respect him, I do. And I know he respects me."

"You just don't do a good job of showing it when you two throw a row," Harry finished up.

She sighed again. "Well, it'll give me something to think about, I guess."

"I guess." Harry smiled slightly.

Hermione glanced at him sidelong. "And what about you, Harry?"

His bottle green eyes squinted behind his round-lensed glasses. "What about me?"

She answered patiently. "Do you think you'll act like your role models whenever you find a girl?"

Harry 's perplexed expression didn't change. "'Mione, I've never met my parents. There's no way I could act-"

"Not your parents." She explained her question like she explained homework. "Your Aunt and Uncle."

Harry's head jerked back. "Not a chance in hell."

Hermione peered at him dubiously. "Harry, you did say that your Uncle was polite, but emotionally distant."

He stopped walking for a moment, then kept going. "Do you think I'm like that? Like him, I mean?"

"No." Hermione laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "But I do think you aren't comfortable expressing how you feel."

Harry blinked a few times, rapidly. He didn't think he had a problem expressing himself. Certainly he had no problem yelling when he was angry. And he stood up to people like Umbridge or Malfoy easily enough. But what about everything else. A thought occurred to him, and he spoke it without thinking. "My letters to you and Ron, and Ginny, and Luna... That really was the first time I've told you all what you mean to me."

Hermione nodded. "And that was your attempt to get us all to stay away from you."

Harry shuddered. "I don't want to be anything like the Dursleys."

She smiled gently. "Then don't be. I imagine that if you can conjure a Patronus at thirteen, you can say 'I love you' by sixteen."

Harry looked more pale than usual. "I don't think I'm at all ready to find someone to say 'I love you' to, Hermione."

She took him by the arm, and headed for the front entrance. "No one ever is, Harry. You just do it anyway."

He looked at her with wide, green eyes. "I think I was less scared of the Dementors."

"Okay, well that's no good," she laughed. "Why don't you start off small."

"Small?" This sounded much better to him. How small could he get away with?

"Yes, small." She steered him up the steps, and across the courtyard. "Try telling your friends how you feel about them. Tell Ron, for example."

"Ron?" Harry grinned. That sounded easy enough. He could just say 'you know you're, like, my best mate, right?' Then they'd hit each other on the arm, and the whole stomach knotting emotion-thing would be over.

"Yes." She glared at him, almost as though reading his mind. "But no gruff little boy pushing matches. Try using some words, Harry."

"Ah." Maybe this wasn't that small a task after all. Ron was definitely going to be laughing at him. A lot.

She started up the stairs toward the Gryffindor tower. "And while we look for him, you can tell me about the part of this summer where you saved a social worker from getting zapped. It wasn't in your letters, Harry."

He shuffled a hand through his hair absentmindedly. "It's almost a funny story..."

* * *

Harry tromped down the staircase toward the Great Hall by himself some minutes later. After smoothing over some ruffled feathers from their earlier argument, Ron and Hermione were settling in to what she called a long 'serious and mature discussion about their relationship.' Harry noticed she wanted to have it in a deserted classroom with silencing spells on the door. Having learned at a young age how to stay alive in dangerous circumstances, Harry promptly fled. He didn't have the time to head back outdoors before his next class, so he instead opted to get a spot of work done in the library.

Taking Hermione's advice, he was now trying out a pair of Morgan's contacts. It was truly an odd set of sensations. Although he'd never noticed before, Harry was accustomed to looking at a world bordered by the fuzzy circle of his frames. This was gone now, as was the slight weight at the bridge of his nose. It felt odd, but the absence of a few grams of weight seemed to make his head lighter. Less comforting was the way in which the world seemed to get ever so slightly fuzzy now whenever he blinked.

In less than fifteen minutes, he'd poked himself in the face on no less than three occasions. He kept trying to push glasses that were no longer there back up his nose. Hermione had been right; it was going to take some time to get used to this. But once he did, Harry planned on giving the Slytherin Quidditch team what for.

The library had a few high Gothic windows, but the towering mahogany shelves blocked the light so effectively that even by midmorning Madam Pince had the torches lit. Few students were here to study at this hour, with most of the school in classes or enjoying the last of the comfortable weather. But to one side of the stacks, Harry saw a fall of red hair next to blond and realized he knew at least two of the occupants. Harry dropped his bag onto the table opposite Ginny and Luna, and pulled his carving set out as he smiled a greeting at them.

Ginny didn't look up from the scroll she was writing for Charms. "Where are they; snogging or fighting?"

Harry paused for a moment to parse the question. It took him a moment to realize she was asking about Hermione and her brother, but when he did, he laughed. "Fighting, I think. I left as fast as I could."

Ginny looked up at Harry and froze, eyes wide. She worried her lower lip with one eyetooth. "Oh."

Harry smiled warmly, and patted her hand gently. "I wouldn't worry. I think they're actually getting better at it."

She blinked slowly, staring at him as he laughed. He sobered up a little, and resumed getting his Artifaction project ready. Obviously, he thought, she didn't find any humor in Ron and Hermione's endless feuding. "Not that I find their fights funny, or anything. Because I don't. Find them funny, I mean."

She continued to stare at him oddly. Finally, she bowed her head to stare at her scroll, and tapped it with her raven feather quill. "I'm working on my essay here."

Harry jumped slightly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt." He bent his head to his carving, and got to work.

"You didn't interrupt!" Ginny blurted. Harry looked back up, finding her still staring at her essay. She wasn't writing, but she wasn't looking at him either. He turned to look at Luna. The younger Ravenclaw was idly examining the bindings of a few reference tomes, and paying no obvious attention to the conversation.

Seeing that Luna would be no help, Harry turned back to Ginny. He ducked his head sideways to try to catch her eye. "Ginny, look at me please?"

Ginny looked up for a moment, then scrabbled out of her chair. Dumping her essay into her bag, she hurried out of the library. Harry called out to her once as she ran off. The only response was a whispered 'hush, Mister Potter' from Madam Pince.

Harry turned in his seat back to Luna. "That was weird."

Luna hummed ambivalently, and set aside one book to examine the bindings of another.

He continued talking, not expecting much of a response from the slightly distant Ravenclaw. "I think I said something to upset her, but I don't really know what it was."

"I don't think you said anything to upset her." Luna slid aside the books she'd been using, and tucked her wand behind her ear for safekeeping as she spoke.

"What then?" Harry shrugged, not understanding his friends at all. "She suddenly remembered someplace she needed to be?"

"I noticed you have those Muggle things in your eyes. Cataracts." Luna fixed him with her ghostly grey eyes. "I read in the Quibbler that some witches and wizards react strongly to them. Perhaps she noticed them, too."

That didn't seem too likely to Harry, but he decided not to fight the point. He started whittling his project for Artifaction, and shot her a warm smile. "Thanks, Luna. I'll keep that in mind."

"I've often wondered about you Harry" Luna tipped her head sideways, letting her long dirty blond hair cascade across the tabletop as she watched him from two chairs down. "Why aren't you having sex?"

Harry narrowly avoided cutting his left thumb off as his carving knife skittered off the block of pine in his hands. "What!?"

Madam Pince shushed Harry from the main desk two stacks over. He slid over one chair, and leaned over to Luna, trying again for a forced whisper rather than a panicky shout. "What?"

Luna continued as though Harry had never interrupted. "I've wondered about your sex life. You realize you're attractive, you have very nice eyes, and you're definitely the brooding, dangerous school hero. I've been wondering why you weren't sneaking off in your invisibility cloak to find deserted classrooms. For things other than fighting Voldemort, I mean."

"Are you asking me if I want to... well, you know. Have sex?" Harry's voice squeaked at least twice trying to get that out. At Luna's earnest nod, he plunged onward. "With you?"

Luna giggled, her hair falling around her shoulders. "Oh Merlin no! I'm saving myself for Ronald, you understand. I realize that human sexuality is supposed to be quite entertaining, but I would rather have just the one boy."

Harry felt very, very dizzy. "Um, Ronald... I mean Ron...he's dating Hermione, Luna."

"Yes, currently." Luna nodded encouragingly, as though speaking to a slow toddler. "But you've changed the topic. I was asking about you."

"Me. Seems a favorite topic today." Harry decided that the dizziness was giving way to a headache. Or at least, it was giving way to an uncomfortable rushing sound in his ears. If she asked him to describe his feelings next, his day would be complete. He fought to find something rational and not embarrassing to say. "Luna, I don't think I'm comfortable talking about... well, you know."

Luna focused on the air over Harry's shoulder, which at that moment was a lot more comfortable for him that her previous straight-into-the-eyes stare had been. She nodded to herself. "Well, that explains that."

Harry watched, dumbfounded, as Luna gathered her books and quills. "It does?"

"Mm-hmm." Luna nodded noncommittally. She shouldered her worn-looking rucksack and wandered out of the library dreamily. Harry stared after her, vaguely horrified. If he had Hermione's Time-Turner, he would have gladly gone back and erased the last few minutes. He tracked her leaving the hall, wondered what exactly she meant by 'that explains that.' He had no idea what that meant, but he had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't exactly complimentary.

A loud thunk behind him startled Harry into leaping halfway out of his chair. He spun to find Ron dropping into the chair next to the stack of books he'd tossed down. Hermione was more delicately sliding into the chair opposite.

Hermione smiled. "Ron and I have things worked out."

He glanced dully over at Ron. Harry's brain felt like it was two conversations and fifteen minutes behind reality. Ron merely looked back at Harry and shrugged. Harry turned back to follow Luna's progress out of the hall, but she'd already disappeared.

Ron leaned in close to Harry, following his line of sight to the door. He clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "We saw you talking to Luna, mate. Thinking of asking her out?"

Hermione snorted in derision. Fighting Death Eaters alongside Luna had gone a long way toward bridging the gap between the two girls, but there was still a certain distance.

Harry turned to look at Ron oddly. "Me? Not really, no."

* * *

-->

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?"

* * *

-->

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

It was the last Friday in November when Hermione's next attempt at a practical joke struck. Lunch was over, and all the students were wending their ways through the castle toward their afternoon lessons. Harry never did figure out exactly what spell she used, or how she hit him with it; as near as he could tell, he and the rest of the Gryffindor sixth-year students had filed into Professor Flitwick's Charms class as they always did.

Harry took his seat next to Parvati Patil, as Ron and Hermione were sharing a desk to his right. Harry pulled out his parchment and quill, and turned to Ron to ask him for some ink. And that's when it happened.

Nothing.

Harry's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. He called out to Ron and Hermione, and made no noise. Up at the front of the class, tiny Professor Flitwick began lecturing on Hurling Charms. Harry turned to Parvati and tried to get her attention. She saw him moving his mouth and making no sound, and looking worried. Her response was to roll her eyes and continue taking notes on the lecture. Harry wasn't sure if she thought he was playing around, or was simply so inured to magical practical jokes she didn't consider it an emergency.

Harry had a sudden, nasty thought. What if this wasn't a practical joke? What if this was a sneaky Voldemort trick? Harry thought it seemed low-key for a Death Eater plan, but there were potentials. Harry couldn't use most magics without his voice. He couldn't call for help. What if this wasn't temporary?

Harry turned to Ron, panic rising. He tugged on Ron's sleeve, trying to get his attention. But his lanky red-headed friend was busy whispering with Hermione, and didn't notice. Harry swore silently, and threw his quill at Ron's head. It stuck, nib first, in his collar-length ginger mop. Ron brushed it away impatiently, then froze. He looked down at Harry's quill, then turned to look at Harry in apparent puzzlement.

What? he mouthed silently.

I can't speak, Harry mouthed back.

What? was Ron's silent response.

Harry sighed noiselessly, and slumped. He waved at his throat, and shook his head. Ron tipped his head to one side, looking for all the world like an Irish Setter given a puzzling task. Harry screamed wordlessly. Ron scrunched his face up in disbelief. Over Ron's shoulder, Harry saw Hermione shaking with silent mirth.

That settled it for Harry. This was a practical joke, he wasn't in any real danger, and it was temporary. A knot of fear that had settled into his chest loosened at this. In a suddenly good mood, Harry pointed across Ron to his girlfriend's quiet hysterics. Ron looked back and forth quickly, catching on to the situation. Eventually Ron's face broke into a wide grin.

"Ah, Mister Potter!" Professor Flitwick gestured up to the slightly built dark haired boy. "I'm very glad you volunteered."

Harry looked down at his outstretched hand in horror. He looked to the right. Ron and Hermione looked torn between laughter and horror as well. Harry tried to explain that he hadn't meant to volunteer, and got a good sentence into it before remembering that he couldn't speak.

"No, no Mister Potter." Flitwick shook his head, clearly mistaking the reason for Harry's wordless muttering. "The incantation is Iacto. It is used like Leviosa, in that it is paired with its' target. No, why don't you try again?"

Harry glared at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. Well, he figured, no harm in trying. He twirled his wand at the test pillows laid out on the desk, and directed it toward the bin in the corner with a flick of his wand. Focusing his attention and concentrating, Harry attempted the spell wordlessly. To his surprise, the pillow rocketed away from him and hurled itself into the bin as directed.

The class gaped. Hermione's laughter died away, though Ron was still grinning.

Professor Flitwick raced over, his glasses slipping down his nose. "Can you do that again, Mister Potter?"

Harry shrugged, and concentrated wordlessly. Again, he gestured and a pillow launched itself away from him and into the bin in the corner.

Professor Flitwick clapped once. "Well done! And wordlessly too! Twenty points to Gryffindor!" Harry gave him a thumbs up.

As Flitwick tottered off to work with other students, Harry grabbed Ron's ink bottle, and scrawled a quick message on his scroll. He held the parchment up for his friends to read. On it were the words 'Practical Joke?'

Hermione thumped her head down upon her desk repeatedly.

* * *

As class was let out, Harry Ron and Hermione headed off for Defense Against the Dark Arts together. Ron was working at lightening his girlfriend's mood. Harry was trying to acknowledge people's hellos without a voice.

"C'mon, Hermy," Ron plead. "It was a really wicked joke. We all got a good laugh."

She bristled, looking over to Harry pantomiming at a couple of fifth-year Ravenclaw girls, his lack of words apparently forcing him to be more demonstrative with his gestures. "It didn't work," was what Hermione ground out.

"Sure it did." Ron pulled Harry onward, and he waved goodbye to his newfound friends. Potter in tow, Ron tailed Hermione towards the DADA classroom on the third floor. "Look, the bloke still hasn't got a voice."

"The victims of a practical joke," Hermione continued. "Generally do not earn bonus points for their House."

Ron looked at Harry. Harry shrugged. Ron continued to pester their friend. "But it was really funny."

Hermione pulled a few feet ahead of them. She was biting her words off at this point. "When he started levitating students, he got a standing ovation."

"That's our Harry." Ron clapped him on the back. "Life gives him lemons, he makes lemonade."

She threw open the door to the classroom, and stomped up the aisle past the various desks. "The Patil twins spent half an hour asking him to show them his wand technique."

Ron took a seat between Harry and Hermione. He looked perplexed. "Er, yeah. I did think that was odd."

Ron looked over at Harry, who went pink and shrugged. Hermione pulled her supplies out with more force than was strictly required. "The phrase 'strong but silent type' was used more than once, Ron."

Ron scratched his head. "Huh. Harry's not too strong though."

Harry punched his arm at this, then pushed him back in his chair. Leaning over Ron's seat, Harry drew Hermione's attention and pointed to his throat.

"Honestly," Hermione tutted. "Did you think of the obvious? Finite Incantatem."

"Thanks," Harry croaked. His voice had already fallen out of use, it seemed.

"Potter," called the sneering, aristocratic voice from over his shoulder. Ron, Hermione, and Harry turned in their seats to see Draco Malfoy leaning forward in his desk the next row back. Oddly, he'd been keeping his distance since school had resumed. Odder still, his two hulking thugs were nowhere to be seen.

Harry ignored Draco, and returned to getting his supplies in order.

"I'm talking to you Potter," Draco called out. "Turn your back on me again, and you won't see it coming."

"What'll I miss," Harry snapped, turning back. "Tossing my second Malfoy into Azkaban?"

Malfoy snarled, nearly spitting. "No Potter. Offing every Mudblood-loving one of you."

Ron left his desk, chair clattering to the floor behind him. Hermione grabbed his wand arm, and kept it pinned to his side. Harry leaned over as close to Malfoy's desk as possible. "You try something, Malfoy. Join the Death Eaters like your father. Throw one illegal hex. Anything, I don't care. Just give me one reason, and I'll be there."

Draco leaned back with a vicious smile. "I'm a prefect at this school Potter. My father will be let free by his friends in the Ministry. Unlike your little Blood-traitor friends, I have influence. I'm untouchable."

"Malfoy-" Harry managed, by act of super-human will, restrained himself from reaching for his own wand.

Draco held his hands up. "I just wanted to warn you Potter. Everyone dies. I just thought you'd like a heads-up."

Ron and Harry both moved forwards just as Professor Lupin entered the classroom. He looked from the two Gryffindors to Draco's smug expression. "Is there a problem here?"

Draco lifted his eagle feather quill, and smiled smoothly. "No Professor. No problem."

Harry patted Ron's shoulder, and they took their seats. Harry looked over to see what expression Hermione wore, and was surprised to see her surreptitiously sliding her own wand back into her pocket.

The class continued in uneasy stillness.

* * *

At the end of the class period, Professor Lupin motioned for Harry to stay behind. Not wanting to leave him alone so soon after facing off with Malfoy, Ron and Hermione found themselves loitering around, packing slowly.

As they slipped sheafs of parchment into their bags, Crabbe and Goyle stumped up to Harry. Ron and Hermione quickly bracketed him. Ron tossed his head at the two thugs. "What's your problem?"

Crabbe scratched his buzzed and prickly pate. "I don't know really."

Hermione's brows knit, and she looked like she smelled something offensive. "What do you want?"

Crabbe looked chuffed someone asked him something. "Wanted to tell you Draco's gone round the bend. Dangerous, that one."

Harry blinked. "Wasn't he always?"

Goyle answered, looking down at even Ron from his impressive height. "Not really. I don't think he can tell the difference between a hawk and a handsaw anymore."

Now it was Hermione's turn to blink. "What did you say?"

Goyle grinned. "What, got a hearing problem?"

She shook her head. "Never mind."

Crabbe turned to Harry. "You still gonna help me with the class project."

"Sure." Harry smiled faintly. He wasn't entirely sure Crabbe and Goyle were all together, the way their conversation meandered.

Goyle slapped a dish-sized hand down on his stubbier partner's shoulder. "C'mon. If we hurry we can sneak two desserts again."

Crabbe and Goyle wandered off. Crabbe looked up at Goyle. "We could just take desserts from the firsties."

Goyle slapped the back of his head. "Naw. They pick bogies at that age."

"I pick bogies now, though." The door closed on them, blocking the rest of the conversation off. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned to look at each other.

Hermione spoke first. "That was an odd conversation."

"I'll say." Ron looked genuinely mad. "Harry, what are you doing helping those two goons?"

"Classwork" He knew this was going to be an argument.

"They're Death Eaters, and you want to do papier mache with 'em?" Ron sounded as mad as he looked.

"They're not Death Eaters," Harry answered hotly. "And I'm working on a class project with them. We're not hanging out in Hogsmeade or anything."

"I don't trust 'em." Ron crossed his arms over his chest.

Harry rolled his green eyes. "I don't trust 'em either, Ron. I'm working with them is all."

Hermione looked at him shrewdly. "And you're hoping you're an alternative to joining the Death Eaters, aren't you?"

Harry nodded and shrugged. Ron looked around. "What am I missing?"

"Those two haven't been tagging along behind Malfoy this year." Hermione hoisted her bag, slipping into lecture mode. "Perhaps spending some time with a wizard who isn't absolute rubbish will give them something to do other than follow Voldemort."

Harry nodded. "They're taking classes with Dumbledore. Hopefully it'll rub off."

Any further discussion was interrupted as Professor Lupin stepped out of his office and headed over to the three students. "Harry," he began without preamble. "How are you doing with the mirror?"

"Er, fine." Harry ducked his head without thinking. This wasn't something he really wanted to discuss in front of Ron and Hermione.

"Mirror?" Hermione picked up on the oddity of the question first.

Harry decided to try to cut this conversation off at the pass. "I'm borrowing something from Professor Lupin to try to stop the visions I get from Voldemort. It's not like Occlumency was working."

"Thank Merlin." Ron looked relieved, though not entirely over his feelings about Crabbe and Goyle. "Anything to avoid dragging you through the castle after another one of those dreams."

"And?" Lupin looked genuinely worried. "How do you feel."

"Fine," Harry lied. He'd been waking up tired and with headaches that felt bigger than his actual head. This information wasn't going to go over well, and he needed that mirror, so he didn't think this was the most important thing to talk about just then.

"Let me know if anything changes then, hmm?" Lupin smiled wanly. He tucked his hands into his sweater's pockets. "Off you go."

The three of them left the classroom, Harry moving fast. Hermione followed behind him, eyes darting from side to side as she thought. Ron tagged along last, checking out some of the antique wizard dueling costumes enshrined at the rear of the classroom.

Halfway down the first staircase, the last piece snapped into place for Hermione. "Holy Cricket, Harry!"

He flinched, and turned to shush her. "Not so loud."

"Tell me I'm wrong." Hermione was pale as she grabbed his sleeves. "Tell me you're not really..."

Harry raised his hands placatingly. "It's not like-"

"Not like what?" Hermione's hazel eyes were wide. "Not like you're using that Morgraine's Mirror?"

Ron whistled. "I knew the dreams were bad Harry, but..."

Harry turned to look at him. "They're not dreams, they're visions."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a worried look. Hermione tried again. "Maybe you should try Occlumency again, or try ignoring these... visions."

Harry gritted his teeth. "Every time he wants to play with me, he can. Every time he tortures someone, I feel it. Every time he kills someone, I'm right there. Do you get it?"

Hermione's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Is it really that bad?"

"Yes."

Hermione looked as though she was fighting with herself over her next words. "Harry? You do realize that that mirror was used as punishment, before Azkaban?"

Harry sighed. "If Sirius could do it for twelve years, I can manage to sleep with it."

Ron opened his mouth, but Harry cut him off. "And no, we're not talking about Sirius, okay?

Hermione gave him a friendly, warm hug. "Okay, Harry. Okay."

* * *

Leaning forward over the cold wooden handle of his Firebolt, Harry pushed right into a ninety-degree roll, before pulling the handle to his chest. The sharp move pressed him into the broom as he whipped through a tight right handed turn, Gryffindor robes snapping in the wind about him. One Bludger missed low, the other passed astern as he dodged hits from both Slytherin beaters. Harry pulled level and straight for a moment before veering up and to the left slightly. Leaning in again, he accelerated forward, caroming through the flight of green-cloaked chasers trying the move the Quaffle down field. The Slytherin Chasers broke formation and scattered, the attack on Ron's goal disrupted. Harry ducked as a Bludger cut across his flight path again.

Passing Nott, the Slytherin's newest Chaser, Harry was slammed sharply in the side. He veered away as Nott pulled his leg in.

The game had started as an ugly, heated, grudge match. Over the last thirty minutes, it had deteriorated from there. Half the players were bleeding from small cuts, Ron had a split lip, and both teams had taken a half-dozen penalty shots.

Suddenly, Harry caught sight of a green clad figure in a full dive from half a field away. Draco Malfoy was hurtling headlong at the pitch, and from the screams of the crowd, he'd seen the Snitch. Harry rolled upside down on the dive, tucking in tight to drop into his own dive as fast as possible. Squinting into the freezing wind, Harry tried to make out where the Snitch was down below.

Two seconds into the dive, he'd pulled even with Malfoy. The blades of grass covering the pitch were becoming distinct, and Harry still hadn't seen the Snitch. Suddenly, Harry pulled out of the dive. This was a Wronski Feint, Malfoy was just hoping to drive Harry into the ground.

In retaliation, Harry side slipped in above Malfoy. When the blond Seeker pulled up from his failed ploy, he slammed headlong into Harry's legs. There followed a quick exchange of punches and kicks as the two seekers fought to extricate themselves.

With a snarl, Draco pushed away and fought for altitude.

Harry spun counter-clockwise, and widened his gyre as he also gained altitude. Ignoring Malfoy again, he resumed his search for the Snitch. As Harry swooped past the Gryffindor stands, he heard Hermione and his other house mates screaming loudly.

As Harry pulled away from the stands, he saw it. The Snitch was darting about in midair, midfield, barely moving more than a few feet in any direction before changing course sharply. Harry looked to his right. Draco had seen the tiny golden Snitch and had lit off.

Harry leaned into his broom and tore off down field after him. He passed Malfoy quickly, and was an easy ten feet in the lead as they raced for the prize. It lacked subtlety, Harry thought, but he didn't care as long as it was another win to rub in that bleach-blond ferret's pointed face.

He turned to look forward, and saw a school messenger owl racing towards him. His brow furrowed; he'd never seen an owl on the Quidditch pitch before. The owl flew past the Snitch, and barreled on towards him. From over his shoulder, he heard Draco shouting something. The vividly red spell burst from Draco's wand, hurled past Harry, and narrowly missed the owl.

Reducto, came the oddly calm voice of Harry's mind, identifying the spell. Draco fired off a second, again narrowly missing the bird. Startled, the owl tried to reverse itself midair in a cloud of feathers.

Harry cut quickly in front of Draco, and sat up fully on his broom. Abruptly decelerating, Harry caught the owl to his chest. He heard the next Reductor curse barreling in on him from behind, and dove. Harry and the owl fell thirty feet in a heartbeat, and a barrage of spells whistled over his head as he dropped.

He recovered, one hand on the broom, the other cradling the owl to his chest. Harry looked down, and two wide, yellow eyes looked up at him. The owl hooted nervously.

A loud whistle interrupted Harry's staring match with the owl. Madam Hooch raced up to altitude alongside Malfoy, and was laying into him with a depth and breadth of colourful language that caught Harry by surprise. He wasn't sure he knew what all of of it meant, but it didn't sound very good. Finally, Madam Hooch wound down, and called Malfoy for a double foul.

Malfoy smirked back at her. "Check the rule books. It wasn't a foul."

"You used magic against an opposing player, Mister Malfoy," Madam Hooch snarled. Her brilliant yellow eyes flashed. "Be glad I can't have you thrown out of this school."

"But you can't, can you?" Malfoy smiled coldly. "And I didn't use magic on an opposing player."

Harry yelled out at Malfoy. "What do you call all those Reductor Curses?"

Malfoy tossed his Quidditch robes over one shoulder. "That stupid owl was in the way. I was aiming for it."

"That's barbaric!" Madam Hooch snapped."

"That's legal," Malfoy answered shortly. "Now, can we resume play?"

"No point." Harry flew over to join the two midair. He shuffled the owl over to the crook of his arm, and managed to get his hand free. He held it up to show them the Snitch, small wings beating helplessly.

Malfoy's pale face contorted with rage. "You can't do that! The play was over!"

"Only if there's a foul." Madam Hooch smiled sweetly. "And as you so clearly argued, there was no foul."

Harry looked over at the stands, where Gryffindor's points jumped by one-hundred and fifty. He smiled over at Malfoy, and hefted the owl onto his shoulder. Stroking the owl's chest, he spoke softly, but loud enough the Slytherin chaser could hear. "Guess the match is over, huh? What a good owl you are."

That's when Harry noticed the owl was carrying a note tied to one leg. Below it, it had an elaborate leather harness fastened to it's feet. Ignoring the harness, Harry pulled the note off. It was addressed to Draco Malfoy. Harry tore it open, only to find a blank piece of parchment.

"Accio!" came the sharp command, and the parchment leaped out of Harry's hand and hurried to Draco. Harry's brow furrowed as he looked at the other seeker. Malfoy snarled, and dropped earthward.

Any chance Harry had of following up on this unusual owl post was lost as the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team piled into Harry to slap him on the back. As a red and gold mass, the team sank to the ground. The post owl squawked in protest and flew off, as the jubilant team settled to the ground.

* * *

Ron and Hermione were ensconced in a single overstuffed armchair by the common room fireplace, Hermione perched cozily on her boyfriend's lap. Harry and Ginny were sitting opposite them on the central divan. The players were still damp from the showers, and Hermione had her red and gold scarf thrown across the table in between them. All told, the warming fire was very much appreciated.

Harry appreciated having friends to whom he could recount what Draco had done.

"He said he was aiming for the owl?" Hermione looked disgusted. "When he started firing off curses, the stands started rioting."

Ron nodded. "Kirke and Sloper were headed for that miserable ferret. I think they were planning on 'mistaking' him for a bludger, really."

"It was worse on the ground, Ron." Hermione squeezed his shoulder. "Seamus and Lavender got into a scuffle with Zabini and Parkinson from Slytherin."

Harry shook his head. "How could they? The Gryffindor and Slytherin stands are separated."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Harry. They were probably using magic."

He turned to look at Hermione, aghast. "They started dueling in the middle of a Quidditch match?"

Hermione's brows met in disdain. "I did mention the word 'riot' didn't I?"

"That bad?" Harry's green eyes were full of worry. "I was kind of distracted by Hooch and Malfoy."

Hermione nodded. "Even the teachers had their wands out. When you fell it looked like you'd been hit by something. "

Ron whistled. "Too bad Dumbledore didn't let fly at Malfoy. That would've been a good end to the match."

"Ron!" Hermione slapped his shoulder. "Don't joke about that!"

"Who's joking?" Ron smiled lopsidedly. He ignored the disgusted noise his girlfriend made, and continued. "Can you believe that vile prig would try to zap a defenseless bird just to win a game?"

"Actually, yes I can." Ginny patted Harry's hand, and looked up at him warmly. "Fortunately Harry was there to save the day again."

"Hmm." Harry looked away, suddenly very self-conscious.

"I'm not sure that's what happened, though." Everyone turned to look back at Hermione, who was clearly thinking aloud. "Harry, I think you should stay away from Draco as much as possible."

"Gladly." Harry laughed humourlessly. "Now we just have to convince him to stay in his dungeons forever, and it'll be easy."

"I'm serious." Hermione chewed her lip. "What if he wasn't aiming for the owl? What if that was just an excuse? A pretext, to curse you in front of witnesses?"

"What?" Ron pulled away slightly, in order to get a better look at his girlfriend's face. "Are you mad? Malfoy's a miserable excuse for human being, but he doesn't have the stones to try something like that!"

Harry shook his head. "He's right, Hermione. Malfoy's always hated me, but he's never had the guts to do anything about it."

Hermione raised her brows. "He's also never had his father tossed in Azkhaban before."

"I don't believe it." Harry got to his feet. Truth be told, he didn't want to believe it. He didn't want yet another wizarding enemy. At this rate, they'd merit their own check box on the next census. He headed for the portrait hole, intent on escaping to someplace quiet where he could think. "Draco just wants to win too badly."

"Harry!" Hermione sounded worried. "Didn't you hear me? I don't think wandering the halls is a good idea."

"You really think Malfoy's hiding in the corridor, on the off chance I want to go catch a breath of fresh air?" At Hermione's pointed silence, Harry shrugged and left through the portrait hole.

Harry let the portrait close behind him, then pressed himself up against the cold stone wall to one side, head back and eyes closed. He took a deep breath, then another. He truly hoped Hermione was wrong. He just couldn't think of a time when she ever was before. And that meant he had another mortal enemy. An incompetent, cowardly, prancing nancy-boy of a mortal enemy, but still.

"Should I leave you alone," came the soft voice from Harry's side. "Or should I stay?"

Harry opened his eyes and turned to see Ginny standing nervously beside him. Harry blew out the breath he'd been holding. "You can stay. It's just... it seems like everyone wants to kill me these days. It's too much, sometimes."

"I don't think so." At Harry's puzzled glance, Ginny rolled her eyes self-consciously and continued. "For me, or most anyone really, this would be too much. But you... I'm sure you'll handle this just fine."

Ginny turned playfully sarcastic. "It's not like Draco Malfoy has a pet basilisk, or anything really scary."

Harry laughed. "Thanks, Ginny. I needed that."

She put a hand on his arm, then ran it down until she found his hand. She gave him a soft squeeze. "Any time."

Harry met her eyes, and his breath caught. She had that peculiar expression on her face again, the one she'd had off-and-on for a month. Just now, it occurred to him she looked as if she wanted him to kiss her. Harry licked his lips, and stared at hers. "Um, Ginny? I noticed you're holding my hand?"

"Yes," Ginny answered softy. She raised up on tip-toe, pressed one hand to his cheek and kissed him softly on the mouth. Harry nearly fell over when he realized she was gently nibbling his lower lip.

"Dean." Harry shook his head. "I mean, aren't you and Dean...?"

Ginny shook her head. "Hush, Harry."

* * *

-->

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

The next day, Harry was late coming back to the Gryffindor common room. Partly, he was avoiding Ron, unsure how to broach the topic of kissing his little sister. Also, he'd been kissing the self same Weasley after dinner, between the greenhouses. Now she was off to serve a detention with Madam Hooch for an unspecified crime, and Harry was building up the intestinal fortitude to face Ron and Hermione.

Odd, he thought. These are my friends. They'll be happy to hear something good is happening to me for a change. Obviously, this is what Hermione was clearing her throat at me about. She saw this coming miles away. They'll congratulate me.

Then why are my hands sweaty?

Harry rubbed his palms on his school robe, and stepped up to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Giving her the password, Harry slipped into the common room. Ron and Hermione were side by side at one of the tables far from the fireplace, bent over a gas lamp, looking for all the world like they were reading from the same textbook. Harry knew that Ron would take forever reading, and Hermione was more likely to turn the pages faster than he could see. He bet there was very little schoolwork actually getting done.

Harry crossed to stand by the table. He cleared his throat.

Hermione and Ron looked up at him and smiled. Ron threw him a nod, and returned to looking down at the book. Hermione waved with the one hand he could see and did the same. Harry bobbed his head for a moment. "I-uh... Um, can I sit down?"

Both of his friends' heads snapped up at this, identical looks of suspicious concern on their very different faces. "Of course Harry," was Hermione's response.

Ron was a bit more direct. "'Can I sit down?' Sounds like you have something to say."

"Uh..." Harry grinned weakly. He hadn't anticipated having the two of them staring at him hawk-eyed like this.

"It's You-Know-Who, in'it?" Ron poked a finger at Harry's chest. "Were you talkin' to Professor Dumbledore?"

"Er..." Harry paled. No Ron, he thought madly. Just snogging your sister senseless. I think she brushes her teeth before meeting me, because she's always so minty tasting. Say Ron, what are you doing with that wand... "I, uh, Ron..."

Ron's brown eyes widened in shock. "It's my family, isn't it?"

Harry stammered. How had Ron guessed that he'd been kissing a member of the Weasley clan? Was it some kind of magic he'd never heard of?

"Are they safe?" Ron leaned in, panicky. "Did You-Know-Who...?"

The pieces fell into place for Harry. Ron wasn't thinking of kissing, he was worried about Voldemort. Harry shook his head. "No! No, every thing's fine with everyone. Really!"

"What's going on then?" Ron looked suspicious again. He eyed his friend up and down, and for a moment, Harry felt certain he'd shout 'Aha!' and latch onto an incriminating red hair on his robes. He laughed nervously.

Hermione tugged at Ron's sleeve, and spoke softly. "Stop it. You're making Harry nervous."

"That's ridiculous. I'm not making Harry nervous." Ron turned to look at his oldest friend again, and noticed how he was fidgeting in his seat and plucking imaginary dust from his robes. Ron's ginger brows met in a crease. "Why am I making Harry nervous?"

"Ron, stop it! You're acting like you caught him kissing your sister." Harry jumped a little at this, but Hermione turned to him next. "And Harry, just tell us whatever has you so nervous. It can't be that bad."

Harry's eyebrows went up at that. At that moment, yes, it did seem his news was just that bad. Might as well, he thought, I am supposed to be a Gryffindor. "So... Yesterday, Ginny kissed me."

Ron looked perplexed. Hermione's darkened expression could only be described as apprehensive. Ron spoke first. "Why'd she go and do something like that for?"

Harry gaped at him. "Thanks Ron. I feel good now."

Ron tried to walk back his statement, but Hermione silenced him with a squeeze on the forearm. "Harry," she began delicately. "Please tell me you were gentle?"

Harry turned his gaping expression onto his other friend. Fortunately, Ron joined him in goggling at Hermione. "Bloody hell, woman! You're not going to give him pointers on how to seduce my sister!"

Harry nodded in shocked agreement. He was awfully used to Hermione coaching him through pretty well everything, but this was one area he truly did not want her input on. Hermione rolled her eyes at the horror-struck expressions on the two friends' faces. "Honestly, you two. Could you extract your minds from the sewers, please? I was asking if Harry let her down gently. Did you?"

Harry shrugged, his face a mask of puzzlement. He had no idea what she was talking about at this point. Seeing his confusion, Hermione frowned. "You've no clue, do you?"

Harry shook his head, and Hermione dropped hers into her hands. She looked up, pained expression in place. "Harry, I know you think of Ginny like a sister. I do too. But I'm not sure she ever stopped crushing on you, and that's years of heartache. Please tell me you didn't give her some typical boy response like 'Ew' or something?"

Harry blinked his shocked, bottle-green eyes. "No, I didn't say 'Ew,' Hermione."

"Well?" Hermione gestured for him to continue, peering into his eyes thoughtfully. "What did you do?"

Harry's nose wrinkled of its own volition. "I sort of kissed her back."

"Oh." Hermione's gaze dropped to the table top, and she pinked ever so slightly. "W-well of course you did."

Harry blinked wide green eyes. "You thought I'd have said no."

"No, no not at all." Hermione looked flushed. "It just sort of caught me by surprise is all. Congratulations"

Harry was again confused. "Congratulations?"

"On dating Ginny, Harry." Hermione spoke as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. "Congratulations."

Hermione shot her elbow out abruptly, startling Ron from his slump next to her. "Congratulations," he managed half-heartedly.

Harry cocked an eyebrow at the redhead, who continued. "Well, I'm not really sure what to say, Harry. I mean, I can't very well get too excited about you kissing my baby sister. And if you even think of giving me a blow-by-blow accounting-"

"A world of no, Ron." Harry and Ron both shivered at this. Hermione, however, turned a penetrating gaze onto her boyfriend.

"Ronald." Her voice was dangerously frosty. "Does this mean you've been giving a 'blow-by-blow accounting' of your time with me? To amuse your friends?"

Ron gulped. Harry quietly excused himself from the table, afraid she'd turn on him next. The Boy Who Lived sidled away from the seating area, and slid along the wall towards the staircase to the boys' dormitories. He didn't want to make any sudden moves, but he definitely didn't want to be around for the rest of that conversation. Harry's shoulder slid into a firm, yielding obstacle.

Harry looked right, and saw a yellow and red Gryffindor tie. He followed it all the way up, until he found himself looking into Dean Thomas' dark eyes. Harry never realized before just how tall Dean was. Dean clasped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "We need to talk."

Dean steered Harry away from Ron and Hermione's rapidly escalating argument and towards the sixth year dorm. Dean propelled Harry into the room ahead of him, then closed the door behind them. "So, Harry," he began somberly.

"Dean."

"So, Harry," he started anew. "Ginny broke up with me this morning."

"I- she- wha..." Several thought and phrases bunched up in Harry throat, choking him briefly. Ginny had first kissed him last night!

Dean shrugged, looking pained. "Yeah, figured you didn't know we were still going out. I mean, I don't think you'dve been telling your friends about last night if you'd known."

"Ah..." Harry went to take off his glasses, and whacked himself in the forehead before remembering he was wearing the contact lenses again. "No, not really..."

Dean sat on Harry's bed next to him, and sighed. "It's time for us to have The Talk, then I guess."

"The Talk?"

"The Ginny Weasley Talk." Dean nodded. "Michael Corner gave it to me when I started seeing her. Michael got the Talk from Josh Stebbins, when he found out Ginny'd been seeing both of them for a week. Stebbins got the original talk from Colin Creevy, who I understand has since sworn off dating. So now it's time for me to give the talk to you."

"Ah." Harry felt like he was facing a Hungarian Horntail. "That Talk."

"Hang on." Dean pulled out his wand, and Harry pulled back involuntarily. But Dean pointed it over at the door to the dorm, and tried to lock it. "Colloportus!"

Nothing happened. Dean tried twice again to seal the door, looking confused and frustrated. Harry tapped him on the shoulder and pointed up at the canopy to his bed. Dean looked up, and found Morgraine's Mirror looking down upon them both coldly. Dean jerked to his feet with a screech and tossed himself onto Ron's bed opposite Harry. He looked back at Harry is horror.

Harry looked resigned. "Voldemort. Don't ask."

Dean twitched when Harry used the Dark Lord's name. "Right. Don't ask. Eurgh!" Dean swiped his hands over his chest, as though ridding himself of spiderwebs.

Shrugging, Harry continued. "That feeling should go away in a few minutes."

"You been sleeping with that thing over your bed?" Dean pointed up at the mirror, still hanging over Harry's head. Harry nodded glumly. Dean pocketed his wand. "Merlin, man. You've got a cocked up year every year, huh?"

"Pretty much."

Dean shook his head. "Um, where was I?"

"Stebbins and Creevy."

"Right. So now it's my turn." Dean adjusted himself, pulling one foot up on Ron's bed. "There's no doubt Ginny Weasley is a law unto herself. And she is absolutely wild. Fiery, like.

"That goes right up 'til you start dating. Then she's all suddenly straightlaced, and you need to remember not to push anything, see? She's also got a bit of a temper, see?"

Harry nodded. Then he blinked, and shook his head. "Not really. Um, Ginny's fiery?"

Dean dropped his head into his hand. It occurred to Harry that people were doing that around him a lot of late. He muttered into his hand, "This would be a lot easier if you'd ever dated before."

"I've dated before!" Harry was offended. "I went out with Cho Chang."

Dean regarded him with a tipped head. "One date, and she was bursting into tears the whole time."

Now it was Harry's turn to drop his head into his hand. "Is there anyone who doesn't know that story?"

"Not that I know of." Dean got up to pace the room. "You're kind of larger than life, mate. I think everyone kind of likes the schadenfroid of watching you go down in flames on something easy and normal."

"Shoden-?" Harry shook his head. "Did you just say everyone liked watching me go down in flames?"

"We're getting off the subject." Dean leaned against the wall of the dorm, and pulled his robes back so he could put his hands in his pockets. "We're talking about Ginny. I don't know how to put this any other way. The lady likes to talk a good game. She's all wicked and whatnot. It's just an act, something to show off to her mates in the other half of the tower.

"Reality is, she trades us blokes in when things start to look serious. Kissing and hand-holdings' all the lady wants. And no mushy emotional stuff. You start talking about anything longer term that the next Hogsmead weekend, she starts shopping for a replacement."

Harry gave Dean a piercing look. “You sound like you're trying to warn me off...”

“Not warn you off,” Dean responded gently. “Just warn you. You're new to this whole dating thing, and Ginerva Weasley doesn't exactly come in a beginner model.”

Whatever Harry might have responded with was cut off as the door to the dorm banged open and a harried looking Ron darted inside. Dean pointed at the door. “Didn't I lock that?”

Harry shrugged. “The mirror.”

Both Ron and Dean shivered. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before anyone felt like continuing. Harry spoke first. “How'd things go down there, Ron?”

Ron groaned and slumped against the door, running his hands through his shaggy mop of ginger hair. “Great stupid, ruddy, miserable disaster.”

Harry shrugged. “So, same as usual?”

Ron shot him a trenchant look. “Oh, you're a regular ruddy comedian, you are.”

Harry blinked. Usually Ron had a sense of humor about his regular fights with Hermione. Although he knew he'd regret it, he asked the question he knew he should. “You want to talk about it?”

Across the room, Dean winced and cast quickly about in the unlikely event that a rear exit to the boys dormitory had suddenly manifested. It hadn't. Ron sighed. “She's balmy, that one. I tried to tell her I didn't tell you anything, Harry. It didn't work. She just kept getting more and more unhinged.”

“Er, that's awful.” Harry was confused and sad. Usually she at least had an excuse to be mad at Ron, even if Harry thought that she ought to know him better by now. But her getting bent out of shape over nothing seemed unusual for her.

“Tell me about it.” Ron tossed his hands in the air. “I explained to her that I only talked to Dean and Seamus about snogging her, and she never really spent any time with them anyway. But she wouldn't listen. She just pitched a complete fit.”

“Ah.” Harry bit his lip. This seemed more on par for his friends. He decided to keep all of his thoughts to himself, forever, even if dosed with Veritaserum.

Ron turned to the other occupant of the room. “Oh, and Dean. Apparently Hermione would like a word with you next.”

* * *

The next morning found Harry sitting on a rock at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, papers and notes strewn about him, a handful of large stone slabs laid out before him. Two of the stones were cracked and leaking smoke into the cold fall air. Harry was so intent on his task, he didn't hear Ginny approach until she was at his side.

“What'cha working on?” She played with the cuff of his sleeve idly.

Harry's brow furrowed as he re-read his notes. “Artifaction.”

Ginny looked over the stones spread out in front of him, and wrinkled her nose. “Are those tombstones?”

“Yep.” Harry scratched out a line in the third part, and wrote it back in in the fifth. He thought maybe that would work better.

She tapped one of the smoking, cracked stones with the toe of her Mary Jane. “Professor Dumbledore has you enchanting tombstones?”

“Not exactly.” Harry propped his notes up on the ground next to his textbook. When Ginny cleared her throat, he looked up to see her looking at him expectantly. He shrugged.

Ginny rolled her eyes, arms crossed under her chest. “You can answer things with more than one word, Harry. If it isn't for Professor Dumbledore, what is it?”

“It is for Dumbledore, actually.” Harry set aside the books he wouldn't need, and pulled out a small, carved wooden tube. “I'm the one who picked out the tombstones, though.”

“Morbid, and oddly unsurprising.” Ginny settled in cross legged on the grass, and smoothed her grey school skirt over her knees. “Are you going to tell me what you're trying to do?”

Harry realized there was no way he would be able to concentrate on all seven of the spells he'd need to try again while Ginny was asking him questions. Sighing, Harry slumped back against the rock and started to explain, eyes fixed upon the grass. “When Voldemort killed Cedric, I hid behind a tombstone. They threw the Killing Curse at me a lot, but it bounced off the headstone. I figure if I can find a way for people to pull a couple of headstones out of their pockets, they'd be safe from the curse.”

“Why headstones?” Ginny poked the one nearest to her. It was smooth granite, adorned with carved garlands and the words 'In Loving Memory.' No name or dates had been carved into it; it was unused. “Why not, I don't know, that rock you're leaning on?”

“I don't know if the Killing Curse was stopped because it was stone, or because it was a headstone.” Harry shrugged, and pulled up some blades of grass and threw them. “I can't very well test it can I?”

Ginny ran a finger over the blank spaces on the stone's face. “And what if they have to be used in order to work?”

“Then we're rogered good.” Harry grinned blackly, and looked up at her for the first time during their conversation. “I don't think I could go grave robbing, thank you very much.”

“Hmm.” Ginny looked down at the tombstone and shivered. She suddenly snatched her hand away from the cold granite. “Where did you get these?”

“Oddly enough, there's a wizard down in Hogsmeade who sells them for a living.” Harry returned to shredding grass. “Can you imagine that job? 'Long day in the shop today, Voldemort killed a whole family.' 'Oh, I'm bored, there hasn't been a murder or Potions mishap in weeks!' Wonder how long you work there before you loose it.”

“Harry.” Ginny's frown was in her voice.

“His flat was above the shop even. Must be something, bringing people by for tea. 'Don't mind the clutter, just a couple of retirees and a Hufflepuff over there.'”

“Harry!” Ginny snapped.

“I suppose this is a good year for him, though.” He ran fingers through his messy black hair. “Busy times. And I suppose even Death Eaters don't really go after grave diggers and morticians. I mean, who'd cart off their victims if they cursed them?”

Ginny reached out with her wand and poked Harry in the arm, hard. “Harry! What's gotten into you?”

“Nothing.” He waved absently at the stone tablets lying on the grass. “I'm just out here with these headstones, trying to turn a class project into a weapon. Ron and Hermione aren't talking to each other, and it seems serious this time. And you were still seeing Dean when you kissed me the other night.”

Ginny arched a red brow. “Is that what all this is about then?”

“Yes. No.” Harry tossed a few more murdered blades of grass. “I don't know, really.”

“Well, Dean Thomas should have known I wasn't seeing him anymore, since I refused to see him. And you should've come talk to me about it instead of moping. “ Ginny rose to her feet gracefully, and brushed a few stray blades of grass from her skirt. “Now, come inside, kiss me properly, and we'll talk about the next Hogsmeade weekend.”

Harry looked up, squinting. After a moment, he spoke. “You go on ahead. I'd like to finish up here.”

Ginny clenched her teeth, and tossed her hair. “You'll catch your death of cold out here!”

Harry laughed mirthlessly. “Not unless it's Voldemort who sneezes on me.”

Ginny cocked her head to one side. “Well, I'll be waiting up for a while, anyway. I'll see you tonight.”

Harry mumbled something, staring at the stones. A wind picked up, stirring leaves about them. Harry blinked. There was something... poetic, almost about the dead leaves and the blank headstones. Which was odd, as he'd never been allowed to read poetry at the Dursley's, and he'd never seen any in the Hogwart's library. He looked up to say something, but Ginny was gone.

* * *

It was the last Hogsmeade weekend before Christmas holidays and the end of fall term. It was early morning, and Ron and Harry were getting ready to meet up with Ginny and Hermione in the Great Hall. There was a definite chill in the air that wasn't due to the first snowfall of the season. Ron and Hermione had gotten back to 'polite,' but no more. Harry wasn't entirely sure what was going on with Ginny. He wasn't entirely satisfied by her explanation of the 'Dean situation' and she was far more interested in kissing than talking. It wasn't just the kissing; Ginny was endlessly fascinated by hand-holding, hugging, and cuddling. It was so overwhelming and unfamiliar for Harry, he alternated between stunned delight and grudging acceptance. How were people supposed to touch this much, he wondered.

Harry borrowed a green jumper from Ron that looked a bit better than the worn hand-me downs from the Dursleys'. Ron pulled on Harry's jacket, which was Muggle-made rather than hand-knit, and therefore perhaps more appealing to Hermione. It was a guess, but he was trying.

Realizing they were running late, the two boys hustled down the stairs and out into the castle proper. “Mate,” Ron said, smacking Harry on the arm. “If you promise to hit me if I start making Hermy mad, I promise I won't hit you if you kiss Ginny a little bit.”

“A little bit?” Harry grinned. This was altogether too easy. “What if we start kissing a lot?”

“Harry!” Ron actually growled a little.

“I'm just saying Ron.” Harry paused to observe his reflection in the shield of a suit of armor on the third floor, and tried again to get his hair to lay flat. “Your sister really likes kissing me, Ron.”

“Shut up, Harry.”

“I mean, I'll try to get her to only kiss me a little. For you, mate.” Harry gave up on his hair, and they continued towards the stairs. “But she might not take no for an answer. And I don't want you getting mad at me on account of her, you know?”

Ron rolled his eyes skyward. “This is what I get for telling you I think of you like a brother. All my brothers are insufferable prats out to ruin my life. Figures.”

Harry smiled. “Could be worse.”

“How?”

Harry opened his mouth, then paused. “Can't think of anything. Maybe it can't be worse.”

Ron groaned. He was interrupted by Hermione calling out their names loudly. Both Ron and Harry looked up to see Hermione flying up the staircase, Ginny in tow. Hermione was calling for them, so loudly she was drawing a crowd as she ran.

Harry looked over at Ron, eyes wide. “My mistake. It could be worse.”

Hermione bolted past them, still yelling. “Ron! Harry! Quickly! Come on!”

Ron and Harry shrugged at each other, and took off at full speed after their girlfriends, only a few steps ahead of the crowd dogging the Gryffindor prefect's steps. They rounded a corner after them, trainers sliding on the slick stone of the corridor. Barreling around another corner, Harry and Ron slid short to a stop, finding Ginny and Hermione standing stock still in the middle of the hallway before a statue of Barnabas the Balmy.

Ginny turned to look at the two boys, obviously confused. Behind Harry, he could hear the crowd of students filling the hallway. But his attention was focused on Hermione, who was looking down toward the end of the corridor. Raising a hand, she pointed as the far door was blown off its' hinges. “Look out!” she screamed as a dragon hurtled down the corridor towards them.

Harry and Ron leaped forward. Harry grabbed Hermione and tossed the two of them through the open doorway on the left wall. Ron grabbed Ginny and pulled her behind the statue on opposite side of the corridor. With a tremendous rush, the dragon blew past them, the door slammed shut, and the lights went out, casting them into flickering candle light.

Harry looked up, taking in the unfamiliar room lit by hundreds of candles. He was still covering Hermione from the dragon, which was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, Hermione's hand slid up to grip Harry's chest, and squeezed firmly. Her face pressed into his middle, he just heard her mutter something vaguely.

“Um, Hermione?” Harry pushed himself up a little, trying to both get a look at his friend, and get a little farther away from her.

“Ron,” Hermione muttered. He could see her, eyes closed as she held his chest with one hand while the other played with stomach.

“Um, Harry,” was all he could manage.

Her hand tightened on his pectoral. “Harry?”

“Harry,” he confirmed.

“Harry!” She shoved forcefully, and he fell away from her, tumbling to the floor. Pushing himself up on his hands, he noticed they'd been lying upon a fluffy, canopied bed. He crabbed around on the ground, and found a stone wall behind him, with no sign of the door they'd come through. Pushing to his feet, Harry slapped a hand against the wall. It was as solid and cold as it looked.

A string of words he was more familiar with from Ron spun Harry around. He found Hermione curled up on the bed, a pillow over her face as she yelled unique and creative combinations of nouns, verbs, adjectives, and adverbs. After a while she ran down to silence.

Harry grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her upright. “I know you're embarrassed, but we need to get out there to help, now!”

“We can't get out, Harry,” she answered, still speaking into the pillow. “Not for hours.”

Harry pulled the pillow away as he turned back to the wall, checking it again for a door. “We have to! There's a dragon out there!”

“Oh, think for a minute, Harry!” She sounded mortified. “There's no dragon out there.”

“You don't know that.” He drew his wand, and tried the spells to unlock doors or end spells. Nothing happened. “They're in trouble.”

“That's for certain.” Hermione dropped back into the bed. “But there's no dragon out there Harry. That was a Weasley Wizard Wheeze.”

“And how would you know that?” At the pregnant pause from his friend, Harry turned around slowly.

A brilliantly scarlet Hermione stared back at him, looking rumpled and flustered. Harry thought for a moment more, and slumped against the wall. “You did this? You did this.”

When she didn't speak, Harry looked around the room. It looked like what might have happened if Dumbledore had let Gilderoy Lockhart decorate the Gryffindor common room. Red velvet, gold curtains, lots of lace. Harry was torn between coziness and discomfort. He looked back at Hermione. “What did you do?”

In a small, squeaky voice, she answered. “Vengance.”

“The hell?” Harry felt the ground tip sideways.

“Vengence.” Her voice was stronger now. “Revenge. Payback. For your little practical joke, and for all those jokes of mine that failed.”

“Huh.” Harry looked around the room again. “Obscure revenge, this.”

He was struck unawares by the pillow she hurled. “Obviously, Harry, this brilliant joke failed as dismally as all the others. Worse, actually. Oh, Ron will kill me.”

“Why don't we go back to 'what did you do' and go from there.” Harry got up, and moved to sit on the bed opposite her.

She sighed. “You followed along like you were supposed to, for starters. And with me yelling, I got the crowd I needed.”

“An audience?” At Hermione's morose nod, Harry smiled. “So far it was working right.”

“I stopped in front of the Room of Requirements, and made sure I was by the door, and Ginny was by the statue.” Hermione recounted her plan staring determinedly into the coverlet.

“Go on.” Harry thought about patting her knee, and decided not to.

She sighed again. “That's when I set off the fireworks with my wand, and waited for you two boys to leap into action.”

“We did.” Harry shrugged. “What went wrong?”

“You pushed me aside, and Ron pulled Ginny away.” Hermione flopped over backwards, an arm over her eyes. “What were you two thinking, anyway? Honestly? Boys.”

Harry was confused. “Well, Ron grabbed his sister. I grabbed my best friend. I guess we were both trying to save you two.”

At her continued silence, Harry continued. “Okay, I give up. What were we supposed to do?”

“Oh, Harry, you really are hopeless.” She lifted her arm, and peered at Harry from under it. “Well, you two know how to kill any remaining romantic illusions I might've had. You do realize that a girl would really like to think her boyfriend would jump in front of her to save her, not someone else. You do realize that you're supposed to try to save the person you love first, right?”

Harry blinked. “Thanks for the tip. I never really thought about it before.”

“It's important to a girl to feel special.” She sighed, and dropped her arm back over her eyes. They sat silently for a while.

“You do realize this is the first practical joke you've botched, Hermione?”

This brought her off her back in an instant. “What do you mean, first? What about the balloons, or that awful silence spell? They were dreadful!”

“They were brilliant. Everyone thinks so.” Harry smiled. “They might not have gone the way you planned, but they were really funny. I loved it, really.”

She smiled brightly, before suddenly frowning. “So this one is botched? It's worse than the others, you mean?”

“No, you just forgot the obvious.” Harry got up and paced the room. “Ron and I really do care about both you and Ginny. There really wasn't anyone in the corridor either one of us wouldn't have jumped in front a dragon for.”

Harry staggered back as Hermione jumped from the bed, and lunged into a rib creaking hug. “That's the sweetest thing you've ever said, Harry.”

He hugged her back warmly. “It's just true, though.”

She pulled back sharply, and regarded him from arms length seriously. “You know I'd jump in front of a dragon for you too, right?”

Harry unconsciously fingered the scar on his arm from the first Triwizard Task. “I don't recommend it, though. They're pointy.”

Hermione smiled warmly, and pulled him into another hug, Harry continued. “So why will Ron be mad at you, exactly?”

Hermione pulled away abruptly. “Well, he's where I thought you'd be. He and Ginny should've been hit by the Sticking Solution that was sitting on the statue.”

“Sticking Solution?” Harry wasn't sure if that was as bad as it sounded.

“Well, I know you well enough to know that the way Ginny is always hugging you makes you uncomfortable.” Hermione dropped back onto the bed, and moved to smooth her rumpled clothes and flyaway hair. “I figured with a dragon bearing down, she'd be extra clingy. Having her stuck to you like that all day would be a good joke.”

“You're right.” Harry sat back on the bed. “Ron'll be ticked.”

“Incandescent, most likely,” she said nodding.

Harry looked back around the velvet and lace bedecked room. He poked the surface of the bed tentatively. “So, ah, I ended up where you wanted Ron to be?”

Hermione's hair whipped about her face as she spun to glare at him. “You know Ron and I have been fighting lately! I just asked the Room of Requirements for someplace Ron and I could be alone in for a few hours without interruption. I wanted to be able to talk to him. I have absolutely no idea why this is what the Room came up with. Obviously, the room has a sense of humor.”

She looked at him, daring him to disagree. Her lips drew up tight. “Obviously,” he answered.

Again there was a lengthy pause, and Harry decided to explore the room they were trapped in. There was water, and a fireplace, and very little else. “Several hours, you said?”

Hermione nodded tightly. Harry looked up at the ceiling. “I need a deck of Exploding Snap cards.” Nothing happened.

Hermione snorted. “Remember, I wanted nothing to interfere with Ron and I having a good, long chat.”

Harry looked back at her. “So no games, food, spiders, or shiny objects?”

She nodded seriously. He continued. “You either, so we can rule out books, books, Elfish rights, and books.” They stared at each other for a count of three, then burst out laughing.

Harry dropped back onto the bed. “Sorry for spoiling your plans.”

“I'll forgive you.” She leaned up against the upholstered headboard. “And besides, it gives us a chance to talk.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Well, everyone in earshot knows how things are going between Ron and I.” She tipped her head sideways. “How are things with Ginny, Harry?”

“Fine.” Harry looked over across the room. “There's a fire in the fireplace. I wonder where the chimney goes when the fireplace disappears?”

“Harry.” Hermione delicately touched his arm to get his attention, then withdrew slightly. “I hope you don't think that's going to work on me.”

He sighed, and turn his attention back to her. “Of course not. But you can't blame me for trying.”

“Would you rather not talk about it?” Hermione sounded gentle, worried.

“No,” was his answer. “I'd just rather not have anything to talk about, I guess.”

Hermione nodded, and pulled her knees up. “So what's going on, then? Clearly not screaming rows; We'd have heard, and besides, that's Ron's thing.”

Harry smiled. “No, we're not fighting or anything. Actually, we get on well, I think. I mean, I don't really have anything to compare it to, but it seems good. Lots of kissing and things.”

Hermione pinked. “Well, that seems normal enough.”

“Yeah.” Harry peered at her with his intense green eyes. “Only, there isn't anything more, really.”

“More?” Hermione went deeply pink, and her brows climbed her forehead. “You don't mean... more?”

“No!” Harry shook his head. “No, the opposite, really. I mean I like kissing Ginny, and I think I like Ginny, but I don't know why I don't feel more. About her.”

“Oh.” Hermione's response was quiet.

“You don't think there could be something wrong with me, do you?” Harry frowned. “I mean, maybe people who survive Avada Kedavra can't feel love, or something.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione whispered.

“Or what if it's the Dursleys'?” Harry couldn't meet her eyes anymore. “They never loved me at all. Maybe I don't know how to anymore.”

Hermione thought about reaching out to hug her friend, but stilled herself; it would just make him feel more self-conscious. Instead she moved to draw his gaze to her deep eyes before answering. “We're trapped in here because you were willing to jump in front of a dragon to save your friends. You were willing to face V-Voldemort when you thought he had Sirius. You've risked drowning to save all of us once, not to mention chasing down a basilisk to rescue Ginny. I'd say you know an awful lot about loving people, Harry.”

His voice was tight. “Then what's wrong with me?”

“Nothing, Harry.” Hermione squeezed his knee briefly before continuing. “Dating doesn't mean you have to be in some kind of deep relationship all at once. You're comfortable with each other, you like dating each other. Just give it some time. I'm sure something will develop there eventually.”

“And if it doesn't?”

Hermione shrugged. “Then find someone else, who does make you happy. That's why they call it 'dating' and not 'marriage,' you know.”

Harry leaned forward and hugged her, feeling better to know Hermione had an answer for him. “Thank you.”

She rubbed his back, and whispered. “Don't mention it.”

With a blast of cold blue light and a snapping noise, the wall to their right wavered and caved in. The doorway to the Room of Requirements now stood open. Dobby and Winky, clearly the instigators of the flash of light, stood at the door frame, brushing dust from their tiny hands. Hagrid's enormous shaggy bulk occupied the majority of the doorway. However Ron and Ginny, clearly locked together in an awkward embrace, were poking around his waist impatiently.

Harry and Hermione jumped apart guiltily. Harry waved meekly. Hermione flushed, and said 'hello' very softly. Hagrid cleared his throat loudly, sounding for all the world like a car starting. “Thought you two might need rescuing. Ah, this is a nice room, eh? Yup, nice room, with the candles and the fireplace, and the uh, other stuff. Yeah. Well, we'll just step out for a moment, and give you two a chance to get out of bed.

“I shouldn't have said that.”

* * *

-->

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

Oddly enough, things were back to normal by Monday. Ron and Ginny were plenty lit about being glued together for a whole morning before Hermione could un-stick them. But the two of them took the whole hugging in a romantic bedroom thing quite in stride. Ginny pointed out that the Room of Requirements was Hermione's plan for Ron, which turned the Gryffindor Keeper red to his ears when he heard it. Ginny herself just hugged Harry and told him she knew exactly what he was feeling. Stranger still, the rest of Gryffindor tower wasn't ribbing Harry or Hermione in even the subtlest of ways. Dean and Seamus hadn't taken the mickey out of Harry that night, nor were Lavender and Parvati gossiping behind their hands when Harry went by. Even Hermione acted as though things were perfectly normal. It was as though the whole practical joke had never occurred.

Harry was sure they were all mental, and was having a hard time not blushing whenever Hermione was in the room. And yet, no one seemed to notice his discomfort. Yes, he decided, they had all lost their minds, and he, Harry, was the only sane one left in the castle.

However, Harry had decided to try to ignore the general madness of Hogwarts and instead follow Hermione's advice. That was how Harry and Ginny ended up snuggled up on one of the couches in the Gryffindor common room before a roaring fire after supper on Tuesday. Ginny had taken to slipping off her shoes and playing with Harry's pant leg with her stocking feet. It was odd, but Harry was starting to get slightly used to it.

“You tired, Harry?” Ginny didn't lift her head from his shoulder, where she was staring into the fire, nor did she stop playing with his trouser cuff.

“Not really.” Harry was getting a little tired, but Morgraine's Mirror awaited him over his bed, heavy dead, and cold. Every morning, he woke up feeling just a little more tired than he should, and even though his dreams were Voldemort-less, they were full of thick, freezing cold. “I'm good here.”

“Well,” Ginny said, managing to turn it into a four syllable word. “I wasn't really thinking about staying here, actually.”

“Huh?” Harry turned his head awkwardly to look down at the red head on his shoulder. “Where? It's after hours, Ginny?”

“The Astronomy Tower.” Her quiet words shot through Harry like ice. The Astronomy Tower? The Astronomy Tower! He wasn't entirely sure what went on up there, but he was pretty sure whatever it was wasn't something he should be doing with the little sister of six large older brothers.

“Um,” he answered, fighting to buy time for his mind to catch up to his ears. “Why do you want to go there?”

Ginny squeezed his arm. “Why do you think?” She continued playing with his pants leg.

Suddenly a thought occurred to Harry. Ginny wasn't playing with his trouser hem, she was playing with his leg! Harry'd seen this before, this was footsie! She was playing footsie with him. In public, where anyone could see them. Their feet were just out there in the open. And now she wanted to drag him up to a dark tower with nothing but a good view of the night sky.

Oh boy!

“You, uh, want to stargaze?” Harry inched sideways just a hair's breadth, and moved his leg out of convenient stocking foot range.

Ginny moved back, so she could look up at him mischievously. “Well, I do see stars when you kiss me, Harry.”

Yup, the Astronomy Tower was sounding like someplace to avoid like the plague ward just now. “I- I'd love to you, know. Really. But I have some homework to do still.”

“Homework?” Ginny blinked at him. “Why did you wait so long to start?”

“Um, bad study habits?” He smiled weakly.

She grinned wolfishly. “Let's practice worse study habits. Don't do it.”

As she leaned in toward his ear, Harry slid away and off the edge of the sofa. Only a Seeker's reflexes kept him from hitting the floor. “Can't! It's for Dumbledore ... Artifaction, I mean. Gotta go!”

Harry felt very confident that his strategic withdrawal to his dormitory in no way looked like he was running flat out. He slipped inside, and slammed the door behind him. He wiped his forehead, and looked up to see Ron and Neville watching hims from their game of Wizard's Chess over by the window.

Ron scrunched up one side of his face. “You look a sight. Ginny giving you a hard time?”

Harry's mouth locked open, wordlessly. There was no possible way he could answer any questions Ron might have about what Ginny's version of 'a hard time' looked like. He blinked, thinking quickly. “It's been a long day.”

The nonspecific, technically accurate answer satisfied Ron, and he and Neville went back to watch Ron's Queen side Knight decimating Neville's cowering pieces.

Harry crossed to his trunk, and pulled the pieces for his Artifaction project out. He had a handful of tiny rectangular stone chips, a couple of carved wooden tubes, a few brass springs, and a pair of small carved hippogryff heads. He carried them over to Ron's bed and set to work.

“Oy!” Ron called from across the dorm. “Go muck up your own bed!”

Harry gestured at his canopy. “Can't. Mirror.”

Ron and Neville shivered and went back to their game. Harry set to work on his project. He figured if he did, then he wasn't really lying to Ginny in order to escape. Harry sighed, and tossed the stone chips down. He knew he had to find a way to keep seeing Ginny without always getting into these uncomfortable situations. He shook his head, feeling like she had a lot of expectations about just what exactly dating him meant, and he wasn't sure he could live up to them. Harry picked up his notebook, set those thoughts aside, and resumed his work.

* * *

Harry jogged down the corridor to the infirmary, even though he was early for his Pre-Mediwizard seminar. All his early morning running was making him faster, and it was starting to feel slightly relaxing to jog someplace. He tossed his pack to one side, and pulled out the tray of half-completed Strength-Replenishing Potions they'd been working on. They were used to replenish the magical vitality of a witch or wizard who was exhausted, but the dragon's blood had to be added just before, since its' effects would only

last a minute. Harry filled the upper ampule with faintly smoking blood before stoppering both upper and lower sections of the vials.

Veruca sidled up to Harry and set to work with him. Since asking the slight blonde about the looks he was getting in class from the other students, they'd been working together on the practicums. Veruca flipped her pixie cut aside, and whispered to Harry sideways. “Cho warpath warning, luv. Our Seeker's got a head of steam today.”

“Why?” He finished bottling the last of the dragon's blood.

“You serious or kidding?” At Harry's blank look, Veruca smiled. “Oh, this'll be a sight.”

“One Ravenclaw to another,” came the frigidly beautiful voice from over Harry's shoulder. “You really don't want to get too close to Potter, if you know what I mean.”

Harry and Veruca turned to see Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecomb behind them, working on a set of Burn Begone Flasks. Cho was smiling sweetly, though it didn't reach her dark eyes. Vercua matched her, tooth or tooth. “I'm sure I don't, Miss Chang. Whatever do you mean?”

“Poor Harry's only human, dear.” Cho shook her head sadly. “He's already 'dating' that little red head, and I don't think he's got the time to cheat on two girls with Granger.”

“What?” Harry couldn't keep quiet at this. “Are you still on about that?”

“Oh, spare me the innocent act, Harry!” Cho snapped at him, her cool appearance finally cracking. “Didn't the Magical Creatures Professor actually catch you in bed with Granger this time?”

“Leave Hermione out of this!” Harry took a step forward, hands fisted at his sides.

“I will if you do.” Cho's sweet smile was back. “But you really can't can you?”

Harry was aghast. “Have you been sniffing cauldron fumes?”

Cho ignored him, and turned to address Veruca. “I'm just saying; Potter likes to have Granger around for her mind, and a pretty face along for... other reasons. You're a Ravenclaw. Don't be the pretty face.”

Harry snarled. “I think it's time to shut up!”

Cho twinkled, in a manner totally unlike Dumbledore. “I think it's long past time.” With that, she and Marietta went back to work. Harry looked up, and saw the entire seventh year Mediwizard class staring at him as though he were the victim of an atrocious broom accident. As one they all turned back to their work.

Harry turned, and slammed a Strength-Replenishing Potion down hard enough to pop both corks out of it. Veruca reached over, and extracted it from his white fist. She whispered to him. “I told you it would be a sight.”

“I can't believe she said that.”

She pulled the tray of vials away from him, and put it on a shelf behind the door. “Me either.”

“I can't believe she'd believe it.”

“Hmm,” was Veruca's reply.

He turned to look at her, brow furrowed. “And she thinks you're interested in me.”

Veruca smiled. “I'm not, though.”

“Thank Merlin.” Harry slumped slightly.

“You are easy on the eyes, though.” Veruca dimpled.

Harry glared at her, to no avail.

* * *

Harry threw his bag irritably under the Gryffindor table, and dropped into his seat next to Ginny. He tossed her a perfunctory smile, and started loading his plate with turkey sandwiches and cranberries. Ginny turned in her seat to look at him askance. “Excuse me, but what's your mood?”

“Nothing.” Harry buried himself in the sandwich.

“Don't say 'nothing' to me like that!” Harry looked over at her, sandwich forgotten. The resemblance to her mother was, at that moment, extraordinary.

“Actually, he said something to you.” Luna settled herself onto the bench opposite Ginny, tucking her wand behind her ear and pulling sandwich off Ron's plate to nibble on. “It's just that the something he said was nothing. But it's nothing really.”

Ginny smiled at her friend. “How do you come up with that on the spot?”

“I'm in Ravenclaw for a reason.” She smiled dottily at Ron, who'd just realized his lunch had wandered off. “Even if that hat was very odd.”

Ron looked like he was going to broach the subject of the sandwich she was eating, then shook his head and changed gears. “Luna, how come you keep your wand behind your ear?”

“That's easy, Ronald. Try stopping me from stunning you.” With that she focused her pale eyes upon him for the first time, and smiled sweetly. Ron looked confused for a moment, then fought to pull his wand from his school robe. In a blink, Luna pulled her wand from behind her ear, and leveled it at the red-headed boy. Then, leaving the wand absently in her hand, she returned to nibbling her sandwich and gazing about the Great Hall.

Ron smiled gently. “Got it. Could you, uh, put your wand away now, though?”

Luna looked back at him, noticing the wand she still held idly to his temple. She tucked it behind her ear with a faint smile. “Of course, Ronald.”

Ron shook his head again, and pulled a second sandwich from the salver in the middle of the table, depositing it on his plate. He turned to look down the table at Harry with concern. “So Luna's bit of wit aside, you do look like some thing's got your back up. Want to share with the table?”

Harry took another bite, and answered quietly. “Not really.”

“Oh, I can!” Luna blinked owlishly, waving her hand in the air as though she were in class answering a professor. “I imagine Cho was quite horrid this morning. She's been gossiping to all of Ravenclaw tower about Harry and Hermione getting caught in bed together this weekend. I imagine she must have said something to Harry in his Mediwizard seminar. She's been coming up with all sorts of lewd scenarios, and I can't picture her sitting in a class next to Harry and not saying something. Unless she'd been poisoned with curare, as that tends to paralyze the victim, including the vocal cords.”

Luna finished up, to find Harry glaring at her from across the table, and a half-dozen Gryffindors staring at them open mouthed. “I meant I didn't want it shared with the table.”

“Ah.” Luna set her half-eaten sandwich back on the salver, and quietly took a bite of Ron's second sandwich. She turned away to look at the staff table. “I thought you meant you didn't want to be the one to share. I'll try to remember that you don't always speak very clearly.”

Ron laughed at Harry's expression, then looked down in puzzlement to find his plate empty. He reached for a new sandwich, and made a face when he pulled back a half-eaten one. He put it back on the tray and took an uneaten one instead.

Hermione reached the table at this point, and slid into the only open space, opposite Ron. She smiled brightly around the table. “So, what are we talking about?”

“Nothing anymore.” Luna opened her sandwich to extract the tomatoes before reapplying herself to it. “Harry doesn't want us to talk about it any more. Actually, I don't think he wanted to talk about it at all, but he wasn't very clear about it.”

This drew a sharp look from Hermione. Harry slumped slightly. “Cho was... not very nice today.”

“Oh, dear.” Hermione pulled a sandwich off the salver and set it on her plate unthinkingly. “It was about me, wasn't it?”

“Eh.” Harry picked at his cranberries. He didn't really want to talk about what Cho had said. He felt like he should have defended his friend's honor or something, but how was he supposed to fight a girl?

Hermione meanwhile had picked up her sandwich and noticed that it was half-eaten. She held it out at arms reach like a dead skrewt. “Ew! Who's is this?”

Luna smiled slightly. “Ronald's.”

Ron turned to look at Luna in outrage, then turn to his girlfriend, who's tossed the offending food onto his plate with a sniff. He looked down to find, not the two sandwiches he'd expected to see, but only the one. Looking over, he saw Luna had his lunch set atop the dissected sandwich she'd been working on. He rolled his eyes at her. “Merlin! Just how many sandwiches do you need for lunch? And do they all have to be mine?”

Luna's grey eyes were unfocused as she stared across the hall. “Fourteen.”

Ron pulled back slightly. “What?”

Luna turned her unsettlingly penetrating gaze on him “Sandwiches. I've taken fourteen sandwiches from you before you said anything.”

“Are you balmy?” Ron pointed at the half eaten food. “I've only had three. Or tried to have three, anyway. Haven't really had one yet.”

“Today, yes.” Luna smiled, and nibbled the crust from one side of her newest sandwich. “But Ronald, I've taken eleven of your sandwiches over the last month. I wondered how long it would take you to say something.”

She looked away, leaving Ron red and sputtering. “You know, fourteen is a lot of sandwiches for someone who likes food as much as you do.”

Hermione giggled at this, and Ron shot her a glare.

Hermione sobered up with a cough, and looked sideways at Harry. “I am sorry about what Cho said to you.”

Harry smiled back. “Not your fault she's like that.”

“Oh, no, anyone in the least bit perceptive could have told her you two don't have a physical relationship.” Luna stole Ron's sandwich directly from his hand. “But you know how some people are; they'll believe the silliest things.”

* * *

It was a first; Harry wasn't paying attention in Professor Dumbledore's Artifaction class. He was staring off into the foundry's rushing fires, and thinking deep thoughts about girls, rumours, and feelings. He wondered if anyone had ever felt as frustrated and confused as he did just then.

And it was easy to loose focus in this lesson. Various classmates were presenting their fall term projects, and attempting to demonstrate how they worked. Harry supposed he could let himself get pulled in to the crashing booms of enchantments failing, but he wasn't really that interested in out-of-control toy tops, or trainers that tried to get mud off by shaking it off like a dog, thus spraying the front rank of students with muck. One girl had enchanted a toothbrush to sing whenever it was in use. It was a delightful display of frolicking magic. It didn't suit his mood at all.

Harry planted his chin in his hand. He hadn't thought Dumbledore would make them show off their work in front of their classmates. In the face of all the fun objects his classmates had been working on, Harry didn't want to-

“Mister Potter,” Professor Dumbledore called from the hearth, gesturing for him to come forward. “Perhaps you could show us your project next, please.” Dumbledore gave him a piercing look over his half-moon spectacles which made Harry wonder if the Headmaster already knew what his project was.

Harry stood truculently, and marched over to a clear area at the front of the room. He sighed, and pulled out a small wooden tube, barely longer than his fist. One end was closed off, the other adorned with a carving of a Hippogryff's head. He held it out for the class to see. With a trainer still wriggling to get rid of some stubborn dirt, a couple of tops hurtling around the floor, the wooden tube only merited a bland sort of interest.

“Does it have a name?” Dumbledore peered down at Harry seriously.

Harry shook his head. “Not yet, sir.”

“Then please,” he said, gesturing towards the class with an open hand. “Show us all what it does.”

Harry sighed again. He flicked his thumb under the Hippogryff's head, which folded back to reveal a small white rectangle. With a second flick of his thumb, the white rectangle flipped out of the tube, and tumbled toward the ground in front of Harry. Midair, the rectangle ballooned to its' full, meter-and-a-half height. Suddenly revealed to be a tombstone, the granite block slammed into the floor with booming thud, pinning the toe of the enchanted trainers to the slightly splintered floor. The trainer squeaked a bit as it slowly wiggled its' way free from the rock. With a squawk it was free, and the trainer hopped quickly to it's wizard's side.

Crabbe's eyebrow dug in on itself. “I don't get it. Is it some kinda' art?”

Goyle slapped the back of his head. “Idiot! It's a headstone. Ain't you ever seen one?”

“Oh.” Crabbe waggled his head in a bovine nod. “It's avant garde.”

Goyle turned his thick, curly-haired head to stare at his constant companion. “Don't make me hex you.”

Harry cleared his throat and interrupted the two Slytherins. “Uh, it is a tombstone. Only it's supposed to block spells.”

He moved to return quickly and quietly to his seat, but Goyle stopped him, hand raised. “It's just a rock, innit? I mean, they're everywhere. So what?”

Harry looked back at Headmaster Dumbledore, who was gesturing for him to respond. Harry sighed again, and decided to launch into the explanation he was dreading. “When Voldemort,” he began, and the whole class flinched and jumped. “Returned about a year and a half ago, I hid behind a gravestone. It stopped the Killing Curse a few times, so I figured I'd come up with a way of bringing a whole bunch of headstones wherever they were needed.”

Harry flicked a second rectangle out of the tube, and a second tombstone tumbled to the ground. He did it again, and a third tombstone quickly lined up next to its' brethren. He looked up to see looks of horror and awe on nearly every face; Goyle looked abashed. Harry returned to his seat quietly, and listened with half an ear to the remaining students displaying their projects. He noticed the class was suddenly subdued.

“Potter.” Goyle was leaning forward to whisper to Harry, barely moving his lips. “I just wanted you to know. My old man can't do the Avada Kedavra. Just so's you know.” Then he leaned away, leaving Harry with his thoughts.

A few hours later, Harry had finished with another bout of Domestic Sorcery. They had been going over the theory and practice of Apparation, in preparation for their first trial jumps after winter holidays. Madam Hooch was as eagle eyed and sharp tongued as ever, reminding everyone that failure in this subject meant splinching Full of her acerbic comments on the class' readiness, Harry loitered in the Great Hall for Ron and Hermione to wend their way up from Snape's dungeon.

He didn't have long to wait; Harry could hear their discussion echoing up the corridor ahead of them. From the sound of things, Ron had lost some points for Gryffindor by saying something colourful while in Snape's earshot. Harry could tell, since Ron was explaining to Hermione quite loudly that he'd already gotten a lecture from Snape himself.

“But you're a Prefect, Ron,” Hermione continued shrilly as they cleared the hallway. “You're expected to do better than slide by with lectures from your professors. You're expected to set an example.”

Ron waved a hand in exasperation. “I don't see anyone expecting anything of the sort, Hermy.”

“And what, exactly, about me?” Hermione managed to huff while marching at full tilt, arms crossed. “I certainly expect that of you.”

“Good luck with that,” Ron replied sarcastically. Ron stopped short in front of Harry. “Well, we've been having a great time without you in Potions. How goes with you, mate?”

“Okay.” Harry didn't really want to launch into a discussion of his embarrassing Artifaction class. But that reminded him of something he wanted to get done quickly. He pulled Ron and Hermione aside by their sleeves, letting more of their Potions class flood past them into the dining hall. “Are you both staying here for holidays?”

Ron nodded. “'Course. Me and Ginny are both going to bum around the castle.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, I'm going to be in Sussex visiting my cousins with my parents.”

Harry looked past them, seeing Draco Malfoy hanging out by the entrance hall doors. He really didn't want the Slytherin to be privy to what he was going to say next, so he stared at the blond pointedly. “Run along, Malfoy.”

For his part, Malfoy sneered and ran along.

With a last furtive glance around the barren hall, Harry turned back to his friends. He reached into his robes and pulled out two copies of the wooden tube he'd demonstrated in class earlier. Gesturing quickly, Harry explained their design and use to his two best friends. Hermione nodded appreciatively, but Ron gaped.

“Harry!” Ron blinked, staring down at the magical device in his hands. “How could you possibly make this? We haven't learned anything like this!”

Hermione rolled her eyes at her boyfriend. “And this is why I was understandably upset at Harry's new schedule, Ron This is what he's been in learning in his classes.”

Ron's mouth closed, and he regarded the tube somberly. He looked up at Harry, head cocked. “You're serious about all this, then?”

Harry nodded.

Ron held the device out to Harry, and shook his head once. “Well, this'll be the least of your needs, I guess.”

Harry shook his head. “Uh-uh. I made those for you two.”

“What?” Hermione rounded on him. “You can't possibly be serious!”

“Why not,” he responded, genuinely puzzled.

“These could be really useful in the right hands. Yours, for example, or an Auror's.” Hermione shook her device at Harry. “Ron and I certainly don't need anything like this.”

Harry folded his arms stubbornly. “No, it's not like the two of you have ever done anything dangerous, have you? I mean, nothing like dueling with Death Eaters or anything, right?”

“Harry-” Ron searched for something to say.

“No.” Harry shook his head. “You aren't talking me out of this, either of you. Please. I... I just can't see either of you get hurt, okay?”

“Idiot.” Ron shoved Harry lightly, his voice oddly rusty. “Nothings happening to us.”

Hermione cleared her throat, and looked down at the little device in the palm of her hand. Focusing entirely upon it, she asked, “So, do they have a name yet?”

“Not really.” Harry prodded the one Hermione was holding out. “I was kind of focused on making them work, not calling them anything.”

Ron held his up. “How about a Harry Headstone Flinger?”

Harry and Hermione wrinkled their brows as they looked at the object Ron was holding. Even Ron tipped his head sideways with a frown. “Naw, that's just terrible. Forget I said it.”

Harry tried his hand at the process of naming the devices. “How about calling it a Thingamajig?” He looked at the other two hopefully.

Hermione shook her head silently. Ron patted him on the shoulder. “Hate to tell you mate, but 'Harry Headstone Flinger's better than that one.”

Ron and Harry turned to Hermione expectantly. She rolled her eyes. “Oh, honestly, you two. Do you think I can come up with anything on the spot?”

Ron and Harry shared a look and a nod. “Pretty much.” “Yeah, actually, we do.”

She was caught between smiling and grimacing. “Oh fine, I'll try something. How about, oh, I don't know... How about 'Potter's Magic Pez'?”

Harry and Ron were silent. Hermione flushed, and looked downcast. “I knew I'd be rubbish at this. I'm very good with academics and books, but I'm not very creative, really. I was the girl who couldn't colour inside the lines in primary school, honestly.”

Ron grinned. “Potter's magic Pez? That's brilliant!”

Harry looked at the Magic Pez Ron was holding up. “Wicked!”

Hermione's head snapped up. “Really? You liked it? I mean, I named them, really?”

Ron threw an arm over her shoulder, and steered her toward the Great Hall. Harry took her opposite shoulder, smiling. He spoke up. “Yes, it was absolutely brilliant, Hermione.”

Ron leaned in slightly. “Although I might be revisiting this whole 'colouring inside the lines' thing later.”

Hermione deflated slightly. “Figures.”

* * *

The days leading up to winter holidays blurred past with in tones of holly and candy red. Seemingly overnight the castle was warmly decorated, with the traditional twelve floating Christmas trees in the Great Hall, and enchanted icicles on the banisters. Classes seemed accelerated, as increasingly distracted students lost focus earlier and earlier. Even Hermione proved vulnerable, as she lost interest in stopping the firsties from sliding down the halls between classes.

Harry had managed to sneak out to pick up Father Christmas gifts for everyone. Dobby was getting a pair of socks that slowly changed colour throughout the day. Ron, in a sight deviation from tradition, was not getting anything Chudley Cannon related. Harry had instead decided to pick up Roc-skin Quidditch gloves, which were tough, lightweight, and waterproof. He had picked out a bracelet for Hermione with her, Ron's and Harry's names etched into it. Harry figured there were a few more years to go, and if they kept getting her books her trunk would weigh too much to fit on the Hogwarts Express.

Ginny had proved a bit more trouble. Harry blanked utterly when it came to her gift. In the end, he had to resort to asking Ron's assistance. After all, Harry reasoned, he'd known Ginny literally all her life, and had several months more experience with having a girlfriend than Harry had. Ron had been horrified to be asked about what kind of gift to get his little sister, but in the end he recommended perfume. So Harry had a bottle of something that smelled like roses and was labeled in French wrapped up and tucked into his trunk.

Harry was very nearly whistling as he descended into the common room from his dormitory. For the first time in a year, things seemed to be going smoothly. He rounded the final corner to find Hermione sitting primly atop her packed trunk, her winter cloak on and a cable knit hat jauntily askew above her bushy hair. She had her arms crossed, and was looking away from Ron and Ginny, and out the window. Ron was busily trying to talk his way out of some sort of verbal gaffe, and Ginny was fighting a terrible case of the giggles.

Harry sighed, and rolled his eyes. He decided then and there to view his best friends' endless rows as the normal state of things, and ignore them. Harry walked up to his three favorite people, and pressed a festively wrapped box into Ron's hands. Hermione turned slightly to face Harry. “Come to see me off?”

“And deliver a present.” Harry handed her a small parcel with a bow on it. “No peeking until Christmas, either.”

“Er, yeah.” Ron rubbed the back of his head, and handed his girlfriend the box Harry had brought down for him. “Happy Christmas, Hermione.”

She took the box from Ron, and looked up at him wryly. “You know I'm still mad at you, right?”

“Right.” Ron shrugged. “Hard to forget.”

Hermione leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the cheek. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small box which she pressed into his hands. “Happy Christmas, Ron.”

Ron looked utterly bewildered. “Um, thanks.”

Ginny leaned on Harry's arm, dissolving into titters. “Aren't they so romantic?”

Hermione and Ron pulled away from each other smartly. Hermione stood up, and levitated her trunk with a stiff wand-flick. Ron tugged at his robe self-consciously. Hermione cleared her throat, and adjusted her little hat. “Well,” Hermione spoke a little too quickly. “I'd best be off if I'm to make it to the train.”

And she set off, her patent leather Mary Jane's beating a sharp rhythm on the wooden floors. Ron leaped to, trying to figure out if he should walk beside her or merely follow along. Before they reached the second floor, Hermione had relented and taken Ron's arm for the rest of the way. Harry and Ginny sauntered along in their wake.

Ginny looked up idly as they walked. “Hermione got a present. I'm almost jealous.”

Harry startled. “I'm sorry. I didn't give you yours since I was going to be seeing you Christmas morning. I could go back and get it now.”

Ginny smiled. “I was teasing you.”

“Oh.” Harry shook his head. “I didn't realize.”

“I noticed.”

Harry thought for a few seconds. “I don't think I know very much about being a boyfriend.”

Ginny laughed. “Oh, Merlin, is that an understatement!” Ginny saw the appalled look on Harry's face, and laughed harder. She grabbed his hand, and pulled him closer to her side as they walked. “It's not a bad thing. You're awfully cute when you try so hard to figure things out.”

“Oh.” Harry couldn't help but notice how awfully much of Ginny there was pressed up against his side. She seemed so soft and warm, it was almost intoxicating. It made him feel awkwardly self conscious, as with each step his bony shoulders would bump into her. He tried inching slightly away. “Well, at least we aren't arguing all the time.”

“Yes, Harry. You aren't my brother, a fact I'm very definitely glad about.” Ginny tossed her red hair back to flash him an unreadable smile.

“Funny you should mention that.” Harry grinned uncertainly. “Ron was saying he considered me an honorary Weasley.”

Ginny looked him up and down appraisingly. “Nah. Not yet, Potter.”

With that cryptic comment, Ginny flounced up ahead t chat with Hermione as they left the castle. Harry and Ron fell in together, unable to talk much within earshot of their obviously mad girlfriends.

* * *

Christmas morning was bitterly cold, but Harry had no problem throwing back his coverlet and sitting up; Ron, Seamus, and Neville were staying in the tower with Harry his year. And once they'd dispensed with their presents, he'd have a chance to meet up with Ginny for the whole day. Shivering slightly, Harry pulled his curtain open, and light flooded his bed. He looked down at the foot of his bed, and found that it was completely bare of presents. He looked over, and saw Ron and Neville eating Chocolate Frogs one bed over.

“Happy Christmas, Harry!” Neville waved, and tossed him a frog. Harry opened the frog box, and found the chocolate frog oddly still. He got up to show Ron, but once he'd left the bed, the frog suddenly stirred to chocolaty life and leaped away, scurrying quickly across the room.

Ron chortled. “You seem to have a habit of letting 'em get away from you.”

Harry shook his head, and put on his glasses. It was just too early to fumble with contacts. “Ron, the frog wasn't moving, though.”

Ron pointed to the canopy of Harry's bed. “Mirror.”

Harry turned about, and noticed for the first time his small stack of presents, sitting not on the foot of the bed, but atop his trunk nearby. He turned back to Ron and Neville. “Oh. It must work on Chocolate Frogs, too.”

“And house elves.” Ron pointed to his presents. “I don't think they wanted to try putting your things on your bed with that overhead.”

Seamus looked up from a small sea of wrapping paper. “Why don't you just take the damned thing down, Harry? It's fecking creepy.”

Harry turned, and opened the present from the Weasleys. It was, as usual, a jumper, and Harry pulled it on for warmth. “It's either the mirror or Snape, and frankly it's less creepy than he is.”

“Not by much.” Seamus padded over to Ron's bed. “So, Harry... Gryffindor tower's empty, it's Christmas... You itching to go downstairs and give Ron's sister her present?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered cheerfully. “I've got her present right here.”

Harry went back to his trunk, and withdrew the wrapped perfume bottle from under his school clothes. When he turned back around, Ron looked fit to burst, Neville was bright pink, and Seamus was hooting with laughter. Harry's brows collided in confusion. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Ron replied in a strangled tone.

“Nuthin' a'tall, Harry.” Seamus got up and slapped him on the back. “Nuthin' a'tall.”

Harry shrugged. This wasn't the first time Harry felt that having been raised by Muggles had left him out of the loop of some wizarding traditions. As was usual, Harry played it off and decided to go about his business. If it was important, someone would say something.

Harry threw on the remainder of his clothes, peripherally away the others were doing the same. This was Harry's first Christmas with a girlfriend, and he wanted to race down there to see what she thought of her present. Jumping down the stairs, Harry found Ginny sitting in the Common Room, bundled up in her Weasley jumper, feet tucked under an afghan, reading some slim book before the fire. She looked up as he entered, and the firelight glinted off her copper-red hair. She smiled widely. “Excited, are we?”

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to use real words. Instead he held out her present silently. Ginny reached under the divan and withdrew a much larger box. Somewhat awkwardly, they managed to exchange presents. There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other expectantly, each waiting to watch the other open their package. Finally Ginny smiled, and tore open her present, withdrawing the small crystal beaker and its' nearly colourless contents. She opened the silver chased stopper, and sniffed at the perfume inside.

“It's wonderful, Harry.” Ginny smiled brightly. “Is that Lotus I smell in there?”

Harry dug at the carpet with a toe. “I don't know. Is Lotus, er, French?”

Ginny chucked. “Might be.” She leaned over the divan's back to kiss Harry gently on the cheek. “Well, I open yours next.”

Harry tore the wrapping paper to shreds, revealing a plain cardboard box. Opening it, he found a pair of clean, new trainers. He looked down at his own feet. The trainers he had received as a hand-me-down from the Dursley's were held together with tape, spells, and a certain amount of faith. “This is excellent! Thank you, Ginny.”

“Yeah, well.” Ginny pinked slightly. “If you keep running, you're going to need them.”

Harry looked down at the shoes. “Then I'm going to need them.

* * *

-->

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

Christmas supper was a large, boisterous affair. This year, both of the youngest Weasleys were jammed in around the staff table, along with Harry, Seamus, Neville, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. There were a few of the younger Gryffindors there as well. A handful of Ravenclaws, Luna Lovegood, and four younger Hufflepuffs Harry didn't recognize rounded out the affair. Crackers had been passed out, bursting noisily, and the students were warming themselves over hot butterbeer after the earlier snowball fight on the front lawn. Snape looked moderately uncomfortable to be sharing a table with people who laughed and smiled openly; Harry had the distinct impression the Potions Master would have preferred to spend the day in bed with his covers pulled up over his head, waiting for the high spirits to pass. The image brought a soft chuckle to him, and he leaned over to Ginny to share the thought.

This was another new thing, this sharing thoughts with someone. Generally, Harry would have kept all this to himself. Now he was whispering things to Ginny, and hearing from her what she thought. It was new, and quite frankly the absolutely best part of dating, he thought. Except perhaps for the kissing. Yes, the kissing was awfully nice, too.

Hagrid popped open a Wizard cracker, and put on the over-sized Father Christmas hat that tumbled out. “Got a lot more students 'round the table this year, I notice.”

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat delicately. “Yes, well, it is nice to share the holidays with so many students.”

Toying with her stolen, Professor Sprout wondered aloud. “Odd though, so many people here this year.”

Professor McGonagall glanced sidelong at Dumbledore. “I'm sure I hadn't noticed. Can I get you some more tart, Mirriam?”

“Oh no, no.” Mirriam Sprout waved the plate away. “I'm positively stuffed. No, I was just wondering why all the crowd this year? It seems-”

“Oh, for sake of my sanity, stop it!” Snape closed his eyes wearily. “Voldemort! Is back! Obviously, some of our graduates recognize both the obvious safety of the castle as well as the rather clear danger he represents to their children.

“Even if some of our Professors are oblivious.” Snape muttered the last, but the silence at the table was so absolute it carried quite clearly.

Every face stared at the Potions Master, white ovals of shock. With a sudden shudder, one of the young Hufflepuffs burst into wailing tears. “He- He- He- He said! He said it! He!”

Luna leaned sideways to reach across a stunned classmate and pat the sobbing boy's hand. Snape merely flinched from the noise, and rested his greasy head in one long-fingered, pale hand. “Merlin. The noises of the terminally dense actually worsened.”

Professor McGonagall slammed her fork down hard enough to bounce the ham and sauce on her plate. “Severus Snape! You have gone too far this time. Honestly! Saying such things around children. And on this of all days! Why, in all my years I have never-”

Albus Dumbledore raised a hand, and waved her to silence. She did, but her lips thinned to a hard white line as she bit back the rest of her comments. The headmaster smiled genially. “Severus was quite correct, if perhaps lacking somewhat in the tact my deputy headmistress would have liked to have witnessed.” Dumbledore smiled indulgently at his two teachers, who both bristled.

“What is more important to remember is that Hogwarts stands as a bastion of safety, as it has for more than a thousand years. We are quite safe from the outside world here.” Dumbledore raised an aged hand, and with a deft gesture everyone's glasses refilled. “And the important thing is to appreciate the company we share here.”

Ginny turned to look up at Harry with a wide smile. Somewhere in the room behind them was a loud pop, and a staggering thud. A girl's voice called out “Harry!” in terror, and opposite him, Luna and Ron went white with shock. Harry spun in his seat to see several crumpled and soot-stained bodies huddled in the midst of the Great Hall, in the center of a spreading fan of blood. From the bushy hair, the girl lying atop was-

“Hermione!” Harry leaped to his feet, his chair falling to the floor in a loud clatter as he ran on nerveless legs to his friend. The dinner plates crashed and shattered as Ron and Luna vaulted the table. The three friends slid to a stop on their knees, Harry getting there just a second ahead of the other two.

Hermione pushed herself upright, oblivious to the cuts on her face, one hand clutching her wand. “My parents,” she managed, and collapsed unconscious.

Ron caught her as she crumpled. Luna helped Ron pull her from atop her parents, and cradle her in his lap. Ignoring the blood staining her sleeves, Luna reached in and turned Hermione's parents over. They were ghastly, pale. Her mother's eyes were open. “Harry-” Luna began. Behind him were screams, oddly muted and silent. The world faded to a dull roar in his ears.

“Madam Pomfrey!” Harry cried out, blinking furiously as his vision kept wavering out of focus. He pulled his Gryffindor tie off and tightened it around Mr. Granger's right arm, just above a deep gash showing white at the bottom. “Madam Pomfrey!”

Harry turned, and saw the school nurse rising slowly from the table in shock. Too slowly. Harry fumbled with blood slicked hands at his robe, tugging his now sticky wand out. Thrusting it at the doors to the great hall, Harry yelled, “Accio Pomfrey's Kit!”

Harry looked up to see Luna trying several minor cut-healing charms on Mrs. Granger. The Ravenclaw looked up, a smear of blood on her forehead and her hair wild about her. Blinking wide eyes, Luna seemed to be talking to no one. “She looks rather like my mother.”

Ron was rocking Hermione gently, tears cutting tracks down his face. With a rattling crash, the doors to the Great Hall banged open, and several trunks and carts full of Nurse Pomfrey's medical supplies raced into the room. They skidded to a halt in front of Harry, the cart of potions fishtailing in its' hurry. A Blood Replenishing potion fell from the edge as it bounced to a halt, rocking. Harry reached out, and caught it mid air. Popping the cork free, he thumbed it closed, then used his off hand to pry Mr. Granger's mouth open. Tipping the bottle upside down, he pulled his thumb free and emptied the bottle down his throat. In seconds, Mr. Granger started turning from grey to pink. Harry reached out wordlessly and a box of sickly green powder leaped into his hand. He opened it, and started dusting down the larger wounds.

Luna spoke again, now trying the same Blood Replenishing potion on Mrs. Granger. “This isn't working.”

Harry scrambled over Mr. Granger, and slipped in the pool of blood on the floor. Fighting to get his hands under him, he crawled over to Hermione's mother. No matter what Luna thought, Harry thought she was the spitting image of her daughter. He checked her throat, and couldn't find a pulse. He couldn't find his wand, so he tried waving his hand over her to perform the Salubranquiro Spell Madam Pomfrey used to check people's health. Hermione's mother was surrounded by a dim grey glow, though he couldn't tell if that was because he had botched the spell.

In a sudden rustle of linen skirts Mada Pomfrey was there, brushing Harry's hands aside. “Out of my way, quickly now.” She spoke gently, but Harry slipped backwards, landing hard on his seat. He tried to push himself to his feet, but found his hands were shaking too badly. Pushing his damp bangs back, Harry looked around as suddenly the din of the Great Hall fell in on him. It was as though he had all at once been granted hearing for the first time.

Several of the students were babbling and sobbing in shock. Tiny Professor Flitwick and tall, thin Professor Sinistra were herding them in huddling, crying groups toward the door. Hagrid was crying silently, great fists clenching and unclenching in white-knuckled anger. Ginny was sobbing in her seat, with Neville smoothing back her hair. Professors McGonagall and Snape were having an argument at the tops of their lungs, though Harry couldn't make out any words. The lone quiet figure of Albus Dumbledore sat downcast at the table.

Madam Pomfrey called out from her spot on the floor. “I need to get them to the infirmary!”

Harry scrambled to his feet on the slick floor, searching for his wand. A great black form descended upon him. Snape grabbed him by one shoulder. “Not you, you twit, you've done enough damage! She means the Headmaster.”

Harry gasped, and pushed past Snape's great looming shape. Dumbledore already had everyone bobbing briskly out the doors, Madam Pomfrey trotting alongside. Ron was chasing after Hermione's drifting body, and Professor McGonagall was shooing the medical supplies after everyone.

Professor Snape drew himself up to his most imposing, sallow height. “Now take your little friends and go to your dormitories. Or are you incapable of even the simplest tasks?” With this, he departed in a swirl of black velvet.

Harry staggered sideways, and slipped a little. He looked about the trampled, bloodied room with it's festive decorations bobbing just overhead. Luna was still kneeling on the ground, trying to clean up the empty vials scattered there. Neville and Ginny stood together by the table. Seamus was sitting stock still in his chair, white as a sheet. The room was otherwise empty.

He took a deep breath, then spun on his heel and headed out of the room. Harry noticed idly that his four friends had joined him, wiping their tears away. Neville took out his wand. “Not going to the tower?”

“Infirmary.” Harry paused at the doors out of the hall to let his wand catch up to him.

Luna tried to push her stained hair out of her face. “I imagine Professor Snape will be unhappy.”

Ginny sobbed, but kept marching. “Screw him.”

The small student posse rounded the corridors, and pounded up the stairs, until the doors to the hospital wing swung into view at the end of the hall. Ron was sitting on the floor next to the doors, expressionless.

Ron looked up at everyone blankly. “Hermione's going to be okay. Dumbledore said her dad was going to recover, but her... her mum...” Ron cried without a sound.

Seamus slid down the wall alongside Ron. He very quietly called the Death Eaters some words Harry didn't even recognize.

Ron continued in a monotone. “I guess that little Pez thing worked. H-Hermione, she, uh, managed to get behind it and make a portkey. I didn't know she could.”

Everyone gathered round, and slid one by one down the walls to sit on the floor outside the infirmary and wait. All Harry could think about was his own skin. His hands were sticky, but he couldn't imagine wiping them off; somehow it seemed disrespectful. Everywhere he touched stone, Harry was freezing. But somehow his face was flushed, burning. It was as though the triphammering of his heart was squeezing out every thought but these few physical ones.

After many minutes of silence Luna started to speak, but stopped short when she heard echoing footsteps down the corridor behind her. She turned, and saw Professor Snape leading a pair of blue robed Aurors toward the infirmary.

Ron struggled to his feet. “Do you have to talk to her now? Madam Pomfrey just got her to sleep.”

Snape looked like he was going to snap at Ron, but Auror Dawlish pushed past him. Harry recognized the sour looking man from Dolores Umbridge's brief reign of terror at Hogwarts. “We're not here for your little friend, boy.” Dawlish sneered. “Just the muggle.”

Harry kicked off from the wall with a disbelieving laugh. “'The muggle?' You mean Mister Granger, one of Voldemort's other victim, right? He nearly died, and I don't think he can give you a description of the Death Eaters right now, either.”

“I don't need to speak with him.” Dawlish pulled back his uniform cloak to reveal his holstered wand. “We're just here to Obliviate him and be done.”

“What?!” It was hard to tell who yelled what, as the corridor exploded into pandemonium. The noise only died when Dawlish fired red sparkles into the air, his oaken wand in his hand.

“Right then, everyone. Play time's over. Back to your classrooms, we've got official Ministry business here.”

“I don't think so, mate.” Seamus scrambled up next to Ron and Harry, wand clutched in his fist. “All you got here is trouble.”

“You've got no right to attack the Grangers!” Harry shook his head to emphasize his point.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor!” Snape bit the words out sharply. “Now go to your common room and stop interfering with things that don't concern you.”

“This concerns me.” Luna blinked delicately, staring over Dawlish's shoulder as she lined up alongside Ron. “I think finding a Ministry Auror who wants to assault unconscious hospital patients is something to be concerned about. Don't you?”

“Twenty points from Ravenclaw!” Snape rounded on the others. “And twenty more from Gryffindor for failing to follow instructions.”

“You're not going in there.” Harry's green eyes were cold and dark. Neville and Ginny lined up with the others, filling the corridor with students shoulder to shoulder.

“One hundred points from Gryffindor, Potter,” Snape snarled. “And detention for a week for your rank insolence. Now let them do their job!”

Harry's sneer matched his Professor's. “Will! Not! Happen!”

“Oh, stop wasting time on children.” Dawlish pushed his way to the front, and grabbed Ginny's shoulder. “Out of the way you little-”

With a move that could only have been learned from a lifetime of surviving older brothers, Ginny brought her knee up and dropped Dawlish like he'd been pole-axed.

Dawlish pushed himself up on one hand, aiming for Ginny with his wand as best he could with streaming eyes. Suddenly the hallway erupted as everyone drew down. Harry had a very clean line on Dawlish alongside Ron. Seamus and Neville had the other Auror covered, and Luna managed to point her wand at Professor Snape while looking as though she hadn't noticed where her hand was. For his part, Snape had his wand trained on Harry.

The door behind the students opened and closed, and a dry throat was cleared. “Am I interrupting anything?”

Harry twitched his head slightly to check that it was indeed Professor Dumbledore who'd stepped out of the infirmary. “Yes sir, he attacked Ginny!”

“She attacked me!”

“These students have all disobeyed the direct orders of a Professor at this school.”

“This ruddy git wants to attack the Grangers!”

“They're interfering with Ministry policy, sir!”

“They're acting like a bunch of jumped up Death Eaters!”

“Kiss off, kid!”

Dumbledore gently pushed between Harry and Seamus, settling himself square in the middle of the hallway full of crossed wands. He steepled his hands, and looked around. “Let's sort this out straight away, hmm? Professor Snape, if you could check with Madam Pomfrey, and make sure we're stocked up on our potions, I would appreciate it. Auror Dawlish, the Ministry does not have authority to enter my school whenever it sees fit. If you have any questions on this subject, please direct them to Mrs. Dolores Umbridge; I understand she's regained the power of speech of late.”

He held up a hand to forestall protest. “And I can assure you that Doctor Granger will not violate our secrecy, for so long as we do not violate his person. So you see, you are done here. And as for my students, as you can see, no one will be harmed here. Although in the future, you might wish to consider contacting your teachers rather than pulling wands on Ministry officials.”

“She kicked me!” Dawlish pushed himself upright, his face beet red and wet with tears.

“After, unless I am mistaken, you assaulted her.” Dumbledore peered over his glasses at the apoplectic Auror. “I have known Miss Weasley for some years now, and I assure you that your continued ability to walk demonstrates a great deal of restraint on her part. But do not worry; I am sure I can prevail upon her not to file any complaints with your superiors.”

Dawlish ground his teeth together audibly. With a perfunctory gesture at his second, the Auror spun about and marched down the hall.

Dumbledore followed behind them for a handful of steps, then turned back to face his students. The lot of them hastily stuffed their wands back into their school robes. Dumbledore looked down his nose at the six students in front of him. “If I know my math well, and I like to think I do, then I believe I owe each of you twenty-four points for standing up for your classmate's family. That should, I think even things out. Now if you would all go back to your dormitories, I shall see to our guests.”

The other students began filing past the Headmaster, but Harry stood stock still, his jaw falling open. “What? That's it?”

Dumbledore's bright blue eyes narrowed imperceptibly. “The Auror's are gone, Harry. Mr. Granger will recover. No one has been punished for acting according to their conscience. I'm not sure I see what else you think I could do.”

“No harm, no foul?” Harry took an angry step forward. “That's all that counts now, is it? What about your Potions professor leading those thugs into hospital? Or the fact that the Ministry wanted to wipe out Mr. Granger's memory? Aren't you going to do anything about that?”

“Harry,” Dumbledore tilted his head slightly, searching for a phrase. “Despite both our philosophical disagreements with the practice, licensed Obliviation is a legal tool the Ministry utilizes to preserve the secrecy of our world.”

“But that's not true, is it?” Harry bounced another step further forward, face tight. “Mr. Granger already knew about magic; his daughter went to Hogwarts. This wasn't about secrecy. This wasn't about protection. This was about hiding what wizards could do to muggles.”

Seamus tried unsuccessfully to clear his throat silently. No one wanted to draw attention to their presence by moving to leave, but standing in the middle of this argument was absolutely unnerving. Neville blinked, realizing for the first time that not necessarily every good wizard agreed with Professor Dumbledore.

“In part, Harry, that is true.” Dumbledore paced slightly. “Both magic and technology have progressed to the point where they present a terrible danger to each other. In their fear, muggles could do our world great harm. And if the two worlds ever came into conflict, wizards could do terrible things to defenseless muggles. It is in their best interest for us to never let them know what kinds of threats exist.”

“I've heard that patronizing, 'I know what is best' thing before.” Harry clenched his fists. “That what Voldemort says about half-blood wizards. Is that why everyone's afraid of him, really? Because he treats other wizards the same way the Ministry treats muggles?”

Dumbledore blinked in shock, and shook his head so that his flowing white beard waggled like a tail. “No, he is feared because he is evil. If the Ministry is in error, it is misguided, not evil. You must-”

Harry cut him off. “Fine. I just want to know how to defeat Voldemort.”

Dumbledore's face fell. “I cannot.”

“Why? How long do I have to wait?” Harry advanced again, red in the face. “Every day I don't end this, more people die. Tell me.”

Dumbledore bowed his head. “I cannot tell you how to defeat him, Harry, because I do not know.”

Harry went pale. “What?”

The Headmaster removed his glasses, and began absently cleaning them with the sleeve of his robe. “Your love is the power Voldemort knows not. Love is an ancient magic, one he has never understood, fails to respect, and cannot use.”

Harry's bright green eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head. “I don't understand. How do I use that to stop him?”

Dumbledore restored his glasses to his long, crooked nose. “If I knew that, I would have done so myself. I imagine it is something only you would understand.”

“That's it?”

Dumbledore's bright eyes twinkled. “You have thought of something, then?”

Harry went to run a hand through his hair before seeing the drying blood all over them. He recoiled from his own hands, and looked over at his teacher. “No, I mean that's it? That's all? Sixteen years of planning, and all you have is, I've no idea?”

“It has taken rather that much time to identify love as your gift, Harry.”

The anger was draining away from Harry as he approached the old headmaster. In it's place, his legs and his voice were left wavering. “And how do you know you're not wrong?”

Professor Dumbledore laid a firm hand upon Harry's shoulder, and with a wave of his off hand, scourged the stains from his student's hands. “The love your mother had for you defeated him sixteen years ago, and again when you first came to this school. Obviously he did not know or understand this power, or he would have tried to avoid his fate.”

Dumbledore turned, and lead Harry over towards his friends. “Voldemort tried to use your blood to bypass the protections your mother laid upon you. But he again forgot about love, and the essence of magic it contains. Otherwise, he would never have attempted to possess you last year. So you see, I can be reasonably sure that the 'Power he knows not' in the prophesy is Love, Harry.”

“Okay.” Harry looked down at the flagstones as they walked, pale and shaking. “What can I do with love, exactly?”

“It is perhaps a failing of this school, Harry, that we so successfully teach the formulas of spells and potions.” Gently, Albus Dumbledore steered Harry towards his friends. “Some magics, and Love is chief amongst them, transcends these formulations. There is no map, no lesson to teach these things.”

He smiled sadly, and turned to reenter the infirmary alone. Ron bolted away from the crowd of students, and ran to the doors in the Headmaster's wake. With a silent, understanding smile, Dumbledore held the door open for the red-head. Quietly, he slipped in after his student and locked the door.

Harry turned away with a heavy sigh and started slogging toward the tower. He looked down; his hands were scrubbed perfectly pink, but his shirt sleeves were stained rust. Ginny slid in alongside him, and wrapped herself about his waist as they walked.

Seamus scrubbed his face with his hand. “Anyone going to tell me about this prophecy?”

* * *

It was a week before Hermione joined them in Gryffindor tower. She didn't volunteer any information about Christmas Day, and no one asked her about it. It was well known that her father was still in the school infirmary, and every day she slipped away to visit. But he had not been seen since.

Although it was still winter holidays, and a raft of students were staying over in the castle, Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent the majority of their time alone. No one really knew what to say to her, and found sitting quietly next to their unusually solemn classmate unnerving. So for the fourth day in a row, the three friends found themselves getting an early start on their homework in the library.

“I'm just saying, is all,” Ron continued. He'd been talking off and on for the last couple of hours, filling the library's silence with at least a single voice. “I don't see how it is Harry managed to get out of Potions. I mean, couldn't Gred and Forge have told me I could skive off of it.

“No, they couldn't be bothered to tell their little brother anything. So here I am with four feet to write on dragon scale powder, and Harry's over there doodling. Figures.”

Harry and Hermione looked up as Ron threw his quill down. For a half a moment, a ghost of a smile played across her lips. Then, as soon as it had appeared, it was gone.

Ron and Harry exchanged a look. Ron coughed. “You think they have a Remedial Potions class? Or maybe Potions for Thundering Gryffindors Who Can Barely Tie Their Own Shoes? 'Cause I'll be ninety before I figure out how to write four feet on this stuff. Unless I write in really big letters. What do you two think; big letters, or really big spaces between the lines?”

Luna swept into the library, and up to their table. “I know you're keeping Hermione company, but Professor Lupin is looking for you, Harry.”

Harry looked up at Luna in alarm, then over at Hermione nervously. Hermione smiled wanly. “Please, Harry. I know why you two are in the library over holiday. I didn't think either of you really wanted to get ahead on your work.”

Harry nodded and got up, and Luna settled into the chair he vacated. “I'll keep Hermione company for you while you're gone. I've got some rune puzzles in the Quibbler I haven't finished yet.”

With that, Luna pulled out a dog-eared magazine, turned it sideways, and began making obscure squiggles in the margins.

Harry waved half-heartedly to his friends, and trotted off towards the third floor. The hallways were cold and empty as Harry jogged through them, the intermittent fireplaces failing utterly to hold the cold stillness of winter at bay. Harry pushed open the heavy door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, crossed under the reassembled dragon skeleton, and climbed the curving stairs toward his office proper.

He knocked on this door, and waited until Professor Lupin called for him to enter before opening the office door.

Lupin looked up from the pot of tea he was making at his desk. With a wave of his wand, he set the pot to stirring. Lupin pushed back his threadbare robes and dusted his hands on his worn cable-knit. He smiled lightly, pale eyes tightening ever so slightly. "Harry, thank you for coming. Tea?"

Harry shrugged, and shifted from foot to foot. "Please."

Lupin sorted out two chipped teacups and a plate of biscuits. They settled awkwardly into their chairs. Lupin spoke first. “Before I forget, I've got something here for a friend of yours.”

Professor Lupin reached behind his desk, and extracted a wicker basket. He opened it, and a giant ball of ginger fur leaped onto the floor. Crookshanks shook himself grumpily, then turned his squashed face up to look at Harry. With a second bound, Crookshanks threw himself into Harry's lap, and settled in, knocking the plate of biscuits to the floor. Harry set his cup of tea to one side, and stroked the incredibly ugly cat. “Hello there. I know a girl who'll be very happy to see you again.

Lupin smiled, summoning the spilled plate to his waste bin. “Aurors found him hiding outside Hermione's cousin's house. I think he was waiting for her to come back.”

Harry scratched the ginger cat under it's foreshortened chin. “You're a very bright cat, aren't you? Yes.”

Lupin cleared his throat. “Crookshanks isn't the reason I asked Luna to go fetch you. I asked you here to talk to you about your Defense Association again, Harry."

Harry looked up, startled. Lupin stared out the window, the bright light further washing out his pale features. “I was wrong when I let you stop your Association. This war has come, and it's come for all the students here as well. What you know could save lives, Harry. I was wrong to let my feeling influence me on this.”

“You think I should start the DA up again?” Harry ignored Crookshanks, his hands stilling.

“I think that Hermione and her father wouldn't be alive if they didn't have that little device of yours. I think that your work together last year helped. And although there is little either you or I could do to make anyone else into quite the student your Hermione is, I do think that everyone should have the chance to learn to defend themselves as best they can.”

Harry spoke softly, and resumed stroking Crookshanks as the cat swatted his hand. “I'll do it.”

“Thank you, Harry.” Remus took a sip of tea. He continued in a suddenly conversational tone. “So, Harry. How is Morgraine's Mirror working out?”

“Fine.” Harry realized he'd bit the word off harshly, and smiled to smooth it over.

“No bad dreams, no chills, no side effects?” Lupin raised a think eyebrow.

“Nope, every thing's fine.” Harry stood up, sweeping Crookshanks into his arms. He headed for the door, smiling stiffly.

Lupin came to his feet with Harry. He thrust his hands into his pockets uncomfortably. “Harry, perhaps we should talk about Sirius.”

Harry straightened, clutching Crookshanks to his chest. The cat helped remind Harry of what Hermione had told him months before. “Hermione's been telling me I need to learn to express things. Tell people how I feel.”

Lupin rocked on the balls of his feet. “That's good advice, Harry. For everyone.”

“You're the best teacher I've ever had, and next to Sirius the person I could talk to about anything.” Harry cleared his throat, and took a deep breath. “I'm sorry. It's my fault your best friend is gone, and I'm sorry.”

Harry turned, and fled the room, leaving Remus Lupin alone in silence.

* * *

-->

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That's politics.” Hermione folded the newspaper primly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hermione put a warning hand on his arm. “Ron...”

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

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

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

“Not now, Ron,” whispered Harry in a sotto voce.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry smiled sweetly up at his professor. “My pleasure.”

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

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

* * *

The next morning was miserable.

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

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

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

Harry had wanted to scream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Penance?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you really?” She smiled. “Can I see?”

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

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

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

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

Harry smiled slightly. “I guess we manage.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry looked horrified. “You kicked me!”

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

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

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

“Not really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ginny shot him a tight look, and Harry winced.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Obviously.” She rolled her eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hermione!” Harry pushed through the students to get to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm so sorry, Hermione.”

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

Harry sniffled too. “I know.”

* * *

-->

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

As January wound down to a bitterly freezing close, the Second Wizard War burned hotter than ever. For weeks, the Daily Prophet reported attack after attack, the pictures on the front page showing burning homes, and rescuers consoling the survivors. For weeks the papers paraded the pictures of the handful of scattered Death Eaters caught during the attacks. Chillingly, in the last week, the Daily Prophet was scrubbed clean of any stories about the war, save for short blocks on the back page, bereft of pictures. It was as thought the war did not exist, though that fiction was given lie by the squadron of blue robed Aurors circling the school on Ministry brooms.

Harry ran now through the snow, forgoing entirely the warmer path around the curtain walls. His house mates and professors could find him if he remained too near the castle. Ranging far afield, past Hagrid's cabin and to past the frozen lake afforded him privacy. By transfiguring his clothes as Madam Hooch had shown him, Harry could stay warm even as he stayed out for hours.

By now it was full dark, and from the orange glow from the Great Hall's windows, Harry could tell that supper was in full swing. If he waited just a few more hours, he could make his way back to Gryffindor Tower without meeting anyone. Harry tucked his hands into the hooded sweatshirt he's turned a Weasley jumper into, and thought about the last few weeks.

The Defense Association meetings were functional. The newest students, rather than being scared off by Hermione's meltdown, had come back the next meeting, and were making good progress. Harry figured they'd be ready to work with the old guard of the Defense Association in another month or two. Ron, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Harry's disappearing act was made much easier by the fact that Ron was putting his all into hiding from sight as well. Ginny kept pursuing Harry, trying to pick fights about whatever she could. Harry had spent a month ignoring her attempts to get a rise out of him, and focused on sneaking out whenever possible.

Most difficultly, Hermione was not avoiding Harry or acting mad at him in the least. Far from it, she kept trying to drag him and Ron into the same room at the same time. She was tirelessly friendly, caring, and helpful. She was back to working actively in the Defense Association. Harry was running away from her more than anyone else. He couldn't get it out of his head that she knew he was at least partly to blame for her mother's death because had not faced Voldemort yet.

For now there was something he had to do, and had been delaying for as long as possible. As he looked back at the castle, he saw a dark shape alighting at the window of the north tower. As the window swung open, Harry saw for a second a rider on a broomstick swoop inside, then the window swung shut, and the towered returned to still darkness.

Dumbledore's office was at the apex of the north tower.

Harry sighed, and headed back to the castle. The front entrance was in clear sight of the Great Hall, so that was right out. He ran back through the snow to the south courtyard, and walked carefully up the stairs to the Bell Tower gates. Here he had to be careful, as snow and ice made footing tricky on the uneven flagstones. Harry Silencio'd the gates, and slipped inside, just down the hall from his classmates having their supper. The southern stairwell was deserted, and Harry jogged up them, headed for the first floor halls. Crossing over to the north face of the outer keep, Harry jogged upward to the inner keep, and the north stairwell.

He again found himself facing the giant gargoyle guarding the stairs to the Headmaster's office. It was time to start trying passwords. “Toothflossing Stringmints,” he began, and blinked when the gargoyle leaped to one side. He'd never guessed correctly on the first try before.

A gravely, disembodied voice floated out of the darkened stairwell. “Well, Potter, I see I don't have far to travel to find you.”

Harry's wand flew into his hand, and he flattened himself against the wall behind the gargoyle. There was a brief rustling sound, and Mad-Eyed Moody's head appeared, floating midair at the foot of the steps. “It's good to see you keeping vigilant, but don't get too twitchy, Potter. It's me.”

“Professor Moody!” Harry stepped out from behind the cover of the statue, lowering his wand. “I was just coming-”

“To see Dumbledore,” Mad-Eye finished for him, nodding his scarred and lopsided head. “And I was going to bring you to him. So, let's go.”

As Harry and Mad-Eye surmounted the tower stairs, Moody shrugged off the Invisibility Cloak he had been wearing. Harry looked up at him. “It's a meeting of the Order tonight?”

Both Moody's normal eye and magical one fixed him with a brief glare. “And how do you know about that.”

Harry shrugged. “Someone arrived by broomstick at the window.”

Moody muttered grumpily. “War's heating up, and we start dropping basic security. Brilliant.”

Moody pushed ahead of Harry, opening the huge door, and stumping into Dumbledore's office, his clawed peg leg thumping with each step. Harry followed.

Scattered throughout the office were the headmaster, Professors McGonagall and Snape, Arthur and Molly Weasley, Nymphadora and Andromeda Tonks, Remus Lupin, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, all seated on squashy armchairs.

Kingsley smiled broadly. “That was fast, even for you Moody.”

Moody stomped over to a seat, and dropped into it heavily. “Didn't have far to look. He was already on his way up.”

Lupin looked concerned. “Another vision Harry.”

“Yeah,” Moody snorted. “A vision of Kingsley flying into the window. You all have to remember-”

“Constant vigilance.” At least half a dozen voices chorused in.

“Damn youngsters, I'm serious!” Moody slapped the arm of his chair. “We can't go around bollixing security because we can't sneak into a school!”

Dumbledore smile indulgently. “While you do have a point, Alastor, I'm afraid we have a more urgent matter to address tonight. Harry, I would like to ask for your help in the war against Voldemort.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked, and sat down in surprise. “That's why I was coming to see you, actually. I wanted to know what I could do.”

Professor Snape snorted mirthlessly. “Please, Mr. Potter, does your arrogance know no bounds? You've come to offer your help to the Order? Thank you, for deigning to grace us with your presence.”

Harry flushed darkly, and ground his teeth.

Dumbledore coughed politely. “Perhaps it would do to remember, Severus, that we were in fact asking for Harry's assistance.”

“Harry, dear,” Molly Weasley began with a watery smile. “Don't think you have to do anything you don't want to.”

That cinched it for Harry. Mrs. Weasley would only be against one of Dumbledore's plans if she thought it was dangerous. And if his Headmaster wanted him to do something dangerous, it was almost certainly worthwhile. “What can I do?”

Arthur spoke up. He looked uncomfortable, and as unable to hide his feelings as his son. “It's about your visions Harry. The one's that link you to... You-Know-Who.”

“I haven't been having any, sir.” Harry shifted in his seat, seeing the precipice toward which the conversation would inevitably veer. “Not since Sirius died.”

“Preposterous,” Snape snarled, managing to over-enunciate every syllable. “You are a completely incompetent Occlumens, Potter. And when you don't have that miserable little know-it-all to crib from, a pathetic student in general. I rather doubt you could keep your mind closed, any more than you could keep your mouth shut!”

Harry noticed that Dumbledore was peering at him over his half-moon glasses again. Harry wondered if there was anything he could say that would take Dumbledore by surprise. “I... borrowed a Mirror of Morgraine.”

Snape rolled his eyes and sighed theatrically. “And what, asked the Dark Lord very politely to hang onto it for you?”

Harry glowered at Snape, momentarily forgetting his earlier hesitancy. “No. It's hanging over my bed.”

There was a gasp and a crash as Molly Weasley dropped her teacup to the floor. The various other order members looked horrified, and began talking in low tones to one another. Only Remus and Dumbledore looked sad and yet somehow understanding. Severus, however, looked even more non-plussed. “You cannot expect anyone to believe you could get your hands on such a dangerous object. Moreover, I am certain your monumental self-absorption would prohibit you from inflicting such a thing upon yourself.”

Albus Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Actually, Harry's use of the Mirror came to my attention when certain House Elves found themselves unable to approach his bed.”

“Oh, Harry...” Mrs. Weasley looked to be near tears.

Arthur patted her back before turning his attention to Harry. “You'll get rid of that thing at once.”

“Mister Weasley,” Snape began, and Harry noted that he sounded just as dismissive as when speaking to Ron. “You do realize that having access to that artifact is very likely the only reason your little golden child here isn't a human telegraph to the Dark Lord?”

“Heaven knows how that thing is hurting him, he's got to be rid of it,” Molly sobbed.

“Please,” Snape drawled. “After six excruciating years the boy finally shows a feeble glimmer of wit, and you want him to desist? This explains, at last, your youngest son.”

Molly's tears shut off as though someone had turned a tap. “Severus Snape, you make one more comment about my family, and we'll be finding out if Madam Pomfrey still remembers everything from her healing apprenticeship. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Professor Snape sighed theatrically, but fell silent nonetheless.

Moody spoke up, his gravelly voice positively pleasant after Mrs. Weasley's high pitched screech. “Morgraine's Mirror's a helluva thing to tuck under your pillow like that, but I can't argue with the results.”

Tonks spluttered. “What results? He's had it for a few months, and nothing bad's happened yet? Those things squick me to the bone. I'm just saying I don't want to get suited and booted just to bury the kid 'cause of that nasty little thing.”

Harry cleared his throat testily. “Don't I get a say in this?”

Snape snorted. “And the glimmer of wit dies.”

Harry glared at his former Potions professor, who sneered back. Snape leaned forward in his chair. “Almost uniformly you have made abysmally poor choices all your life. I should think that it would have become painfully obvious to you by now, even with your limited abilities, that for your own good your choices would be best if limited to 'pumpkin or orange juice.'”

“Am I here Professor Dumbledore,” Harry asked to the Headmaster without taking his eyes off of Snape, “as a student, or a guest of the Order?”

Albus looked slightly concerned. “This is a meeting of the Order, Harry. Under more ordinary circumstances, I do not think we would ask for a student's presence, even one as... special as yourself.”

“Thank you.” Harry tipped his head to address Snape directly. “Then sod off, you miserable git!”

The Potions Master snarled. “Detention for a month, you insolent brat! And your House won't have points for a month if I've anything to say about it.”

“You don't,” Harry responded curtly. “I'm not here as a student, I'm here as a guest of the Order. That means you're not a teacher, you're a spy. And a git.”

“Mister Potter!” Professor McGonagall's voice wavered with emotion as she spoke, her lips a thin white line. “Regardless of the status or circumstance, you will show Professor Snape all due courtesy!”

For the first time in his life, Harry found himself snarling at his Head of House. He could almost hear himself from outside his body, and wished he could shut himself up. “I did. I showed him a damn sight more courtesy than he's shown me.”

McGonagall waved Professor Dumbledore to silence as he moved to speak. She gathered herself up, glasses fairly trembling upon the tip of her nose. When she spoke, anger had thickened her Scottish brogue. “And this is your new goal, is it Mister Potter? To be just as rude and offensive as your Potions Professor?”

“Minerva!” Snape turned a shocked and sallow face to her. “I can't believe you-”

“What, Severus?” McGonagall turned briefly to look at her colleague. “Noticed your behavior, or commented on it publicly?”

Dumbledore coughed into his beard. “While I do think that many of us assembled here could benefit from a frank and open airing of our feelings, I am afraid the hour grows late, and we still have some business of the Order to attend to.”

Snape looked like he was going to protest quite loudly, but was silenced by a simple look from Dumbledore. The aging Headmaster turned his gaze upon Harry next. “I am afraid those of Tom's followers we captured some months ago at the Ministry have escaped.”

“And this has to do with my visions?” Harry's eyes narrowed as Dumbledore gave a stately nod. “You want me to have more visions? To find out where they are?”

“Merlin, no,” Snape answered flatly. “I can only imagine what kind of trouble you would get us all into by opening yourself up to whatever the Dark Lord chose to throw at you.”

Harry was a little bewildered. “Then what...?”

“Legilimancy, Potter.” McGonagall was brisk as she explained their request. “It's the difference between being seen and seeking. I trust that's a distinction you are comfortable with?”

When Harry nodded tightly, McGonagall continued. “If you can learn to see into the mind of You-Know-Who, you can tell the Order what he's planning.”

Harry thought furiously, trying to piece together the ramifications of all of this. If only Hermione was here, he thought. She'd know what questions to ask. “Isn't there the risk he'll learn everything I know?”

“With certainty, Harry.” Dumbledore looked sad as he answered. “Although you must resume your Occlumency lessons, I am afraid this will mean that you cannot be privy to the plans of the Order. The risks to the other members would otherwise be catastrophic.”

Harry's bright green eyes narrowed. “Aren't you worried Voldemort would try to possess me again?”

All present shifted in discomfort. Dumbledore nodded. “It is a risk, and one you must chose to accept or decline. For my part, I can say only that I would find your continued usage of Morgraine's Mirror to be... beneficial.”

Harry thought for a moment. “I'll do it.”

“Thank you, Harry.” Professor Dumbledore smiled softly. “Professor Snape has graciously offered to begin teaching you Legilimancy tomorrow. I trust you will pursue this with all due diligence?”

Harry could only nod, the memory of skivving off his Occlumency haunting him. He looked up at Snape's sour expression, and decided that the Potions Master probably hadn't 'offered,' regardless of what the Headmaster was saying.

* * *

Professor Snape's over cloak was folded nearly upon the corner of the huge workbench dominating he front of his Potions classroom, his fitted, high-necked black under robe making him look even more severe than usual in the gloom from the torchlight. With a wave of his ebony wand, Professor Snape threw the door shut behind Harry, and bolted it securely. A second wave, and the high windows were shuttered and latched. The torches guttered as the drafts from the door and shutters slamming closed tossed the flames about, temporarily dropping the room into near darkness. Snape stalked between the scarred desks, very nearly prowling toward Harry, who stood rooted by the now closed and locked doorway out.

“Have you, Mister Potter,” Snape asked silkily, “been following what the Daily Prophet is burying upon its' back sheets?”

Harry nodded, and Snape drew up to his full height over him, eyes and buttons glittering blackly. “Then you have read of the attacks, I should assume, the dead and the missing.”

Again Harry nodded. Snape glared at him from down the length of his hooked nose. “What you and the rest of the Isles have been spared out of concern for your delicate sensibilities, are those pesky little things we refer to as details. Having seen your execrable performance in my class, I am already aware you are not in the least bit competent when it comes to the details, Mister Potter.”

Snape whirled away, a contained anger boiling out of every sharp gesture as he marched back toward the head of the class. “Details, Mister Potter. Although the Cruciatus Curse remains, as ever, a popular entertainment for the followers of the Dark Lord, it is not the only torture inflicted upon those unfortunate enough to be caught. I wonder, Mister Potter, if you are familiar with the distinction between scourging and flaying. No? I thought not. Can you identify the essential characters of a violation or desecration? Were you to view the bodies of these most recent victims, could you identify whether these grotesqueries were performs pre- or post- mortem?”

Harry gaped at his Professor for a long moment. “Why are you asking any of this?”

The answer was a snarl. “You and the Headmaster want to riffle through the Dark Lord's mind? Then you are an arrogant fool, but I assure you, I will do my part to both arm and prepare you for what you will most definitely find there. You will be willingly descending into thoughts Dante himself would not give voice to, a landscape too vile for Bosch. Do you comprehend, or should I find your prissy little know-it-all to translate it into more Gryffindor-friendly monosyllabic words?”

Harry ground his teeth, flushing deeply. After counting to ten, he tried to answer his professor. “I get it, sir. Shall we get started?”

“I do not think you even begin to 'get it,' you broomstick-obsessed simpleton!” Snape barked, his usually oily voice for once harsh. “Teaching you Legilimancy, you will see into my mind. More so than last year, I truly hate to admit. As such, it is very likely that I will be unable to return to my work for the Order. I will be unable to do a thing to stop the Dark Lord.”

Snape stepped back, and took a deep breath. Running a hand down his robes to smooth them down more, if such a thing was possible, he continued in a more calm voice. “I am explaining, Potter, that unlike last year, this had better be worth my time.”

Harry threw his bag onto a nearby table. “Let's get it over with.”

The Potions Master sneered. “The incantation is Probitatis. If you rely upon your wand or you voice, you are failing as miserably as I have come to expect from a Gryffindor. However, in light of your singular ineptitude, I shall this once permit you to fall back upon these crutches.

“We shall take turns asking questions, and following them with a Legilimancy to determine the honesty of the response. Out of deference to the limitations of your world view, we shall limit ourselves to questions answerable with a simple yes or no. You will have succeeded if you can tell when I am lying. You will have surpassed my low expectations when I cannot tell when you are lying.

“Begin!”

* * *

Harry dragged himself into the Gryffindor tower near unto midnight, and his eyes felt raw and painful. His neck was obscenely stiff, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down for four or five days. It was not to be, however, as he walked in to find Hermione siting by a roaring fire in the common room, reading aloud from a stack of Quidditch books.

Harry blinked, rubbing his head as he took in the sight. It didn't make any sense to him. “Hermione, what are you doing?”

“I'm reading up on Snichorking, which is quite a foul in Quidditch. You see, all Locating Charms are disabled on a Quidditch pitch, in order to prohibit Snichorking, or illegally using a charm to help a Seeker find the Golden Snitch.” Hermione closed the book she was reading from primly, stood, and stretched. “Post owls use Locating Charms to find their recipients, so as I suspected, that owl shouldn't have wandered onto the field during your last match.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I meant 'what are you doing?' You're reading aloud? About Quidditch?”

“Well, yes. I'm keeping him company.” Hermione fiddled with her skirt uncertainly, and pointed towards one of the couches. “I realized I couldn't simply Stupefy you and drag you into a room to talk to Ron. I could, however, Petrify Ron...”

Hermione trailed off, and she and Harry stared at one another for several seconds. Harry dropped his book bag, and his jaw. Hermione flushed, but otherwise did not move. After a few seconds more, Harry slowly walked over to the couch, and peered over the back of it. There, prone upon the cushions, was a Petrified and brassed off-looking Ron Weasley. Harry looked up at Hermione in horror, just to catch the tail end of a 'Petrificus Totalus.'

Harry found himself snapping to a frozen and stunned attention before tipping over forward and landing head first in Ron's stomach.

“Oh, dear.” Hermione gasped. She darted forward to pull at Harry's feet, trying to pull him onto the sofa alongside Ron. She failed to take into account momentum, and Harry tipped over onto Ron, then rolled off onto the floor, knocking Hermione's legs out from under her. She toppled over onto the two of them, and planted knees and elbows everywhere as she fought to get back upright.

After a long bit of slipping and tripping over her two frozen friends, Hermione struggled back onto her feet, and blew several errant curls back from her face. She paced back and forth before the two boys, sighed a couple of times, before perching on the edge of the table in front of them.

“Hello you two,” she said, sounding falsely confident. Hermione tried to straighten her hair and clothes as she spoke. “It's been far too long since I've been able to talk to both of you at once. And I very much miss it. I miss us all being friends. And I can't wake up every morning knowing there's a war going on, and knowing I can't count on the two of you to both be there. So I'm ending your little squabble right here and now.”

Hermione smiled tightly. “Harry, I actually have you to thank for this. The way you silenced everyone in the DA, it got me thinking. And Ron, you told me once your mum Petrified Fred and George after they'd terrorized Ginny once when she was six, so I put those two together and thought, 'why not?'”

She cleared her throat, and continued. “I can imagine why not, though. You both might be very mad at me, and never want to speak to me again. Please don't do that. Please. I do need you both very much.”

“Right. So let's solve your fight right now.” She pointed her wand at Harry's Petrified nose. “You, Harry James Potter, tend to go running off into danger without thinking, and it's second nature for all of us to worry about it for you. Ron was and is justifiably concerned that you'd take Professor Dumbledore's cue, allow into the Defense Association people who aren't trustworthy, and you, I or someone else would get hurt. You may disagree with Ron all you want, but you had better know that he was arguing with you because he cares about you, and because he cares about me. Now, thinking about that, do you really want to stay mad at him?”

“Don't answer that,” she added, rather unnecessarily.

“And Ronald Billius Weasley,” Hermione continued, now pointing her wand at her boyfriend's freckled nose. “I should hope you realize that Harry is doing exactly what Professor Dumbledore would want of him. We both know Harry's too cavalier with his own safety, but surely you must realize he'd do anything to keep you, I, or Ginny safe. And certainly insulting people loudly and in the middle of a meal isn't very productive. If Harry had followed your 'advice' during your little tête à te over lunch, every Slytherin who wasn't a follower of V-Voldemort would know for certain they couldn't trust Harry or, by proxy, Dumbledore.”

Hermione straightened ever so slightly. “Now then, I'm going to take these spells off, and I'm hoping you two will act the adults you are. Finite Incantatem!”

Harry jerked upright just as Ron rolled forward off the sofa. They thunked heads together solidly, and both boys tumbled back over. Harry rolled over onto his hands and knees, glaring at Hermione, who had the graciousness to wince. Harry pushed himself upright a second time, and collided with Ron again.

“Ow!” Ron shoved Harry's shoulder, and Harry shoved back. Ron held a hand over his eye. “Okay, mate, you stand up first.”

With more than one glare at Ron to verify that he wasn't about to collide with his best mate again, Harry levered himself upright. Ron tried to push his way out of the deep divan with one hand plastered to his eye. Harry held out a hand to help him up. There was a pause, then Ron grabbed him, and dragged himself upright.

Ron pulled his hand away from his face, and blinked a few times at Harry, who was rubbing his head absently. “Dragons and Death Eaters are fine for us, but my girlfriend just about puts us both in hospital. Can you explain this to me?”

Harry grinned; Ron was joking with him! “Not really, no,” was his answer.

Ron turned an unsuccessful frown on Hermione. “And what are you laughing at, Little Miss Hex-Happy?”

Hermione threw an arm around each of their necks, and very nearly pulled the two teens over as she hopped briefly. She puleld away just as quickly, with an embarrassed smile on her face. She looked like she wanted to ask a question, but couldn't quite get it out.

Harry shrugged. “No, Ron and I aren't mad at you, Hermione.”

She smiled, and then like mercury her expression melted into a puzzled frown. “Aren't you two...”

“What?” Ron shrugged.

She wrinkled her nose up. “Aren't you going to apologize to each other?”

Harry and Ron turned to look at each other, slightly confused. As one the shrugged and shook their heads. “Naw, not really.”

“No.”

Ron thumped Harry on the arm before vaulting the sofa. “I don't know about you, but being petrified has me beat. I'm off for a long kip. Coming?”

Harry looked at the confusion on Hermione's face, and thought about how desperate she must have been to get the two of them talking. “You go on ahead. I might have gotten a concussion hitting my head on something that hard; I should probably stay awake for a while. You know, for health reasons.”

Ron snickered. “Prat,” he called out from the door to the dorms, and disappeared.

Harry turned back to Hermione, and tipped his head to look at her sideways. It was much easier to do this with his contacts than when he'd worn glasses; it seemed so much easier to catch the tiny expressions she didn't want people to see. He cleared his throat. “You want to talk?”

“Talk?” Hermione smiled lightly. “That sounds fun. I've been meaning to borrow some more of your texts. I'd prefer it if you were in the regular classes with Ron and I, but your classes are fascinating.”

His brow furrowed. “It's somewhere between cute and disturbing that you think textbooks are fun.”

Hermione's nose wrinkled. “You aren't still surprised by that, are you?”

“Not surprising. Just cute and disturbing.” Harry smiled as she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, yes, you're very funny.” Hermione crossed her arms and tutted at him lightly. “Now, did you want to talk about something in particular, or just mock the fact that I am the only studious person you know.”

“Not true,” Harry countered. “I know Professor Dumbledore.”

Hermione's delicate frown and wrinkled nose came together at this. “I appreciate that he is a brilliant wizard, Harry, but please tell me I don't remind you of our resident bearded quindecigenarian?”

Harry's green eyes danced with a mischief she'd not seen there of late. “And how much trouble would I get in if I said yes?”

Hermione clucked. “Do you remember getting petrified a few minutes ago?”

“Yeah.”

Hermione's brown eyes narrowed. “It would be worse, Harry.”

Harry grinned back at her. “You wouldn't hex a bloke with glasses on, would you?”

Hermione's retort was playful. “You're wearing contact lenses.”

“Ah.” Harry shrugged. “In that case, you don't remind me the least bit of Dumbledore. Even if I could picture you wearing those hats of his.”

Hermione snorted indelicately. “Never.”

Harry shrugged again. “Makes you wonder, though...”

She tilted her head slightly. “Makes you wonder what?”

“How does he have that many coordinated hats and robes?” Harry laughed slightly. “Do you think he doesn't get new robes unless he can find a matching hat? Or does he have these huge collections of robes and hats, all waiting on hangers until he can find them mates?”

“That's just too ridiculous.” She covered her mouth as she laughed.

“He's brilliant,” Harry conceded, “but this is the wizard who once told me all he wants in the world is a nice pair of woolen socks.”

Hermione laughed harder. “Socks?”

“I wanted to tell him he was a little off.” Harry smiled. “Couldn't quite figure out how to say that to the Headmaster.”

A huge yawn interrupted Hermione's laughter, and she covered her mouth again. It was a refreshing change from Ron, who generally let his roommates examine his tonsils every night around ten. “Harry,” Hermione began. “As much as I want to talk about socks, I need to get to bed.”

“I'm not the one responsible for the sock conversation.” Harry retorted with mock gruffness. “I said I wanted to talk, you started in on textbooks, and somehow we ended up with hats and socks.”

Hermione stretched sleepily, and Harry decided to turn his gaze on the fireplace until she was finished. “Well, make it quick then. I really have to be up early tomorrow for double Potions. Which, incidentally, you should be in.”

Harry thought hard for a few seconds. “Never mind. Maybe some other time, then. G'night, Hermione.”

“Oh no, Harry.” Hermione stopped him with a hand on his chest and pushed him backwards until the sofa bumped softly into the backs of his legs. “Don't think for a second I can't tell when you've got something serious to say.”

“It's just,” Harry said, “I wanted to say something 'cause you looked bothered, but now you're in a good mood, and I don't want to spoil it.”

“Oh dear.” Hermione frowned. “That definitely sounds serious.”

“I'm doing this all wrong. I should just let you go to bed.” Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets and kicked at the layered area rugs. “I really shouldn't be saying anything.”

“You're not exactly saying anything now, though.” Hermione's brows went up as she pointed this out to her friend.

“Fair point. Sorry.” Harry sighed, and decided to explain how he ended up trying to have this conversation. “Okay, so here goes. My social worker, Morgan, came by, and I talked to her. She said you might be feeling the same way I am, and maybe you'd want to talk about it.”

“Oh,” Hermione answered in a small voice.

“Anyway, I know the timing is abysmal, but I wanted to wait until Ron wasn't around, and this isn't exactly the sort of conversation you have in the library...”

“No,” she said in the same soft voice. “I wouldn't guess it was.”

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I just wanted you to know Hermione, if you want to talk about your mum, I'm here to listen.”

Hermione faltered, and sank slowly into a chair. “My mum?”

“I kind of know how it feels. To loose someone.” Harry cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “So, if you want to talk about her, I could listen. If you like.”

Hermione nodded quietly. Harry pressed ahead. “Do you want to? Talk, I mean?”

Again, Hermione nodded. Harry sat down on the sofa in front of her and waited for her to say something. Seconds passed, but she didn't say a word. Peering into her blank, brown eyes, Harry thought she looked about as shuttered up as he did that summer. The only movement was her lower lip, as she nibbled on it.

Harry decided to try another tack. “When Sirius... when he... when I lost him, I tried to get all of you to stay away from me. I wasn't very nice to any of my friends this past summer”

This roused Hermione from her stupor, and she reached out to pat his hand. “You were trying to protect us, Harry. In a way, it was very sweet.”

He hunched his shoulders in an abbreviated shrug, and turned slightly to address the fireplace again. “Partly. But I've been thinking that maybe I was mostly protecting myself. See, I don't have a family, not really. Not anymore. The more I think about it, the more I think that that's why I tried to get everyone to leave me. It's like, if I didn't have any friends, no one else could die and leave me any more alone.

“Does that make any sense to you?” Harry finally pulled himself away from the guttering fire to look at his friend.

“Yes Harry.” Hermione blinked rapidly. “You're not alone. You know that, right?”

“Sort of. Anyway,” Harry continued, finding it hard to meet her gaze, but doing it anyway. It was important. “Morgan pointed out to me that not everyone thinks like I do. I'm guessing that's why Ron and me fighting bothered you so much. When your mum died, you didn't push everyone away, you wanted everyone close to you, and we weren't, right?”

Hermione gave up blinking, and dropped her head to hide silent tears. Harry wasn't sure that he was helping any, and was worried that he might have made things worse. He shifted on the suddenly uncomfortable sofa. After a long silence, Harry continued. “So, I'm sorry we weren't doing better at being there for you. I'm sorry I wasn't, really.”

She didn't move, just kept crying silently. Harry shifted forward a bit. He bent down a little to look up into his friend's face, but it seemed as though she wasn't going to say anything.

Thinking quickly, Harry decided to keep talking. “I know you miss her. I miss Sirius. I... uh, it's odd saying this, but I don't miss him all the time. It's like... a whole day can go by without thinking of him. Then I think of something I want to tell him, or ask him, and it sort of hits me. Then I feel really bad, and try to remember when the last time I'd thought of him was.”

Hermione sucked in a breath and looked up with a sudden, jittery nod. Harry waited, and waited, but she didn't say anything.

He blew out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. “Sometimes it feels like I'm mad all the time. I'm not, but it just seems to pop up a lot. Or when I get upset, I get too upset. Usually, I'm mad at them for killing Sirius, or myself for putting him in danger.”

Harry waited for Hermione to respond, knowing full well she wouldn't. He just wanted to make sure she knew she could, if she wanted to. After a respectful pause, he continued. “Sometimes I'm mad at Sirius for abandoning me. Like he had a choice, or something. I know I've got to be an awful person for even thinking it, but still...”

Hermione fought to scrub her cheeks with the heels of her hands, still crying. “Don't. I read that that's normal.”

“You read it?” Drawing in great, shaky breathes, Hermione tried to reign in her tears, and nodded. Harry rubbed his raw, red eyes. “You mean, you did research?”

Hermione burst out laughing, crying harder now as she scrubbed at her face. “Would- Would you believe I have- have really good notes?”

She moved quietly over to the sofa beside Harry, and he enveloped her in a tight embrace. He stroked her hair, trying to reassure her that things would eventually be okay. A warm tear hit his hand, and Harry realized that somewhere along the way he'd started crying, too. “I might have to copy your notes, if you don't mind.”

Hermione laughed, and buried her head in his shoulder as another sob rolled through her. “I'd bring my- my notes home every year, Har- Harry. Mu- Mum used to tease me about all the ro- rolls of parchment!”

“The clerk at Flourish and Blott's teases you about the rolls of parchment, Hermione. And he knows you by name.” Harry was glad she couldn't see his face as he tried to wipe his tears away. He didn't think he should be crying, when he ought to be comforting his friend.

She laughed again, still crying. “Did you know, I remember my mu- mum bringing me my first book?”

“Uh-uh.” Harry smiled tightly, and squeezed her a little. “Did you love it.”

“Heavens no, it was awful!” Hermione pulled back from him slightly, so she could see his face. “It was all talking animals and rubbish! I asked her if they had any that were real.”

Harry smiled. “How old were you?”

“Six, I think.” Hermione shuddered a little, and played with Harry's Gryffindor tie, focusing on it. “So she brought me all these books on animals. Real ones. And I read them all as fast as I could, and spent the next weekend camped out in the yard.”

“The yard?” Harry couldn't figure out which was stranger; the tidy Hermione Granger camped out somewhere as a precocious little girl, or the fact that she had decided to go from reading to camping.

“Yes. It took her days to explain that I wasn't going to find any lions in the yard, because Africa was too far away for them to walk over.”

Harry laughed out loud, as did Hermione. When she started sobbing again, he pulled her back to his chest. “That sounds nice, Hermione. Can you tell me some more?”

They laughed and cried for a while that night.

* * *

-->

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

“Do you think, Ronald,” Luna began between bites of her buttered asparagus, “that the reason why paintings talk but photographs don't is because painters can talk to their subjects, but cameras can't?”

Ron turned back from his discussion of Quidditch tactics with Harry and shrugged. “I always reckoned it was on account of a talking painting being sorta' helpful, but having every damned snapshot jabbering at you would be a nightmare. I mean, who'd want to hear Aunt Florenciola chattering from the scrapbook all day long?”

Luna giggled, and for once Hermione joined in. Harry looked up and down the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Luna's presence at their table for dinners had become so common that no one gave her a second look. Her de facto acceptance made Harry smile to himself, since he knew the slightly dotty Ravenclaw wasn't exactly welcomed at her own House table with open arms. Then Ginny slid onto the bench alongside Harry, and his smile dimmed slightly. He wasn't looking forward to a public fight just now.

Ginny tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and glanced sidelong at him as she loaded asparagus and corned beef onto her plate. “You and Ron patched things up last night?”

Harry nodded warily. It occurred to him to point out that Hermione was more the cause than either he or Ron, but he decided not to. Over the last few weeks, he'd learned that the more he said, the more there was for Ginny to fight about.

She continued, looking down at her plate as she spoke. “So, does that mean we can stop fighting now, too?”

Harry's brows collided and he dropped his fork to his plate in shock. He was quite certain that any fighting was entirely her doing, and yet the way she'd asked that question... “I haven't been fighting with you.”

Ginny glanced up, rolling her eyes. “I'll let that slide, since I'm tired of fighting with you.” She reached over and squeezed his arm.

Harry turned away to glare, open-mouthed, at Ron. Ron glanced briefly at Ginny and shrugged.

Luna tapped Ron on the arm. “Do you think muggles can't see magic because they don't believe it, or do you think they don't believe it because they can't see it?”

Ron frowned. “D'ya think there's a difference?”

Hermione leaned past her boyfriend. “Harry, I think we might be ready to put the two Defense Association classes together now. That should free up an awful lot of time, and get everyone up to speed faster.”

“Sounds about right. Maybe the night after tomorrow?” Hermione beamed back happily, excited in a way only she could be about extracurricular homework.

Ginny pouted slightly, and grabbed Harry's arm. “Don't you think we should have an evening free pretty soon?”

Harry turned back to her. “Why?”

Ginny looked wistfully sad as she answered. “We haven't had a real date in a while. I'm sure Hermione could run the DA for a night or two.”

“I'm sure Hermione could run the whole school all year,” was Harry's response. “But I'm not about to go skivving off and dumping things on my mates.”

Hermione pinked slightly. “Go ahead Harry. You deserve some time off.”

Harry turned to look at her as though she'd gone around the bend. “I'm the last person here who 'deserves' some time off!”

Both Ginny and Hermione looked like they were a breath away from responding, when Luna spoke up again. “Ronald, if you had to choose between being a muggle, who didn't know about magic, and a squib, who knew but couldn't do any, which do you think you'd choose?”

At this Ron blew out a theatrically large sigh. “What's with the morning quiz? I'm half awake, and you're giving me a test!”

Luna giggled at this, still staring off at the stained glass windows over the southern wall.

“I'm serious,” Ron whinged plaintively. “Why don't you bounce these offa Harry, or Hermione, or God, even Neville?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Luna replied softly, staring off over one of Ron's shoulders. “You're the oddest person I know, Ronald. Your mind works in such unexpected ways, I'm always interested in hearing what you're thinking.”

Conversation ground to a dead stop. Ron pinked noticeably, and tried to focus his attention on his dinner plate. Hermione stared at her plate too, but in her case it was a last ditch effort to stifle the case of the giggles that was threatening to overcome her. Most of the nearby sixth year Gryffindors just stared slack jawed at the spacey Ravenclaw and the redhead she thought was odd.

“Hey Ron,” Seamus finally answered with a sly smirk. “This mean you got yourself a fan club?”

“Oh, yes.” Luna swayed slightly as she answered. “Did you wish to join? It's only three Knuts, but most of the members are girls.”

Ron roommates burst out laughing, which obscured the faint strains of Weasley is Our King as the Ravenclaw began humming. Now a bright red, Ron threw his fork down with a sigh.

“Fine, you lot. I'm not hungry anymore.”

Luna blinked. “For dinner?”

Ron looked both embarrassed and confused as he rose awkwardly from the table. “Er, yeah. It's too early for breakfast.”

Hermione set her silverware down and got up, smiling. “Alright, Ron. Let 's get you away from the scary Ravenclaw.”

Ron turned on her, looking desperate. “Not you too? Someone's got to stop having a go at me!”

“I'm not making fun of you.” Luna's usually misty voice was clearer now, and she pulled up her bag and started rummaging through it. “Membership really is three Knuts. I have some buttons in here somewhere.”

Seamus laughed so hard his head hit the table, and Dean had to wipe his eyes. Ron rolled his eyes at his roommates and slumped off. Hermione patted his back, and tried not to giggle as he walked off. Waving briefly to Harry and Ginny, she followed Ron out of the Great hall.

Luna looked down at her lap, where she was playing fitfully with a small enchanted button. “I didn't mean to embarrass Ronald.”

Harry didn't exactly feel comfortable reaching across the table to pat Luna on the shoulder, but he couldn't very well let her sit there forlornly. “I think maybe it's the good kind of embarrassed, where you don't really know how to say thank you.”

The blond Ravenclaw looked up at this. “Do you really think so, Harry, or are you humouring me?”

“I'm serious.” Harry thought about it for a few seconds, remembering various moments in his own life. “Ron's always wanted to be the center of attention, in a good way. But I think sometimes, people just aren't ready for the things they want.”

Luna turned her wide, grey-blue eyes on Harry at this, and for the longest time held him with her disconcerting stare. At long last, she smiled softly. “There may yet be hope for you, Harry Potter. Yes, indeed.”

And with that, Luna got up from the table and wandered off, returning to her humming as she went.

Ginny rolled her eyes, then shifted gears very visibly. Smirking up at Harry, she tapped her finger on her chin. “Well, it's just you and me Harry. Want to get out of here?”

Harry was staring out the doorway into the entrance hall. “Sounds like a good idea.”

Ginny took his hand and pulled him from the table. They jogged to the front hall, where she spun around, still pulling on Harry's hand as she dragged him up the stairs. “And where, Mister Potter, did you plan on going now?”

“Back to the common room,” Harry answered without hesitation. “I finally get to spend time with all my friends, and no one's fighting just now.”

Ginny deflated. “For the most famous wizard alive, sometimes you really are insufferably boring.”

Harry frowned at Ginny, who smiled and patted his arm. “Kidding. Just kidding. Let's go see what my brother and his girlfriend are up to.”

With that, Ginny linked arms with Harry and continued up the stairs with him. In silence, they passed a flight of stairs, and a cluster of wizard paintings whose names Harry had never bothered to learn. It was just as well; half of them had turned in early for the night, and leaned against their frames dozing. Every so often, Harry would steal a glance sidelong at his girlfriend. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her doing the same.

Two staircases and a landing later, Harry finally voiced his thoughts. “I can't believe you said that to me.”

Ginny sighed. “It was a joke. I'm very sorry you can't take a joke very well. Really.”

Harry glared at her, then tried to conceal it. “That wasn't much of an apology.”

“It wasn't much to apologize about.” Ginny fumed at him, but continued to drag him up the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower. “Not like I'd ignored you for a few weeks or anything.”

Now it was Harry's turn to sigh. “I'm sorry about that. I just didn't want to keep arguing with you.”

“Apology accepted.”

The two of them had finally reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, but Harry pulled up short and tugged Ginny to one side so they could talk for a moment before facing everyone. “Can we- just you and me- can we just never mention being famous?”

“It's just the truth, Harry, and stuffing your fingers in your ears won't make it go away,” Ginny responded tartly. “But for you, I'll fake it.”

“Okay.” Harry nodded, feeling oddly hollow.

“Now, onto much, much more enjoyable matters.” Ginny grinned that wide, innocent smile that had over the last year started to worry Harry. “Valentine's Day is the day after, and we both know you're pants at being romantic, so I'll be arranging something. Just remember to be all cleaned up and ready for a date, and things will go smoothly.”

“I didn't know I was pants at being romantic,” Harry muttered.

“Flibbertigibbet,” Ginny said to the portrait, which promptly swung inward to reveal the Gryffindor common room. She turned back to Harry, and dragged him in after her. “It's alright. Merlin help me, I actually think it's cute.”

Harry and Ginny entered the common room to find Ron and Hermione siting opposite each other away from the fireplace, working on homework. Harry smiled. “Would we be bothering you if we sat down?”

“No!” Ron just about jumped out of his seat to clear off room for his sister and best friend. Harry tried not to laugh too much at Ron's very obvious desire to get out of his homework. Ginny pushed Ron into the chair next to Hermione, and settled Harry in next to herself. Hermione continued taking notes and working on what appeared to be a prodigious essay.

Harry cleared his throat. “Well, I can't stay too long. I've got- well, a class, I guess- that I have to go to.” In truth he had Legilimency with Professor Snape, but he wasn't sure that was something he wanted to bring up.

“A class after dinner?” Ginny slapped his arm. “Don't be a prat.”

Ron shrugged. “Actually, Harry here's been having a right few classes after... Hey! Wait a minute! Is there something going on?”

Hermione looked up at this, and caught Harry's panicked look. She closed her book loudly, cleared her throat and looked up at the three people around the table. “Well, I can see I'm not getting anymore work done tonight. I may as well put my parchment away before it's smudged.”

Harry slipped his wand out, and with a quick flick used the charm from Vocational Sorcery to marshal the papers and books into Ron and Hermione's bags. Hermione looked around at the suddenly cleaned work area, and muttered to herself, “I have to learn that one.”

Ginny flicked the comment away, and took hold of Harry's arm as he stowed his wand. “It's just a housekeeping spell,” she said dismissively. “It's not very interesting.”

“But it's very useful, nonetheless.” Hermione eyed Harry speculatively as she said this, and Harry wondered if this meant he'd be recruited to help clean and organize the tower from now on.

“It's Vocational Magic. Can't you leave schoolwork off for a night,” Ginny muttered.

Hermione turned her dark eyes on Harry. “And what other useful things are you learning, Harry?”

“Er.” He realized she hadn't exactly rescued him from a conversation he didn't want to have. She'd only postponed the inevitable. “I dunno. The usual, I suppose.”

Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Weren't you to scheduled to learn Apparation at end of term?”

Ron laughed. “C'mon, he'd've said something if he'd learned that!”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, and examined the pattern of scratches and ink stains on the tabletop. Ron laughed again, and slapped Harry's arm. “You learned it? Way to go!”

Harry looked up abruptly. “You're not mad I didn't tell you?”

“Naw,” Ron answered. “Not really, anyway. Why, surprised, are you?”

“Well, yeah, actually.” Harry looked abashed.

Ron nodded. “Well I would be, 'cept that I reckon you couldn't very well have kept me up to date when I wasn't speaking to you.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry smiled widely.

“Is Apparating exciting?” Ginny nudged him to get his attention.

“Actually, popping back and forth across the clearing gets pretty boring,” Harry answered. “Doing it for two hours is really boring.”

“Still, Apparation,” said Ginny dreamily. “Anywhere you want to go, you can.”

“Not as much as you might think.” Harry grimaced, thinking of the restrictions on where exactly he could go.

Hermione still hadn't taken her eyes off Harry yet. She cleared her throat. “And what else are you learning? In your after dinner 'classes' I mean.”

“Oh,” Harry blinked. “Those.”

“Yes, Harry. Those.” She sounded genuinely worried. Harry hated it when she did that.

“Legilimency.” Harry muttered, knowing he was the one giving her those worry lines between her eyebrows. “With Snape.”

Hermione sat back, and he could see the slow unwinding of the unspoken 'why' in her eyes. Privately, Harry gave her two minutes to put the pieces together. Tops.

Ron however, was snickering. “Harry Potter, Mind Reader? That's rich.”

Ginny's eyes went wide. “No more studying, just see what the teacher's are thinking. I wish I was in your classes.”

“Forget that,” said Ron with a wide, dazed smile. “Imagine knowing which girls fancied you!”

Ginny shot her brother a dark look, and he coughed apologetically. “Not that that would apply to you, of course. Or me, “ he added, looking over at his girlfriend warily.

Hermione, however, was lost in her own world. “Holy cricket! Harry, I don't care what Dumbledore asked you to do, don't try it!”

“Huh?” Ginny looked back and forth between her boyfriend and Hermione.

“You get the feeling we missed out on the interesting part of the conversation?” Ron muttered in a sotto voce to his sister.

“Uh huh.” She could only nod.

“It could be important.” Harry's jaw worked briefly. “It could save lives.”

“It could cost you yours.” Hermione leaned in across the table.

This caught Ginny's attention. “What do you mean?”

“Why on earth would you train a teenage wizard to read minds?” Hermione spoke to Ginny but kept her eyes on Harry, looking for confirmation. “To read students and teachers? Rubbish. No, it only makes sense if you remember that Harry has that connection to Voldemort.”

The Weasleys winced, but Hermione plowed on. “Snape would only be teaching you if Dumbledore asked him to, so he must have dreamed up this utter lunacy, and asked you to 'help out la casua.' Am I right?”

Harry nodded mutely. Ron jumped in, his voice a little higher than it had been. “But why exactly is this a bad thing. Voldemort comes up with an evil plan, Harry gets in over the mental wireless, and boom! No more evil plan.” Ron looked to one side, thinking. “Might make end of term a lot safer the next couple years.”

“Don't be an idiot.” Hermione looked at him askance. “Who knows what Voldemort can do if Harry tried this. Not to mention, I don't think seeing Voldemort's inner thoughts and feelings could possibly be a good thing.”

“You don't have to worry about me doing anything foolish, Hermione.” Harry looked a little disgruntled. “I can barely tell if someone's lying.”

“I always worry about you doing something foolish, Harry.” She still hadn't gotten rid of the little worry wrinkle between her brows. “It may be brave and important, but that doesn't mean it's not foolish.”

“Me, too.” Ginny tugged at Harry's sleeve as she said this.

“Can we talk about something else, though.” Harry looked around at his friends. “Please?”

Hermione sighed wearily. “Alright Harry. What would you like to talk about?”

Harry looked blankly back for a while, wracking his brain to think of something.

Ron jumped in. “I say we schedule some extra practices before the Ravenclaw game. If we get our Hawkshead Attack down tight, I think we can rattle Miss Head Girl.”

Hermione winced. “Not Quidditch, please. What would I be able to talk about? 'Say, does that still require a broom?'”

“I still think you should let us get you up flying,” Ron countered.

“Never again.” Hermione shuddered.

Ron grinned. “Spoilsport.”

Harry jumped slightly as he finally thought of something to say. “Ron! I almost forgot. Luna feels terrible about dinner. She really didn't mean to embarrass you.”

“She didn't, not really.” Ron pinked slightly. “Mostly it was our prat roommates who got to me. Luna was just being... a little odd.”

“A little odd?” Hermione laughed. “That's unusually charitable, isn't it?”

Ron flushed a little deeper. “Well, everyone's got their quirks.”

Hermione's eyebrows rose. “Quirks? Like radish jewelry?”

Ron sighed. “Give her a rest. Just because she's not your favorite person doesn't mean you have to give it a go.”

Her face fell. “Was I being mean?”

Ginny nodded. “A little.”

Harry shrugged. “I don't know. Anyone but Luna, it'd be friendly. But she has enough problems with people getting her for sport.”

Ron cocked his head. “What does that mean?”

“At the end of last year,” Harry began with a sigh. “I found out all the Ravenclaws steal her things and hide them. I don't think she's very well treated in her house.”

Hermione frowned. “That's dreadful!”

“Well, I guess it's time to put this prefect badge to good use.” Ron got up, and polished his tarnished badge on the sleeve of his robe.

Harry stiffened. “What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to give those Ravenclaws a piece of my mind.” Ron scowled, obviously thinking. “And Cho Chang, she's Head Girl, she's in that tower, she shoulda' done something before now.”

Harry squinted. “I don't really think she wants anyone making a big deal of it.”

“It is a big deal.” Ron's scowl lifted long enough to flash a smile at Harry. “C'mon mate. We went up against Death Eaters together. Bollix if I'm going to let her get run down by a bunch of whinging punks.”

Ron stomped off toward the portrait hole and disappeared. Harry, Ginny, and Hermione sat silently for a moment. Hermione cleared her throat delicately. Harry turned back to look at the two girls. “I'm going to have to talk to Luna tomorrow.”

Hermione nodded. “I'm sure she'll be frightfully embarrassed by whatever Ron's about to do.”

“No,” Harry answered, shaking his head. “I want a Ron Weasley Fan Club button.”

* * *

The next morning, the four Gryffindors were again united at the table in the Great Hall. Luna was again sitting at the Ravenclaw table. Ron had remained silent about what had transpired when he got back to the tower, despite a certain amount of pressure from Hermione.

The coming of the morning hadn't stopped her, especially once she'd seen Luna across the Great Hall and avoiding the Gryffindor table. “Honestly Ron,” she tutted. “Did you have to go tromping in like that. I'm sure Luna is mortified.”

Ron sighed. “Let it go, Hermione.”

Harry missed the rest of the conversation as Ginny slipped a hand under the table and squeezed his knee. He froze, and she casually leaned in to whisper in his ear. “We're not fighting anymore, right?”

“Right.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded off.

Again she squeezed, somewhere north of his knee and Harry jumped. “Good. So we could sneak off somewhere, instead of fighting then.”

Harry thought about reaching down to pull her hand away, but decided that at least one of them should keep their hands above board. “We have class,” he whispered.

Ginny nibbled on her food left-handed, and paused to lean in towards him. “We'll cut them.”

Harry thought fast. “Filch! We'd get caught.”

“You do have an Invisibility Cloak, don't you?”

Just then, Cho Chang appeared by their table, and it had been a long time since Harry had been as happy to see her. Much to Harry's surprise however, she ignored him and focused her glare on Ron. “Just so you know, Luna's things have been returned to her, and I spoke to my Housemates about their behavior. She won't be having any problems with them again, but in the future I'd appreciate you bringing issues with Ravenclaw to me directly, rather than addressing my House behind my back.”

Hermione's jaw dropped, Ginny's eyes went wide, and Harry fought to conceal a smirk. Ron, however, had an expression Harry had to fight to place; disdain. It wasn't often he saw that look on his friend's face. Ron barely glanced up at Cho. “Just so you know, I wouldn't have had to go behind your back if you'd done your job. And in the future, I expect you to make sure your house isn't a disgrace to Hogwarts.”

“Don't you talk to me like that, I'm Head Girl,” Cho snapped..

“Then try acting like it.” Ron turned back to the table and downed half a glass of pumpkin juice.

Cho looked up and realized that half the table was staring at her in silent shock. She made a tiny squeaking noise, and spun about fast enough to whip her ponytail about her like a pennant before striding off.

Ron kept eating in silence. Finally, Hermione spoke. “Why didn't you tell me things went well?”

He merely shrugged.

Hermione looked crushed. “I'm so sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion. And I really am very proud of you, Ron.”

“Can we drop it?” Ron looked a little embarrassed and a little mad. “I didn't want to toot my own horn, so I didn't. End of story.”

His girlfriend stiffened. “Fine Ron,” she said primly as she slung her satchel over her shoulder and stood up. “Then I should just go.”

Hermione stormed off, and Harry thought she looked angry and sad at the same time.

Ron sighed. “I should go after her, I suppose.”

“No,” Harry nearly yelled. He jumped up, barely getting clear of Ginny Weasley's hands. “I'll go talk to her.”

“Thanks mate.” Ron shoveled hash into his mouth, and spoke around it. “I don't think I'm up to her right now.”

“By the way,” Harry said, grinning. “With Cho... that was bloody brilliant!”

Harry ignored the dark look Ginny shot him and hustled out of he room to follow Hermione. Guessing which was she'd gone, he turned left and then took the first right. Moments later, he found himself in the library, poking through the stacks. She was sitting on the floor, wedged in between numismatics and geomancy. Hermione wasn't crying, but she wasn't very happy either.

“He handled things perfectly. I don't know why it didn't occur to me he'd do alright.”

“I dunno.” Harry slid down the bookcase opposite her, so they were scrunched in, knee to knee in the stacks.

“I'm a dreadful girlfriend.” Hermione was trying to dismantle her skirt one loose thread at a time.

“That's not true!” Harry frowned. “You're a great friend. I can't imagine you'd be any less a great girlfriend.”

Hermione glared at him. “Try dating me sometime,”she answered acidly.

“Er, yeah.”

The brief flash of venom subsided quickly, and she sighed forlornly. “Why does he want to go out with me? Really? Aren't I the one he's been calling a 'nightmare' for years?”

Harry cleared his throat, realizing he'd inadvertently stumbled onto yet another problem with having Hermione for a friend; she had no girlfriends. Any other girl in the castle, she'd have four or five other people gathered around her in some corridor to talk to. Hermione, she had a skinny Seeker with a crooked House tie to confide in. Still, he figured, trying to fill whatever shoes she needed filled was a small price to pay for having such a good best friend. Harry took a stab at answering her questions. “I'm sure he saw the same thing everyone else did; you're great. Well, better than great. Brilliant, actually. As for the arguing... I don't know. Sometimes Ron's a bit of a prat, and you can be headstrong. Maybe you two are just... complicated?”

Hermione gave him a crooked, watery smile. “For your information, that was a rhetorical question. And I'm not sure 'complicated' isn't a synonym for 'nightmare.'

Harry patted her knee awkwardly.

She sighed again. “Why couldn't we have a nice relationship like you and Ginny. You never bicker.”

Harry looked around at the bookshelves. “Actually, if it makes you feel any better, Ginny says I'm a terrible boyfriend.”

Hermione's nose wrinkled. “Why on earth would that make me feel better?”

“I'm not sure, really.” He shrugged. “I think it's supposed to be that misery loves company?”

“No, not in the least!” Hermione looked less watery as she built up a head of steam. “And that's a horrible thing to say to you. I can't believe that Ginerva Weasley!”

Harry decided to head her off. “It's the truth. I'm not at all romantic.”

In part, it worked. Hermione deflated, loosing her vehement 'wrongs to be righted' edge. She regarded Harry appraisingly. “There's more to being a boyfriend than flowers and chocolates, Harry.”

Harry laughed hollowly. “Try telling her that.”

“Why don't you?” Hermione answered pointedly.

Harry pouted a little. “I don't think Ginny actually likes talking with me.”

“Nonsense,” Hermione huffed. “You two spend loads of time together.”

“Yes,” Harry said, drawing the word out. “I just don't think she likes talking with me.”

“Oh.” Hermione thought in silence for a while. “Well, I suppose that with boys, that's actually a good thing...”

“Not really, no.”

She wrinkled up the bridge of her nose again in consternation. “I thought that was more what you lot wanted all the time. No studying, no long conversations, just, well, you know. Snogging.”

“Oh.” It was Harry's turn to think in silence for a while. She made kissing sound a lot more interesting that Harry thought it had proven thus far to be. He tiptoed around the issue. “So, uh, Ron then...”

“Let's not go there.” Hermione sounded a lot drier than when she'd said 'snogging.'

“Right then.” Harry pulled himself a little further upright. “Not going there.”

The two of them sat in silence. After some time Hermione spoke up. “So, you were saying? About you and Ginny?”

Harry flushed. “Sorry. I actually came looking to help out with you and Ron.”

Hermione waved her hands. “Oh, no, please don't Harry. I'd actually rather hear about you two, rather than running my Ron problems through my head over and over.”

That was an odd turn of phrase, and Harry rolled it about in his mind for a moment, as if testing it for sharp edges. He was pulled away from his musings by Hermione's delicate cough. He looked up, green eyes wide, to see her making the little circular hand motion that universally signaled 'speak.'

“Sorry. So Ginny and I... I guess my problem is that we don't talk.”

“Seems a bit vague for a problem.” Hermione peered at him intently.

“It sounds stupid,” Harry continued, “but since we don't talk, I'm not sure if she's dating me, or Harry Potter.”

Harry shook his head. “That doesn't sound right.”

“No, Harry, it doesn't,” she said softly. “But I do know what you mean. You aren't sure if she wants to get to know the sixteen year old boy who hangs out in the Common Room and enjoys Transfigurations before lunch, or just the famous wizard who occasionally rescues damsels from legendary monsters.”

Harry looked as embarrassed as he felt. “I think you've rescued me more times than I've rescued you.”

She tutted, and rolled her eyes. “I was referring to Ginny and the basilisk.”

“Oh, sorry.” Harry blinked, and went back to his thoughts. “I was thinking of you.”

Hermione shook her head to clear it, and continued. “So, really this is about trust. Do you trust her to like you for who you are, not what you are?”

That hit Harry hard. He remembered an earlier argument he'd had with his girlfriend. “Trust. That's it! Did I ever tell you that Ginny started going out with me when she was still dating Dean?”

From the shocked look on her face, Harry could tell the answer was no. He hurried on to explain his rather limited part in all this “She didn't tell me, not until, well... later. But I couldn't believe she'd done that to him.”

Hermione's jaw snapped shut rather forcefully. “Harry, you can't possibly believe she'd treat you that shabbily, can you?”

“Not really,” Harry admitted. “But I can't believe I'm dating someone who'd do that to anyone. It's like, maybe I'm doing the same thing she is; getting confused between the girl I remember, and the one who's out there right now.”

Hermione jumped in. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but isn't it possible you're over thinking things? It isn't like she's a Death Eater or anything. Honestly Harry, who hasn't made an ethically poor decision before?”

“You,” he answered flatly. As Hermione's eyes rounded, Harry pressed on. “C'mon, Hermione. Let's say you had exactly what you wanted right in front of you. Can you honestly tell me you'd go for it, if it meant hurting people you cared about?”

Hermione looked down at her shoes. “No,” she said in a small voice.

Harry nodded. “And that's the difference.”

She looked back up at him from under her uncontrolled mass of hair. “So, what are you going to do, Harry?”

“I don't know,” he said simply. “I just hope Ron's still my friend afterward.”

* * *

That night, Harry was standing around in the entrance hall next to the massive barred doors facing the lake. He watched quietly as the other students filed out of supper and off to their dormitories. Ron slouched up to him, slumped against the wall at his side.

“Waiting for Ginny?” Ron kept his head down as he spoke.

Harry shook his head. “Crabbe and Goyle.”

Ron snorted. “I'll get you a cuppa. You'll be here all night waiting for them to stuff their faces.”

“Fine one to talk,” Harry joked. “You're one of the last to leave yourself.”

“I'm a growing boy.” Ron jerked a thumb at the doors into the Great Hall. “Those dunces are growing Flobberworms.”

“Ron...” Harry sighed.

“I know, I know.” Ron crossed his arms. “'Be nice to the Slytherins.'”

“Actually, I was going to ask what's wrong.” Harry looked over at his friend. “Are you still mad about our argument. Because I'm really sor-”

“No,” he said gruffly. “I'm not mad at you.”

“All right.” Harry looked him up and down. “Still mad at Hermione?”

“Not really mad at her either.” Ron gnawed at his lip, still slouching with his arms folded across his chest.

“Ron,” Harry sighed again. “In a few minutes, your two least favorite people are going to come lumbering out of those doors. Unless you want to have this conversation with a large audience, you need to start talking.”

“Prat,” Ron mumbled. “I'm just, I dunno, out of sorts. I just thought, maybe if I was doing things right, like sorting out the Ravenclaws, Hermione would like me better.”

“She likes you fine, Ron.” Harry elbowed him gently. “She is dating you, remember?”

“How ever can I forget?” Ron looked over at his tousle-haired friend. “But it didn't work.”

“Dating?”

“Sorting out the Ravenclaws.” Ron shrugged with his arms crossed, and Harry thought that maybe his friend was surpassing him in the brooding department. “It didn't work. She still thinks I'm a prat.”

“You're not a prat, Ron.” Harry tried patting him on the shoulder, which seemed especially awkward due to Ron's rather substantial height. “You're brave, and a good friend, and a wicked Quidditch player. Also, I've given up playing you at Wizard's Chess.”

“Yeah, sure.” Ron shrugged again. “But I'd kind of like Hermione to say that, not you. No offense, but it's not exactly the same now, is it?”

“I guess not.”

Ron jerked a shoulder at the door, where Crabbe and Goyle were filling the double doors. “Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dumber are here for their treats. I'm off.”

Ron trotted off up the stairs, headed for Gryffindor Tower.

The two Slytherins lumbered up. Goyle looked down at Crabbe, then further down at Harry, and then over at Ron as he disappeared up the stairs. After scratching at his curly hair for a moment, Goyle spoke. “His trainspotter got his Alan Whickers in a bunch?”

After he'd finally sorted out what Goyle had said, Harry tried to ignore that mental image it conjured. “I dunno. Some thing's wrong with him and Hermione. I don't get it, they're great friends.”

Crabbe kept pulling candied fruits from his pockets and eating them. He looked up, and spoke around a mouthful of pineapple slice. “It's a bit of irony really. The youngest Seeker in a century bein' blind an' all.”

Harry turned to look at Crabbe. “What are you going on about?”

Crabbe picked at his teeth. “I s'pose there's blokes in Flanders what ain't figured out what those two're on about, but you're really a plonker about these sorts o' things. I reckon it's your upbringin'.”

“I'm not a plonker.” It felt odd to be defensive with Crabbe of all people. “Those two just need some time by themselves.”

Crabbe's brows climbed up his heavy forehead toward his bristly hair. He burped heartily, and Harry smelled Chicken Marsala. “Not very bright, are you?”

Harry goggled at Crabbe, and turned to Goyle, who shrugged. Harry was bewildered. “Does he always do that?”

“The burping, yeah. I think he's got a bit of a digestive condition.” Goyle patted his friend's shoulder. “But the other thing, not really. See, Crabbe here's pretty bright, in ten second increments.”

Harry looked back and forth between the two Slytherin thugs, utterly bewildered. No wonder, he thought, that they never said anything. When they opened their mouths, they were actually crazier than Luna!

Goyle cleared his throat, and it sounded like a broken steam shovel. “Anyways, can we get on with the Artifaction?”

Harry shook his head to clear it. “What's the problem?”

“We've made these leggin's for the owls,” Goyle began.

“Bewit,” Crabbe interrupted. “'S'not like they're doin' aerobics an' whatnot.”

“Yeah, and we got 'em enchanted an' all.” He threw up two meaty hands. “But they stop working.”

Harry's brow furrowed. “What are they supposed to do?”

“Well, I can't ever remember Crabbe's address,” Goyle explained.

Crabbe rolled his eyes. “S'not like you ain't there all summer, every summer.”

Goyle glared. “Yeah, anyways, these leggin's-”

“Bewit,” Crabbe interrupted again.

“Leggin's!” Goyle punched his mate in the arm so hard, Harry was sure a normal person would have been flattened. Crabbe didn't blink, so Goyle continued. “Anyways, I wanted the owls to be able to find this thick plank wherever he was, so's I didn't 'ave to remember his address.”

Harry blinked. “So these... things... they help an owl find Crabbe?”

“Naw, tha's just stupid.” Goyle grinned widely. “They find anybody. Dead useful for mailin' all the bits a fluff what want a real man.”

Harry shivered. Please Merlin, he thought fervently, please let me and Ron not look like this ever. He ran a hand over his face. “So the enchantment wears off?”

Crabbe and Goyle nodded as one. Harry thought for a moment. “Alright, let's find a study room, and try to get it working.”

* * *

-->

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

It was cold the morning of February the fourteenth.

Harry sat at his house table, surrounded by friends, with Ginny at his side. He fidgeted, uncomfortable. He still hadn't talked to Ginny about much of anything. Every time he tried to say something, the words either swelled up and lodged in his throat or dried up and brought him to coughing. Instead, he was sitting there trying to make conversation and avoid Ginny's inquisitive gaze. He looked around. At least the hall wasn't decked with roses and lace hearts, thanks to Gilderoy Lockheart's continuing convalescence. Harry drummed his fingers on the table, dreading whatever surprise Ginny had in store.

Ron was the first to say anything. He used his chin to gesture at Harry, since his hands were solidly involved in loading crisped ham and egg onto his plate. “You look uptight.”

Harry shrugged.

“You're not the only one,” Hermione said, pointing at the staff table.

As one they looked up to the head of the room. The usually ramrod straight Professor Snape was slouched in his chair, not even attempting to eat. Professor McGonagall looked up in alarm whenever a a student clattered their silverware too loudly. Tiny Professor Flitwick kept folding and refolding his napkin, and next to him, Hagrid kept picking at the trim on the pink umbrella he had at his side.

“I wonder,” Ron thought aloud, “what do they know that we don't.”

“Rather a lot, I should imagine,” Hermione answered tersely.

Harry nodded. “None of it good, probably.”

Ron snorted. “Right little rays of sunshine you two are. C'mon, things will have to get better soon. What's the worst that could happen?”

The doors to the Great Hall were flung open with a grinding boom, startling the firsties down at the foot of the table off their benches for a moment. With crisp precision, a squadron of Aurors in robes of the deepest blue marched into the hall and formed two ranks at the door. Through their lines Auror Dawlish slipped, robes thrown open to reveal simple cotton work trousers, steel-toed boots, and a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

Harry and Hermione turned to glare at Ron, who blanched. “Why did I say that? Nothing good ever comes of saying that. I take it back; nothing worse can happen.”

At the head of the room, Albus Dumbledore took his feet and held his arms wide. “Mister Dawlish, this comes largely as a surprise. What can I and my staff do for you?”

“Nothing,” Dawlish said simply and quietly. He looked around the hall appraisingly.

Dawlish turned away from the Headmaster, and addressed the slumped Potions Master in a soft voice that was near to a growl. Nonetheless, his voice carried throughout the silenced Great Hall. “Severus Julius Snape, I present you this day with Writ of Arrest, signed by Minister of Magic His Honorable Percival Weasley. You shall present your wand to the Master of the Guard, and be escorted from this place to your confinement at Azkaban prison. My men will be securing your quarters, and any other areas of the castle we might find evidence. Do you understand these orders?”

Dumbledore held out a hand. “I assure you, Professor Snape will be as safe and secure here at Hogwarts while awaiting his trial. Now, perhaps we should discuss this in private...”

“No need,” Dawlish said brusquely. “There isn't going to be a trial.”

“And can you please inform me,” Dumbledore no longer twinkled as he stared at the Auror from over his half moon glasses. “How do you think sweeping innocent men into Azkaban will make the whole of Britain safer?”

“He's not innocent,” Dawlish answered patronizingly. “There's plenty of evidence to suspect your ex-teacher there of treason.”

“Current Potions Master, actually,” Dumbledore corrected him benignly. “And if you do indeed have the evidence you claim is in your possession, why ever would you not bring our good Professor Snape to trial?”

Dawlish sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose like a man weary to his bones. “We don't have time for the niceties, we are at war. And I don't have time to debate Ministry security with a school teacher.”

Dawlish snapped his fingers, and gestured to the left and to the right. The first four Aurors jumped forward and advanced on the Head Table. Hagrid bolted to his feet, throwing the staff table over as he pointed his pink umbrella at the advancing contingent. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Vector, and Hooch drew their wands as they stood. To one side of the table, Remus grabbed Snape by the scruff of his robe and pulled the sallow man to cover behind him.

Dawlish went absolutely still. “You are outnumbered, and defending a traitor. You do not want to do this.”

“No, I do not.” Professor Dumbledore shook his head gravely. “But you leave me little alternative if you cannot find it within yourself to talk long enough to observe the rules of society.”

“Society changed.” Dawlish sounded a little sad as he said this. “It changed while you were cooped up in this castle with your books and your classrooms. Now, if you do not step out of the way, my men will cut you all down. As I said, you're outnumbered.”

Harry looked across the table, and saw Ron and Hermione both turn to catch his eye. Harry shrugged, and Ron nodded in response. Hermione's eyes widened, and she gave a short half-nod. Together the three of them stood up, drawing wands.

The four Aurors turned, finding wands at their left. Across the room, Luna drew a wand and stood. There was a long silence. Harry looked up at the staff table for confirmation, and noticed the Headmaster's small, tight nod.

“Sit down, all of you!” Dawlish barked in a rusty voice. “My mission is to bring in a Death Eater, and that's what I'm going to do. A couple of kids-”

“DA!” Neville called out, his voice breaking on the vowel. “Stand up”

In fits and starts, students stood. From the fifth and sixth year Gryffindors to the seventh year Hufflepuffs, students at every table stood up nervously. At the Slytherin table, Crabbe and Goyle stood. Neither drew wands, but Crabbe had his sock off and was busy stuffing handfuls of silverware into it.

Harry's focus was entirely on Auror Dawlish, but with his contacts, he was getting better at seeing out of the corner of his eyes. For a moment, Harry could have almost believed he saw Snape up at the staff table crying silently. Harry blinked, and the image was gone.

“Dumbledore's Army?” Dawlish laughed. “This is pitiful. Play time's over kids. Sit down before you get hurt.”

Seamus called out loudly. “We got 'em in the box everyone, so aim low.”

Dawlish looked at Seamus with genuine malice for a brief second before focusing on Harry. “I know you're behind this, kid. I saw you last year. I can't believe you want to start this.

Harry's jaw worked, and a flush built up in his cheeks. He truly didn't want to start a fight with a squad of Ministry Aurors, but he couldn't let anyone be locked in Azkaban without trial, even if he couldn't stand Snape personally. Besides, Dawlish was the one who wanted to Obliviate Mr. Granger, so Harry didn't have all that much empathy for the man. “Oh yeah,” he said with false bravado. “Try me.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “I assure you all, it is not too late to prevent this from spiraling out of control.”

“That's true,” Dawlish said quietly. Then he roared, “Stun them!”

The Auror's lashed out with tightly coordinated blasts of red light, focusing on the teacher's table. Two spells danced off an invisible wall in front of Professor McGonagall, but Vector and Flitwick collapsed. Hagrid took three stunners to the chest, but just roared something unintelligible and hurled red spell blasts back at the nearest Auror. At least a dozen Aurors took aim at the Headmaster, who looked quite busy holding them off.

The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables had them in a crossfire. Most of the student curses were mild ones, but a couple of Aurors were stuck ten or twelve times and fell twitching to the floor. Harry, Ginny, Neville, and Seamus hopped onto the table, the better to fire over the heads of their classmates on the other side.

Suddenly the Aurors dropped to the floor and turned their spells on the students! Harry found himself throwing down simple shield spells as fast as he could to protect his section of the room from a vicious volley of stunners. Two dozen students collapsed unconscious, slumped over tables and benches with their wands still clasped in outstretched hands. But here and there a pocket had held out, usually with some of the more skilled DA members shielding their mates from fire. Over the swarming throng, Harry caught sight of Crabbe and Goyle bouncing an Auror off a wall repeatedly with their fists.

Dawlish conjured an urn to hide behind, and saw the Potter boy holding off fire from seven of his men as his little friends slowly whittled the trapped Aurors down. Worst amongst them, Dawlish noted, was the thin bushy haired girl who seemed to be throwing a lot of effort into some fairly powerful spells. A couple of ugly blasting spells flew from her wand over his head, and Dawlish turned to see his Master of the Guard blown back to the ground, singed and smoking. He shook his head; this was getting out of hand. He had to stop this, and quickly.

With a quick slashing motion, Dawlish sketched an abbreviated arc in the air. Where his wand had passed, a thin trace of purple fire was etched in space. It leaped from him and whirled toward the girl who'd knocked his man out.

Harry saw the flame leap from Dawlish, saw the purple colour he'd seen in nightmares for months. “Hermione Leviosa,” he shouted hoarsely. Hermione screamed as she shot into the air. The purple fire whistled below her, and splinted the bench she'd stood in front of. For a second, Harry could only see the burning half plate of bacon where Hermione had been sitting minutes earlier.

Hermione's suddenly exposed position must have been too easy a target, for at least four Aurors fired upon her as she hung helplessly midair. With his left hand, Harry shuttled her away toward Hagrid, who plucked her from the air deftly. Hagrid spun about, shielding her with his considerable bulk as three more stunners thudded into his wide back. He wavered, but didn't fall. Hermione fought free of his grip, now hurling curses from the far end of the room.

Harry didn't see her. He looked down at Dawlish, and absolute rage burnt in his eyes. Beside him, he head Ron screaming something both Latin and vulgate. Harry had no intention of being left out, and started throwing Incendio curses at the scrabbling Auror. To his right, Ron was blowing chunks of the floor mosaic up all around Dawlish as the older man moved to get out of the way.

“Supefy!” Dawlish yelled desperately, throwing Ron back against the table.

Harry stepped down off the table, onto the smoking bench Hermione had occupied, advancing on Dawlish as he kept up a steady stream of hexes. Dawlish kept throwing curses back at them, but Harry only had to counter them for a second before pressing his assault.

He was four paces from Dawlish, when the Auror looked up with panic in his eyes. “Avada Kedavra,” Dawlish cried out desperately, pointing his wand at Harry.

Harry was so surprised, he didn't move. Just as the green light began to fill his vision, a heavy weight caught him in the back of the knees and drove him to the ground. The Killing Curse arced over his head, and sizzled impotently on the wooden beams supporting the roof.

The whole of the Great Hall fell silent. Aurors and Defense members who a second ago were locked in a close range battle stopped speaking, eyes locked on the wizards in the center of the floor. Harry pushed himself upright, and the wizard who'd collided with him sat up. Neville got to his feet first, and pulled Harry up with him.

“Mister Dawlish,” Dubledore spoke coldly. “What exactly do you think you're doing?”

Dawlish scrambled to his feet. “That maniac was trying to kill me!”

Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height, and for a moment it seemed the air in the hall crackled with more than discharged spells. “I assure you Mister Dawlish, that if either Mister Potter or myself had actually wished you harm, you would not have survived so long.”

Hermione stepped out from behind Dumbledore's cloak. Pale with anger, Hermione pointed her wand at Dawlish, calling out, “Expelliarmus!”

The Auror was pushed backwards by the angry force of the spell, his wand flung into her hand. Dawlish rubbed his sore hand and snarled at everyone surrounding him. “Oh, so you all think you can flout the law, then look shocked when the Aurors are authorized to use force against you?”

“That wasn't 'force',” Hermione cried, rushing over and reviving Ron. “That was an attempted murder, you miserable little toad!”

Ron groaned as he sat up from the wreckage of the Gryffindor table. “Who'd the toad try to murder?”

“Harry,” Hermione muttered in an undertone to her boyfriend. “Avada Kedavra.”

“What?” Ron stared at the Auror in shock.

“Rules of engagement,” Dawlish said simply. “This is why I told your students to stay out of this. This thing here, this isn't a game. And if I have to burn my way through twenty of your students to get to a Death Eater, I will.”

“And when you get there, how are the rest of us to tell you and your quarry apart?” Dubledore stepped in close to Dawlish staring deeply into his eyes. He advanced on him, walked right up to him, and calmly brushed past him as though the Auror had disappeared. “We have all permitted the madness of the Ministry for too long. Thank you all for your earnest desire to help, but we really cannot allow you to try to protect us all by destroying us. Please, go home, and try not to attack any more innocent people along the way.”

Dumbledore made a shooing gesture to the Aurors, then turned away. Picking up the hem of his robes to avoid the crushed and burning debris on the floor, he made his way over to the staff table to help his fallen teachers.

Dawlish spun about, yelling for his men amidst the shattered hall. “Form up on me. We're still Aurors, and we've a job to do!”

“Yeah!” Ron shouted. He pushed himself all the way to his feet on anger alone. “What are you waiting for! Time to kill some schoolkids! Chop chop, get on with it! If you hurry, you might make it back to my prat brother Percy fast enough to get medals!”

At the back of the room, several Aurors quietly slipped out the doors.

“I know, maybe you don't know what to do!” Ron stormed over to Dawlish, and Harry was surprised to see Ron was actually tall enough to go nose to nose with the man. “See, when Death Eaters go 'round killing people, they usually play with them first. Why don't you start with that?”

Hermione fell in on herself in tears. Ron pointed at her. “Pardon her, she was just attacked by Death Eaters a few months ago. Give her a sec to get herself together, I'm sure she can tell you what you're doing wrong!”

Some more Aurors left quietly, and Dawlish rounded on them. “You men! You stay at your posts, or face charges of treason!”

“Then what?” Harry was pale and shaking, somewhere beyond furious. These people had tried to kill him, had tried to kill Hermione. “Are you going to try to kill them too? Or just throw them in Azkaban without any justice?”

Dawlish pushed Ron aside, and pointed a warning finger at the two teens. “I am justice!”

Snap! With a quick jerk, Hermione brought the Auror's wand down over her knee, shattering it. With her left hand she flung it at Dawlish's chest, and the pieces clattered to the floor at his feet. She was crying, and splotchy, and shaking with fear and anger. “I don't care about your precious justice! If I ever see you near my friends again...”

“You'll what?” Dawlish laughed. “You won't do anything.”

Harry caught up to her as she had the tip of her wand tight against Dawlish's throat. “Please,” she whispered. “Please try something.”

“Hermione,” Ron called out softly. “He's pond slime, he's not worth it.”

Harry reached out for her wand, but she jerked her wrist away from him.

Dawlish yelled out, clearly speaking to the men behind him. “When she drops me, burn every single witch and wizard still standing to the ground!”

A score of students sat down. Two score remained standing, bristling and shifting from foot to foot. A handful of Aurors slipped away.

A cold, arrogant voice slid from behind the staff table down to the tableau in the middle of the floor. “Oh for the love of Merlin! I had forgotten the current crop of idiot students is no worse than the prior crops of idiot students.” Snape shook Lupin off and stepped out from around the overturned table.

“Unless you all savor the mindless noise and brightly coloured lights that attend your destruction of this castle,” Snape said, “lower your wands. All of you. I will go with the Aurors.”

“You what?” Dawlish blinked.

Dumbledore turned from where he was steadying Professor Flitwick. “You'll what?”

Snape ignored the Aurors, but turned to sketch a bow toward the Headmaster. “With your permission, of course, I shall go with these... officers of the peace.” The last was delivered with a healthy dose of sarcasm. Even Hermione lowered her wand from Dawlish's throat at this.

He continued. “I see that our 'guests' are too astonishingly dense to realize that although the Ministry pays their salaries, thy are doing the Dark Lord's work here. They seem to have forgotten their pledges to do no harm. As for our students... I have know idea what on earth they have forgotten, but clearly they will end up missing classes if they get themselves injured foolishly. I cannot abide the excuses I should otherwise be forced to endure if I were to remain. Ergo, I should go, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore's whole beard twitched. “I'm sorry to impose on you, Severus, but I'm afraid that this is out of the question. You'll just have to handle any... malingering... on your own.”

“Listen to Snape,” Dawlish barked. “Dumbledore, this can't end well!”

“These things never do,” Dumbledore sighed. He looked pointedly at Harry for the barest moment before continuing. “But I am quite certain that my Professor must remain at the castle, and so he shall.”

“Fine.” Dawlish pushed his robe aside, and drew a spare wand from behind his back. He advanced quickly on Dumbledore, looking grim.

Harry jumped in front of his Headmaster unthinkingly. “If you want him, you'll have to go through me.”

Dawlish ground his teeth together, and looked quite willing to take Harry up on his offer. But one of his officers dropped a gauntleted hand on Dawlish's shoulder, and slowly tugged him back from the confrontation. “Auror Dawlish,” the officer said sadly. “It's over. Come away.”

Dawlish jerked away from his man. “No, it's not!”

“You destroyed a school, and I helped you do it.” The Auror sounded tired, flat. Very quietly, he raised his wand until he had it pointing between Dawlish's shoulder blades. “It's over. One way or another.”

Dawlish stiffened, then turned to glare at his subordinate. He looked down at the wand trained on him, then up at the other Auror. “You'll be sorry you did this.”

“I'm only sorry I didn't do it soon enough.” The Auror yelled over his shoulder. “Men, we're leaving. Anyone have a problem with that?”

No one answered.

Without a word, Dawish pushed past his subordinate, through his men, and left. The Auror at the forefront stomped a boot on the flagstones, and his men staggered into a rough formation. He turned to Dumbledore. “I don't know how long 'til we get sent back here.”

“Every problem in its time,” Dumbledore responded cryptically, before turning back to his Professors.

The Aurors marched out of the Great Hall, and several of the older Gryffindors trailed them out warily. Confident his staff was unharmed, Dumbledore straightened up slowly, and projected his voice across the Hall. “Those students who need her assistance, please go to Madam Pomfrey now. If you are not in need of the hospital wing, kindly return to your house common rooms at once. Classes will resume promptly tomorrow, so I trust you all to be prepared with your assignments.”

There was a general murmur throughout the scarred and ruined hall. Students looked at one another for confirmation of what they'd heard, or whispered to each other behind their hands. Harry flushed when he realized that the whole of Gryffindor was looking at him, not the headmaster. However, not one student in the hall made as if to move. Dumbledore looked around at the faces of his students, and clapped sharply twice. “Come, come. The hall must be cleared if it is to be repaired in time for lunch, and I understand we have an excellent turkey brioche today. Now, go on!”

At this the confused students began their docile exodus from the Great Hall, headed off toward their respective dormitories. The Gryffindors didn't move however. Gritting his teeth, Harry reluctantly nodded in the direction of the doors. His house mates rose, patted him or their Prefects on the shoulder, and headed for the door. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were amongst the last of the students to leave, and they looked around the scene of destruction in the Hall. Some few of the house pennants were burning merrily in the rafters, and parts of the tables and benches were still smoldering.

Ron blinked and looked at the other two. “And we're to have classes tomorrow?”

Hermione wiped at her still streaming eyes, looking desperately embarrassed. “Of course Ron. Can't be deterred by the little things.”

Ron laughed hysterically, and Harry bent over with his hands on his knees to keep the sudden jolt of vertigo from overwhelming him. Hermione sagged against a burnt table edge. Neville, Ginny, and Luna approached them nervously, tentatively. Ginny ran a hand along Harry's back. “Common room?”

“Sure,” answered Harry as he straightened up and took deep breaths. “Dumbledore said to go to the common room, and I always listen to authority figures.”

Hermione joined Ron and Harry in nervous, high laughter at this. Neville and Luna looked at the trio worriedly. Harry looked over at the last students filing out, and was relieved to see that they looked just as wobbly and shaken as he felt.

Luna sighed, and said, “I've got you Ronald. Just this once, I think your portrait should let me in.” With that, she slipped an arm under Ron's and the other over Hermione's shoulders, and steered them off towards the staircase.

Neville moved to help Harry away, but was waved off. Instead Harry fell into step beside the awkward boy, his off hand unwillingly entwined with Ginny. “Thanks for... you know, knocking me down.”

“What are friends for?” Neville shrugged, then brightened momentarily. “Hey Harry, I think your classes this year were a good choice.”

“Why?” Harry shook his head, trying to pay attention to his roommate while following Luna, Ron, and Hermione's progress up the stairs ahead of them. “I didn't use anything I learned in my classes just now.”

Neville looked over at him. “No, I was just thinking it was good you weren't taking a lot of classes to prepare for Auror training.”

Harry blinked, suddenly realizing just exactly who his defense association had rained curses upon. Even if he hadn't already decided not to become an Auror, he couldn't imagine they'd want him now. Then he remembered Dawlish lashing out at Hermione with that purple fire, and some measure of his unease was dispelled. “I guess you're right, Neville. Thanks.”

Harry and Neville laughed a little, though Ginny looked over at the two of them with worry in her eyes.

Harry looked at him sideways. “You're taking this awfully well.”

“Don't worry,” Neville laughed nervously. “I'm sure I'll throw up later.”

Harry nodded. “Oh, good. I thought it was just me.”

“Not really.”

The Gryffindors stopped at the staircase landing that housed the Fat Lady's portrait and the concealed entrance to their common room. The Fat Lady and the portrait of her friend Violet were seated, sipping hot cocoa and looking worried. “There you lot are!” The Fat Lady pressed a bejeweled hand to her ample bosom and exhaled deeply. “We were worried where you'd gotten up to. All the others are in already, and Violet was about to go looking for you.”

Ron sighed. “Azhi Dahaka,” he said simply, giving her the new password.

The Fat Lady looked offended. “Well, you're welcome! Of course we we worried, thank you for asking Now isn't someone going to tell us what happened.?”

“No,” Ron answered mulishly. “Azhi Dahaka!”

“All right, all right!” The portrait swung inwards. “No need to be testy!”

Luna helped Ron and Hermione into the Gryffindor common room, and Harry, Neville, and Ginny followed along behind them. The six students pulled up short as they ran headlong into the commotion of a packed common room. It seemed, quite correctly, that a quarter of the castle was stuffed into this one room, arguing and crying, gossiping and comforting.

Seamus turned from his boisterous conversation with Lavender and Dean when the portrait hole opened. He turned his back on Harry's little group long enough to wave his hands for attention. “Quiet all o' you!”

As the roar subsided, Seamus spun back around. “Harry! What's going on?”

For his part, Harry could only rock back on his heels. “I don't know anything more than you do.”

“Right!” Seamus laughed, and behind him Lavender and Parvati nodded. “You three are involved in everything around here. So, is Snape a Death Eater, or was it those Aurors?”

Hermione stepped in at this point. “Death Eaters? Don't you realize you're accepting the Ministry's flawed hypothesis without question?”

Seamus' open face wrinkled up in a frown, and he leaned sideways to shrug at Harry over Hermione's shoulder. Clearly, he didn't get what she was driving at. Harry did, and he decided to find a seat against he wall while she got good and wound up.

Hermione looked around the common room, and up at the students packing the staircases. “The Ministry is acting like the whole of Britain is neatly segregated into two groups; Death Eaters and law abiding citizens. They're acting like they're entitled to do whatever they please as long as they stop the Death Eaters. They're acting as if the merest shred of dissent makes you a Death Eater, and that their assumption of guilt is as good as rule of law and trial by Wizengamot! That horrible cow from last year, Umbridge, and now Dawlish! Look at them! They're vile, foul, loathsome little people, and the Ministry acts like they're proper wizards just because they're not in Voldemort's pocket! You wanted to know if the Aurors were Death Eaters? I assure you, they are absolutely not.

“That does not excuse the fact that they behaved like common criminals. They were here to wrongfully imprison a man without benefit of trial, because they think that if you are not a nice, quiet, law abiding citizen you must be a Death Eater. They were willing to assault and even kill innocent people, because that is infinitely easier than adhering to the laws and doing the right thing. I can assure you all, their actions were very much the same as the Death Eaters they want to stop. They demanded what they wanted be given to them under threat of force, and they were willing to hurt and kill when thwarted.

“Dumbledore stood up to them because, and honestly I hope that anyone who stood up to them agrees... Dumbledore stood up to them because they were wrong. Not evil, not Dark. Just... terribly wrong!”

Seamus looked stunned. “You mean, you don't think they were Death Eaters?”

“It doesn't matter!” Harry nearly yelled, then thudded his head against the wall of the common room and rubbed his eyes. “You all know Snape's an arse, right? You've seen how he treats Neville?”

Neville flushed at this, but it was Lavender who spoke up. “He did the same to you, Harry.”

Harry ignored this and continued. “If I told you right now that he was a Death Eater, would that explain why he's an arse? If I told you he was one of the good guys, would that excuse him being one? No and no. Seamus, right is right and wrong is wrong. It doesn't matter what colour cloak you wear. It just doesn't matter.”

“Damn.” Seamus rubbed his face. “This is naused right up, man!”

Seamus stalked away, returning to talk to the other Gryffindor sixth years.

Hermione slid down the wall at Harry's side, and Ron dropped down next to her. She looked over at Harry, eyes red. She didn't say anything. Harry nearly laughed, knowing what she was thinking. “I know. You give a beautiful, passionate speech, no one gets it. I babble, and Seamus hits his head and goes 'oh!'”

Hermione nodded. Harry patted her leg. “If you'd said all that to the Wizengamot, they'd've applauded you. Around here, I'm just stupid enough to talk to sixteen year old boys.”

Hermione pressed her head into the wall. “That doesn't inspire confidence in my abilities to talk to sixteen year old boys.”

As Luna settled in next to Ron, the red head gestured at the room in front of them. “How long 'til they stop trying to figure out how this is the fault of Death Eaters?”

Luna leaned up against him. “Days, most likely. Perhaps weeks.”

Harry put his head back, and listened to his friends and dorm mates argue and speculate. He just didn't have the energy to fight, or even really listen. Pretty soon, the other Gryffindors had stopped talking, and started buzzing. They hummed and droned, and the cold castle grew warmed and darker...

Harry opened his eyes and stood up, feeling as if he was stuck in molasses. He found himself in a darkened Gryffindor common room, empty and quiet. Without meaning to, Harry found himself whirling, floating out the portrait hole. His feet not touching the slate and limestone beneath him, Harry was pulled down the staircase, and along the first floor corridor. He hurled along faster now, arrowing down corridors and whipping though turns, drawn inexorably toward the dungeons. It occurred to Harry he was dreaming, and dreaming about returning to the Slytherin common room.

He was right. The guttering torches of the lower levels flew past, leaving jagged trails upon Harry's retinas. He flew down a corridor, then another, then a short flight of steps until he halted before a blank stone wall. He paused there for a moment, wondering what would happen next. Without warning, he careened into the wall. Harry barely had time to draw a breath before he found himself in the Slytherin common room. Apparently, he had flown straight through the wall.

Harry found himself sliding toward one of the doors off to the far right, past the black leather sofas and oddly large ottomans . He slipped past several snake statues, and a huge tapestry, and then through the heavy door before him.

Draco Malfoy stood facing away from Harry, showing no sign he's noticed his arch-rival walk through a door. Draco's robe was thrown over his desk chair, and Harry noticed he had a letter stuck haphazardly in his back pocket. The writing was in a brilliant green ink, but what caught his attention was the device pressed into the sealing wax on the envelope. It was a small, pewter cast of a skull with a snake uncoiling from its mouth. It was the Dark Mark.

Harry leaned closer to see what the writing on the envelope said. That was when he felt it. A sharp tug at his flesh, and he was hurtling backward out of Draco's room, out of the Slytherin common room, out of the dungeons. Harry just about snarled with the frustration of being unable to see that damned letter.

“Harry!”

He jerked upright, momentarily blinded by the bright light pouring through the Gryffindor tower windows. Harry pushed himself upright, from where he'd been sleeping up against Hermione's shoulder. The look of worry in her dark eyes suggested it was she who'd woken him.

She frowned worriedly. “You were having a dream.”

Harry rubbed at his mouth, which tasted like his shoe. “That happens when I fall asleep. Sorry for leaning on you.”

“It wasn't one of, well, those dreams was it?”

“No,” he lied. “No Voldemort.”

The worry eased a bit. “I'm glad to hear that. You were looking... it looked like it was a nightmare, really.”

“I'm fine, really.” Harry smiled. He felt absolutely horribly lying to Hermione of all people. Harry was absolutely certain that the dream had come from Voldemort. He simply couldn't tell her about it. Harry was sure she'd lost too much, been pushed too hard, for him to drop yet another weight upon her slim shoulders. No, he decided, he would have to figure out what this dream meant on his own.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Harry,” she said, a note of danger in her voice. “You aren't just lying to me, to keep me from worrying, are you?”

“No.” Harry kept his eyes wide and locked on hers. Blast, he thought. How does she do that!

The portrait hole swung open, and Professor McGonagall stepped primly through. She hardly needed to clear her throat to get the attention of her students; the sight of the first teacher since morning brought all eyes to her. “I'm sure you'll all be happy to know, the mess from this morning has been cleared away, and the Great Hall is available for lunch.”

Professor McGonagall nodded at her students, and began to step out through it. Neville interrupted her with a halting, “M-Ma'am?”

McGonagall turned back, the high peak on her tartan hat wavering slightly as she did so. “Yes, Mister Longbottom?”

“That's it?” Neville squeaked. “No news, just 'sorry about the war zone, here's your pudding?'”

The Head of their House pursed her lips. “Turkey brioche, Mister Longbottom. And no, no news.”

With that, Neville sagged ever so slightly and Professor McGonagall swept from the room.

Parvati sat down on the edge of a divan, looking around. “After this morning... they really aren't going to keep us in the dark, are they? What are we going to do?”

Ron stood up, stretching. “Go get us some turkey before the Hufflepuffs hog it all.”

Parvati frowned at him. “How can you think of your stomach at a time like this?”

“First order of business,” Ron said with a grin. “Survival.”

He turned around, and pulled Luna and Hermione to their feet at the same time. Hermione dusted herself off, leaving Ron to catch the Ravenclaw when she tripped standing up. Ron looked around the room. “I'm serious. We either start cannibalizing the Firsties like a pack of Mai Mai's, or we go get lunch. Standing here yapping at each other won't change much.”

Ron would have been the first one out the door, but he held the portrait open for Hermione and Luna. Seamus and Dean stared after him.

“I can' tell if he thinks with his stomach,” Seamus grumbled, “or if he's just got used to all the commotion.”

“Both,” Parvati opined. With that, Gryffindor tower slowly emptied itself onto the stairs.

Harry moved to stand, but an unseen weight settled itself on his shoulder. He reached for his wand, but a voice whispering in his ear stopped him. “Harry! It's me, Ginny.”

Harry looked around, but didn't see anyone. “Ginny?”

“I borrowed your cloak.” She giggled from somewhere to his left. “Do you like the way I look in it?”

Harry wasn't sure what was more irksome; that she had taken his father's cloak out of his dormitory without asking, or that apparently girls could enter the boys' dorm rooms freely, but not vice versa. Damned sexist, thought the part of Harry's brain that spoke in Hermione's voice. He shook his head. “What are you doing?”

“Rescheduling our date a little.” Her voice seemed to be moving away from him, and Harry stood up to follow her. Ginny sounded like she was smiling as she continued. “I needed to be a little invisible for some of the preparations. Now, wait here for fifteen minutes, then meet me in the Room of Requirements.”

* * *

-->

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

Harry had waited for what he thought was fifteen minutes after he heard from Ginny last, then started off toward the Room of Requirements after her. He wasn't exactly sure how long he'd waited; his watch had died rather abruptly in the middle of his fourth year, and he still hadn't found the time to replace it.

Now Harry was headed down the corridor toward the statue of Barnabas the Balmy, still a little miffed about this whole date-thing. It was hardly midday yet, and already near to the whole school had been in a wand-fight with Ministry Aurors. Several people, Harry amongst them, had very nearly died. And this was the time she chose to set up a date? Harry thought of the horrible tea time he and Cho had shared at Madam Pudifoot's the previous year. Please, he thought to himself, please let her not expect us to sit at tiny tables with doilies and have tea and biscuits for lunch. He still hadn't told her how he felt about her, or rather, how he didn't feel. He just hoped he wouldn't have to do it over lace doilies. One more horrifying lace doily memory, and he'd be scarred for life. Harry shook his head, and kept on going. Reaching the statue, he paced back and forth three times, very quickly.

Looking to his left, he saw the doorway had indeed appeared in the wall. Harry straightened himself up, and walked in.

There were definitely no tea and biscuit lunches set up on lace doilies.

The door closed itself behind Harry's stunned form. And Harry was stunned; he wouldn't have been frozen any more solid if Hermione had hit him with a Full-Body Bind.

Harry couldn't tell just how big the Room had become, shrouded as it was in darkness and hanging gauzy fabric panels. Scattered throughout the room were candles floating midair just as they did over the tables in the Great Hall. The effect here was completely different, and it left Harry uncomfortable. Somewhere past the sheer drapes was a huge and roaring fire under a white marble mantle. Given that Hogwarts left electronic devices broken and useless, he wondered how it was that 'I've Found Someone' was playing softly in the background.

“Here, Harry.” Ginny's voice floated to him from somewhere up ahead through the drapes.

It took a certain amount of willpower to make his legs carry him forward. He pushed aside a curtain, and passed a low table set with grapes, strawberries, and a turine of molten chocolate. He paused, backed up a step, and looked down. It was an odd lunch, and there were no chairs around, only scattered floor pillows. He thought for a moment, and his green eyes went wide.

Harry had a sneaking suspicion that this date Ginny had planned was the sort of thing he really ought to flee.

“Almost there,” came the mischievous voice from ahead of him.

What does she mean, almost there, he thought. No, I'm actually farther from the door than before, and where are Hagrid and Dobby, come to break the door down, shouldn't they be rescuing me right about now, or maybe Voldemort could attack sometime convenient, and doesn't Dumbledore know just about everything going on around here, couldn't he come storming in and do something, anything really, I'm not picky, I wouldn't mind detention, or retrieving the Philosopher's Stone, or anything...

Harry's internal monologue wound down as he parted the last of the curtains. Actually, several of the parts of his mind involved in forming words dropped off the map.

“Do you like what you see, Harry?”

His eyes snapped up to her face as she spoke. He swallowed quickly, and decided to stare at the fascia of the fireplace. Just stare at the carving, Harry told himself, and everything will be okay. Just don't look at the girl on the bed, the one with all the freakishly tall older brothers. He cleared his throat. “Ginny! That's... ah... kind of different pyjamas for you!”

“It's not pyjamas,” she answered with languid humour. “It's called a camisole.”

“That's nice,” Harry said quickly. He couldn't figure out why she wanted him to know what it was called. Did it matter? Would there be a test? “Um, I thought we were supposed to be going on a date?”

“We are.” Ginny slipped off the bed, which must have been easy considering how slippery both her clothes and the sheets looked to be. Ginny sashayed over to Harry. “We just aren't going out on a date.”

“Huh?” The brain-stopping attributes of her dress got noticeably worse as she drew closer.

“We're not going out, Harry.” Ginny trailed a hand down his House tie. “We're staying in.”

Harry jumped back a foot. “You know, Ginny, the... ah, Barry White? It's a nice touch, but...”

“But what?” Ginny smiled and nibbled her lip at the same time. She closed the distance again. “Would you prefer something... faster?”

Faster? A world of no, he thought. Everything's very obviously going too fast right now, thank you. What I do want is the ability to breathe back. I don't know where it went to, but poof! It's gone. Harry cleared his throat, and backed into one of the hanging drapes. “Um, Ginny, maybe I'm misreading this whole date thing?”

Ginny grabbed his tie and started undoing the knot at his throat. “I doubt it.”

Harry grabbed convulsively at her hands as she moved from his tie to his shirt. “We really shouldn't be doing this.”

“Why?” She swished from side to side, which did dangerously pleasant things to her not-pyjamas. “We're in love, I found out all the students are going to be outside for the day, so we're all alone in here, and with this morning... I don't think we should waste time hiding from how we really feel.”

Ginny popped a button off his shirt, and then another. She smiled up at him from under her lashes. “Now then, Mister Potter... One of us is dressed inappropriately.”

* * *

Harry looked quite the worse for wear as he slunk back into the common room. His robe was askew, his tie undone, and his shirt wouldn't hold together. Although few would have noticed, his hair was quite thoroughly mussed. He very nearly slammed the portrait behind him, thankful the other students were out on the greensward.

“Harry,” came Hermione's voice from one of the divans. “What are you doing here? I thought everyone else was outside?”

His head snapped up at this, gaze locked to the top of the divan. He should have known Hermione wouldn't have gone outside with everyone else. And any second now, she'd sit upright and see him. There was nowhere for him to run to. Oh Merlin, he thought, I just want to get out of here.

Hermione sat upright, stretching her back as she pulled away from her books. Mid stretch, she caught sight of Harry and very obviously lost her train of thought. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing!” Harry struggled to pull his robe about himself with dignity. He failed.

“Oh, dear!” Hermione nearly vaulted the back of the divan, startling Harry with her haste. She skidded up to him, all long limbs and flushed worry. “Were you attacked? Are you alright?”

Harry went red, utterly unable to think of what to say. Then without warning, the look of worry in her eyes dropped away, and he found his friend peering closely at his lips. “Is that lipstick?”

Harry rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Er... maybe.”

“Ah.” Hermione stiffened slightly, and walked back to her books. “Well, that explains how you look, doesn't it?”

“I suppose.” Harry edged toward the boys dormitories, eager to get away from anyone who wanted to talk to him.

“I guess then,” she continued, looking slightly disappointed, “that you've decided you rather like things with Ginny the way they are.”

Harry ran hand through his hair, heading for the stairs. “Not exactly,” he mumbled.

She turned back to him sharply. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Can we not talk about this?” Harry started up the stairs. “I just want to figure out how to tell Ginny I don't want to date her, and forget today ever happened.”

Hermione's jaw dropped. She stormed Harry's perch on the stairs, absolutely flushed. “I can't believe you said that!”

“Just let it go.” Harry tried to slip away, only to be restrained by her hand on his arm. It wasn't the gentle touch he'd become accustomed to. This was the rather firm grip of the sort of woman who'd decked the Slytherin Prefect once.

“Harry James Potter!” Harry winced, and she continued. “If I hadn't just heard you say it, I would never have believed you'd do such a horrible thing. To sleep with Ginny and-”

“I...,” Harry started out vehemently, but his voice failed him.

“You? You what?” Hermione looked stunned. “I can't believe you'd take advantage of someone, anyone like that, let alone Ron's sister!”

Harry was so flushed, it felt like his skin was burning and his eyes prickling. “I didn't take advantage of anyone!”

“No?” Hermione dragged him back from his attempt at fleeing again. “And what do you call sleeping with someone and then discarding them? I call it disgraceful, Harry. I've never been ashamed of you ever, until now!”

Harry glared at her so hard she flinched. It took a lot of effort to force the words out through the lump in his throat, but he would rather do that than have her ashamed of him. “I didn't sleep with Ginny.”

Hermione tossed her hair. “I imagine very little sleeping went on!”

“I'm a virgin!” Harry couldn't believe he was sweating, just saying that. “Fine, are you happy? I just want to go upstairs now.”

Harry pulled away and ran to the dorm he shared with the other sixth year Gryffindors. He sat on his bed, under the cold gaze of the Mirror, and willed the itchy prickling behind his eyelids to go away. Just at that moment, Harry felt unaccountably small. He sat there, until the door squeaked open.

“Harry?” It was Hermione, inside the boys dormitory. He was now absolutely convinced it was utterly unfair that the girls were able to enter this room.

“Harry,” Hermione tried again. “Could you please tell me what happened?”

“I think I'd rather just sit here alone for a few days.”

Hermione crossed the small dorm room and took a seat on the bed opposite him. “I'm sorry I said I was ashamed of you. It's just... Harry, you look like you've spent the day with Kublai Khan!”

Harry stared at her blankly. Hermione flushed a little now, too. “Kublai Khan? Xanadu? The poem by Coleridge?”

“Hermione, please...” Harry's voice broke. “I'm not...”

“Oh, bother!” Hermione looked around desperately, still pink. “I'm not saying this right. It's just, I misunderstood what you were saying. And you looked... wanton.”

Harry looked up at this, and met her scandalized, wide brown eyes. He laughed, wiping his eyes a bit. “Wanton? Me? I couldn't even kiss Cho right, and now this...”

“I don't want to tell you what to do, Harry, but I think you should be talking to someone,” Hermione began diplomatically. “And since it's either me or Ron, you might want to take your chances with me.”

Harry sighed; it was utterly unfair that she should be right all the time. He kept his eyes on the nice, neutral territory of the window, an tried to conjure up an abbreviated version of the afternoon's events. “Ginny wanted a real date today. But when I showed up, it was more of... er, she had Barry White and a little nightgown-thing on.”

Hermione blinked. “You mean, she was playing a Barry White song, and wearing a nightgown?”

Harry's confusion pulled his attention back from the window. “That's what I said!”

Hermione shook her head. “Yes, of course. Go on.”

“Anyway,” he said, fairly certain he was missing something. “She was, er... forward, I guess.”

When it became apparent Harry wasn't continuing, she prodded him a bit. “Forward?”

“She tried taking my clothes off, and... you know,” Harry muttered.

“Oh.” Hermione's fading flush was back. “I'm sorry, but I'm still not sure why you were so embarrassed, though.”

”Hermione, I may be your best friend, but I'm still one of the guys.” Harry was a deep red as he spoke. “I'm not supposed to... you know. Say no.”

“It's a good thing you're having a bad day, or I'd smack you,” Hermione said plainly. Harry looked up at that.

Hermione continued. “That is a horrible gender stereotype, and as a man you should be offended by it.”

“Talk to Seamus or Dean.” Harry could only shrug helplessly. “I feel like I'm the last bumbling little innocent Gryffindor.”

“I assure you,” Hermione answered sharply. “You are not!”

Harry hung his head. “Thank you. I just feel thick for bollixing all this.”

Hermione squeezed his hand. “Harry, you don't love Ginny, do you?”

“No.” Harry stared off a ways over her shoulder as he thought for a moment. “I'm pretty sure I don't really like dating her, even.”

She sighed, and moved over to sit beside him under the Mirror of Morgraine. Hermione pulled him into an awkward, sideways hug. “Then I think you did the right thing by breaking up with her.”

Harry smacked his forehead with his palm. “I don't think I actually broke up with her.”

“You didn't?” Her arms tightened ever so slightly.

He would have gestured, but his arms were pinned. “Well, she was sort of shimmying up against me and trying to pull my shirt off, Hermione. How exactly do you think I should have brought up my not wanting to date her?”

There was a strangled cry to Harry's left, and a disheveled Ginny appeared next to his bed from under Harry's invisibility cloak. There were tear tracks on her face as she threw the cloak at the foot of Harry's bed, and her breathing was ragged and uneven. “I think I get understand you two quite clearly!”

Ginny stormed off, clearly still crying.

Hermione jumped away from him as though burned. Harry blanched, and turned to look at her. “That went extraordinarily poorly.”

Hermione put her fingertips to her mouth. “Oh no! I think Ginny got the wrong impression!”

Harry rubbed his face. “I think she knows perfectly well I don't want to be dating her.”

“Oh Harry, think for a minute. Look at where we are.” Hermione gestured around, and from the utterly blank look in his green eyes, she could tell he wasn't catching on. “In bed, Harry. Your bed, specifically.”

“Wait, wait, wait! Now hang on a minute here!” Harry bolted to his feet, a panic rising in his chest. “We were not in bed! We were sitting on a bed! It's completely different.”

“To you, perhaps,” Hermione admitted. “I'm worried Ginny isn't seeing it that way.”

Harry headed for the door to the dormitory. “I'll go talk to her.”

She grabbed his arm, and planted her feet to drag him to a halt. “Are you quite mad? What do you think you're doing?”

“Going to talk to her.” Harry looked at the girl dragging on him with all her might. “It's bad enough she hates me. She should know it's not your fault or anything.”

Hermione made a high squeak of frustration. “Harry! Trust me on this; trying to talk to her right now will make things worse, not better. And defending me to her is definitely a bad idea.”

Harry relented. “Alright. Then you should go talk to her.”

Hermione winced eloquently. “Not right away, I don't think. Perhaps after she's a chance to cool down...”

“Okay,” Harry responded haltingly. “But what do we do until then?”

Hermione tried to smile. “Hide?”

“Fine pair of Gryffindors we are,” Harry mumbled.

* * *

That evening, Harry was loitering around the Great Hall. Between the legion of house elves and Professor Dumbledore's not inconsiderable magics, the room had been restored to its former glory before midday. It was a well polished testament to the ability of magic to repair all damages.

But Harry found himself toying with a cup of pumpkin juice, since he really wasn't welcome in the Gryffindor Common Room just then. Shortly after Ginny had fled the room, Ron had stormed the tower. Harry had been ready and willing to argue the point when Ron had been ranting about his best friend 'breaking his innocent baby sister's heart.' However, Ron made passing reference to Hermione being caught 'in flagrant delicious,' and suddenly she was off to the races. About the time Ron and Hermione were nose to nose arguing about trust, Harry slipped out. Ginny was nowhere to be seen in the Common Room, but his Housemates were quite willing to gawk and stare. It was less than minute before he bolted.

Harry rolled the cup around in his hands. It was a heavy pewter, and enchanted to stay comfortably cold. Harry became dimly aware of a number of people gathered around him, and he looked up.

Luna, Veruca, Seamus, Dean, Crabbe, and Goyle were all dropping into seats all around him. Harry fought to keep his jaw from clenching.

Goyle pointed a thick finger at Harry's chest. “Nice look. Redhead or brunette?”

Harry looked down, and realized he was still wearing the shirt Ginny had plucked the buttons from. He flushed and pulled his robe tighter around himself.

Luna swatted the towering Slytherin. Goyle pulled back, and peered suspiciously at Luna as though she might bite him. Luna just stared at him impassively. “You really shouldn't be impolite like that. I'm sure nothing happened between Harry and Hermione.”

Harry shot the Ravenclaw a grateful look.

Seamus, however, slapped Harry solidly on the back. “No need to be modest, me yobo! Looks like the Gryff ladies like a hero, aye? But both in one day?”

Harry shot the stocky Irishman the same glare he'd turned on Hermione earlier, and it backed Seamus up the same way. “Ginny has every right to be mad at me. But leave Hermione out of this.”

“Yer not kiddin, are ya?” Seamus looked surprised. “So you and Hermione aren't... ya' know?”

“No.”

“Course not,” came Crabbe's thick, plodding voice. “Nothing easy for those two.”

Harry's eyes narrowed. “You know I could hex the lot of you, don't you?”

Luna regarded him with wide, grey eyes. “But you won't, will you Harry?”

He sighed, and stared back into his cup of pumpkin juice. Seamus cleared his throat. Harry glared at him reflexively, but Seamus held up his hands to ward him off. “Whoa, wait a bit there! If there's nuthin' to you an' Hermione, ya might wanna talk to Ron.”

“I don't think he wants to talk to me right now,” Harry answered, grimacing.

“You might want to talk to him, though,” Dean interrupted. “It's been a few hours, and he and Hermione are still going at it.”

“Damn!” Harry pushed wearily up from the table and marched toward the stairs. This mess was his fault, and he wasn't about to let his best friends keep fighting over his mistakes.

Crabbe and Goyle rose from the bench opposite him. Crabbe grinned. “This'n'll be worth seeing.”

Harry glared at the two thugs. “Wait here.”

Crabbe and Goyle sat back down.

“You're glaring a lot today, Harry.” Luna blinked slowly, watching him with detached calm. “Have you been practicing recently, or are you concerned you might forget how?”

Harry resisted the urge to glare at Luna, and instead marched out of the hall, and up the stairs toward Gryffindor tower. When he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, she sighed. “Thank heavens you're here. Maybe you can quiet those two.”

“Azhi Dahaka,” Harry muttered, steaming slightly.

The portrait swung inward, and Harry stomped into the common room. Ron and Hermione were facing off a dozen paces apart, red in the face and yelling at one another. Somewhere along the way, each had decided to forgo waiting for a response from the other, and had instead set about trying to yell over their significant other. Unlike the usual Ron and Hermione row, no one remained in the common room to watch this one. Harry thought about how to get their attention for a few seconds, and discounted yelling. He'd never be heard.

Harry walked though the middle of the room, between the two snarling combatants. He could make out Hermione yelling about trust, and Ron was expounding at length on what Ginny had told him she'd seen. (To Harry's ears, it seemed she might have left out the Room of Requirements.) What he was suggesting about Harry made him mad, but it was the parts that involved Hermione in all this that made him want to hit the taller boy. Ignoring them both, he walked over to Hermione's stack of prodigious notes from earlier in the day, picked up the ones for Charms and Transfigurations, and headed for the boys dormitories.

Hermione fell silent at this, gasping, red faced, and near tears. Ron, however, turned on Harry instead. “And you! What are you doing here? All these years, acting like you were my friend, and really you've been sneaking around with her behind my back!”

It took a ridiculous amount of effort not to turn on Ron. Harry persisted, and with the most control he could muster, kept walking to his dorm room. Ron kept shouting after him until he got inside the dorm and shut the door. Shaking slightly, Harry sat down on his bed. The notes were just a ruse to draw Ron and Hermione; he let them flutter to the coverlet while he fought to get his temper under control.

Harry wasn't sure who he was more angry with; himself for mucking things up so badly that it was spilling over onto his friends, Ron for acting like such a prat to Hermione, or Ginny for using Ron's notoriously short fuse to get back at him. He sat and thought about that for a bit.

Just when Harry thought his plan wasn't going to work, Ron and Hermione slammed into the dorm room. Ron was very quickly towering over Harry as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Just what do you think you're playing at, ignoring me like that!”

Harry looked up at him coldly. “Were you saying anything worth listening to?”

Ron's fists bunched at his sides. “I ought to-”

“You ought to what, Ron? Hit me?” Harry snapped at him. “Fine, be mad at me. I broke up with Ginny about the worst way possible. Leave Hermione out of this.”

“Why should I,” Ron snarled back. “Ginny said-”

“Yes she said! And it's not like she's got a reason to want to hurt me right now or anything.” Harry's voice dripped sarcasm before turning angry. “What about you? Don't you know me at all after six years? Don't you know Hermione better than that?”

“I thought I did!”

“Snap out of it!” Harry bolted to his feet. “You do know us better than that, you prat! Now, instead of throwing a fit over something you know is lie, try talking sometime.”

Ron turned away from him, and crossed his arms petulantly. “I don't have anything to say to you.”

“I don't imagine you do, Ron.” Harry stomped to the door. “But you and Hermione have a lot to talk about. She's the one you were insulting out in the common room for everyone to hear.”

Harry left, closed the door, and locked it with a gesture from his wand. Now that they'd stopped yelling, and Ron had decided he was mostly mad at Harry, maybe those two can talk this out rationally, he thought.

Walking down the curving stone stairs into the Gryffindor common room, Harry saw that the other students were filtering back in. Lavender peered around the room, looking into corners and behind curtains. “Are they done?”

“I think so.” Harry sat on the foot of the stairs.

Dean frowned. “How'd you manage that?”

Harry looked at his hands as he spoke. “I locked them in a small room, and told them to talk it out.”

Seamus laughed. “Hey everybody, Ron's growing up and getting-”

Harry glared at him from under half lidded eyes.

Seamus startled. “Uh, Ron's getting a good talking to. Yeah.”

“Wait, you locked them in our dorm?” Neville looked pale. “I don't care if they've stopped yelling, I don't want to sneak in there tonight.”

Harry drew his wand out, and tried something he'd seen Professor Dumbledore do before. With a spinning motion, almost as though he were stirring an imaginary cup, Harry conjured four squashy purple sleeping bags out of nothingness. He looked around. “I'm sorry, but I think we'll be sleeping on the sofas tonight.”

Neville prodded one of the sleeping bags. “Harry, what spell did you use?”

“I don't know.” Harry grabbed a bag and dragged it over to the farthest sofa. The other Gryffindors were making their ways to their dormitories, leaving the remaining sixth year boys down in the common room. Harry opened the bag, spread it out on the divan, and dropped heavily into it.“Something I saw Dumbledore do once.”

Neville dragged his bag over to the floor next to Harry. “What do you think they're doing up there?”

“Hopefully, talking.” Harry tucked into the bag. “The lock'll hold Hermione for maybe two seconds. It's just so they can't run away too easily. They'll come down when they're done.”

Neville rested his head in his hands. “Just so you know, everyone who knows you guys knows nothing happened.”

Harry grunted.

Neville pushed on. “I am a little put out that you hurt Ginny's feelings like that though.”

“Neville,” Harry said softly.

“Yeah?”

“I'm trying to sleep.”

Harry could hear the blush in his voice. “Right! Sorry, g'night.”

Harry blew out his breath. “Goodnight.”

But Harry lay there, staring at the ceiling of the tower common room as sleep eluded him. One by one, the breathing of his friends slowed down as they fell into a comfortable slumber. The torches in the common room flickered and died out, and the fire in the grate died back to a low burn all on their own. Harry had wondered how that happened, but he'd never been downstairs and awake to see it before.

The door to the boys dorm creaked open, and light footsteps pattered down the stairs. In the dim light from the dying fire, Harry caught sight of Hermione's silhouette crossing the common room, picking its way carefully over the teenagers strewn about in sleeping bags. She paused for a moment over Harry's place on the divan, and he feigned sleep. She quickly moved off, and crept up into the girls' dormitories.

Feeling more confident now that he knew his friends had stopped fighting, Harry snuggled down into his sleeping bag. It wasn't quite a squashy as the ones Dumbledore had conjured in Harry's third year, but it was still very nice.

He wasn't aware of exactly when he passed over into sleep, and dreams.

Harry found himself again in an echoing, circular room, the damp stone walls reflecting around him. The ground was concealed by luminescent fog swirling around his feet. Harry paced between the squat standing stones, reading from a letter held in unnaturally pale, long-fingered hands.

Harry read aloud, and he voice coming from his lipless mouth was the high, cold sigh of Lord Voldemort. “'The target of the attack was unfortunately missed, my Lord, and the mudblood still lives.' Even on paper, he sounds like your son.”

From his post by the rough-hewn doorway, Lucius Malfoy answered. “Thank you, my Lord.” Even months in Azkaban had done nothing to roughen his cultured voice, or bend his patrician posture.

“It wasn't a compliment, Lucius.” Lord Voldemort swept along, still reading. “'I have the letter now, and once I've found the appropriate place to activate it, we shall be rid of all the mudboods here in Hogwarts.' I do like the way your son has taken to using the royal 'we.' He's so very generous to include me when he takes credit for this upcoming attack.”

Lucius smiled tightly, and swallowed quickly. “I am quite sure, my Lord, that Draco only referred to his role as your instrument, nothing more. It is still difficult to transfer messages into and out of Hogwarts, and I'm positive it was only the forced paucity of words that drove him to be less than clear in his wording.”

Voldemort turned to face the tall blond Death Eater, and Harry watched from behind his red eyes. “You grovel for your son almost as well as you grovel for yourself.”

Lucius bowed his head, stiffly awaiting his master's judgment. It never came.

“You may go Lucius,” Voldemort said dismissively. “I shall await my revenge alone.”

As Voldemort seated himself upon the nearest rock, the round stone room dimmed in Harry's vision. Quickly Harry found himself retreating from the crystal clarity of the vision, and instead wrapped in the comforting embrace of dreams.

* * *

It was such a relief to be out from under the Mirror of Morgraine that Harry overslept the next morning. It had become usual for him to awaken before any of the other Gryffindors and be out running the grounds before the sun gilded the frosted roofs of the castle. That morning he barely forced his eyes open as his house mates queued up to leave the common room for breakfast. He pushed himself upright, and took stock of the horrible state of his clothes. Wrinkling his nose, Harry raced up the stairs into the dormitory for a quick shower and change.

Fifteen minutes later Harry wound his way downstairs to the Great Hall. He found Ron and Hermione sitting across from each other, talking pleasantly. Harry paused, trying to decide if it was safe to sit near either of them. Hermione noticed him standing hesitantly by the door, and waved him over with a genuine smile. Ron managed a weak grin, and so Harry dropped onto the bench by Ron.

“So you two have stopped fighting?” Harry looked back and forth between his two best friends. They flushed, but nodded. He looked over at Ron nervously. “Are we okay?”

“I'm not sure if I should be more mad at you for hurting Ginny,” Ron said with a frown, “or with Ginny for tryin' to disgrace the family name. But we're okay.”

“Okay,” Harry said with a tentative smile.

Ron passed him the hash and kippers, and elbowed him playfully. Harry accepted the jostle with a much more solid smile. Maybe things really were okay between Ron and him.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Ron and I were trying to figure out what we expect the Ministry to do next, after the debacle yesterday.”

“Debacle?” Harry looked at her askance, and she nodded. He snorted. “I'm going to have to look that word up.”

Ron chimed in. “Hermione here says that in the dictionary, it's got a picture of Percy next to 'debacle.' Reckon it must mean either 'a right mess,' or 'stupid prat.'”

Harry laughed. He looked back and forth between the other two. “I'm really glad things are back to the way they used to be.”

Hermione looked down at her plate, but Ron snorted at this. “You're right about that mate.”

Harry set his fork down, and gave his friends a sharp look. “Okay, something is going on, and I'm not getting it.”

Hermione cleared her throat. “Well, you see Harry-”

Ginny thumped down onto the bench next to Hermione and glared across the table at Harry. “Good job locking them in a room together, jackass. If you can't be happy with a girlfriend, I guess no one can be, hmm?”

Harry was caught between irritation and confusion. “What?”

Ron waggled a finger at his younger sister in a shockingly good imitation of his mother. “Ginerva Weasley! You've said enough this week, I don't want to hear another word!”

His remonstrances were to no avail. Ginny glared briefly at her brother before returning her attention to Harry. “Thanks to your behavior yesterday, you've broken them up. Happy now?”

Ginny pushed back from the table and flounced off to her first class of the day. Their end of the table was quiet in her passing. Hermione kept her eyes on her plate, and Ron looked around nervously. Harry was still staring at the spot his ex-girlfriend had occupied moments before.

Eventually, Harry cleared his throat and spoke without looking around. “I am so sorry.”

Ron smacked him in the arm, hard. “Don't you dare! Anyone wants the blame for us, I say it's my crazy little sis.”

Hermione tutted. “Ron, last night wasn't her fault either. We were the ones who were dating, we were the ones who didn't make a good go of it.”

Ron shrugged. “Personally, no. I blame it squarely on Ginny.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, and caught Harry's eyes with a smile. Harry looked away quickly. He wasn't really sure what to make of his friends' breakup, or their insistence that he wasn't to blame. All he was certain of was that his appetite had deserted him completely. He pushed his plate away with a frown.

Lavender and Parvati arrived, and descend upon Ron. Harry found himself being pushed aside as Lavender worked her way onto the bench between him and Ron. Parvati patted Ron's far hand. “We couldn't help but hear that argument last night. You poor dear, I know it must have been painful for you.”

Lavender nodded, smiling sympathetically. “Even if you are keeping up a very brave Gryffindor façade. And who could you possibly talk to about it? Harry?”

Ron looked back and forth between the two girls. “I guess not.”

Lavender clucked appreciatively.

Harry looked over at Hermione, who looked a little disgusted. “What about me? Aren't I in the same boat?”

“Sure,” Parvati said flatly. “We'll talk tonight.”

Lavender gave Ron a seemingly friendly hug. “Do you think you'll be able to go to classes today, or should you take some time off?”

“Uh...” Ron looked pleasantly speechless.

Harry leaned across the table toward Hermione. “You can always talk to me, you know.”

Harry had to jump back suddenly as Luna dropped onto the bench next to Hermione, the Quibbler she was reading from nearly clipped him as she sat down. She looked up from her paper to stare at Lavender with wide grey eyes. “I've never seen anyone flirt with a boy just because they were a star Quidditch player. Can I watch?”

“Uh,” Lavender said, looking confused. “No.”

“Oh, well then,” Luna said, holding the folded newspaper up to her face. “I should avert my eyes. Please continue.”

“Er,” was all Parvati could muster. It was too much for Ron, who snorted with laughter. Lavender sniffed, and pulled Parvati to her feet. The two girls left together rapidly.

Luna peered over her newspaper. “That was very fast, even for them. I would have thought they'd have to try harder than that to get a date.”

“They'd have to try a lot harder,” Ron said, still laughing.

“Yes,” Luna said dreamily. “I imagine that dating requires a lot of effort.”

She reached over and stole Ron plate of food, and started picking at it. Hermione sighed and excused herself from the table. Harry pulled a couple of rolls from the salver in the middle of the table and dashed after her. Ron waved a distracted goodbye to them as he tried to recapture his breakfast from the odd Ravenclaw at his table.

Harry caught up to her on her way to Transfigurations. He offered her one of the rolls, which she took but didn't eat. He looked over at her sideways. “Sure you're not upset about breaking it off with Ron?”

“Not really, no.” Hermione looked at him sideways.

“But?” Harry chewed his roll, and waited.

Hermione shredded little chunks from her roll and nibbled them. “But Ron's got all sorts of girls dangling off of him, and it hasn't even been twelve hours yet. And not just my giggling room mates! I could be wrong, but I think Luna was flirting with him!”

“You're not wrong.” Harry shrugged. “So you're not happy he's jumped back into dating so fast?”

“Can you really jump back into dating when you hadn't been out with a girl before?” Hermione smiled a little as she asked this. The plucked at her roll before answering Harry's question. “No, I'm actually relieved he's so happy like that. I was afraid he'd be sullen and resentful for a whole year, or some such nonsense.”

Harry gestured for her to continue.

She sighed. “It's just... this is absolutely shallow of me, but I keep wondering why there aren't any boys running over to talk to me, like the girls are flocking to Ron.”

“I honestly don't know. Maybe all the boys here aren't terribly bright.”

“I'm serious Harry!” Hermione tucked the roll into her robes, as she wasn't very hungry.

“Me too!” Harry nodded, polishing off his roll. “I think anyone who doesn't want to date the prettiest, most clever witch at Hogwarts has to be kind of dim.”

* * *

-->

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

The pridie kalends of March passed without further incident. Minister Weasley had visited Dumbledore personally at the close of February. None of the students were privy to the conversation, but in the two weeks that had passed since then, no Aurors marched on Hogwarts. The Daily Prophet still wasn't reporting anything about the war, but since it hadn't mentioned the battleground in the middle of the Great Hall, no one was complaining.

Classes had just ended for the night and Neville, Ron, and Harry were clustered around a table in the Gryffindor common room trying to do their homework and play Gobstones simultaneously. Neither activity really carried much interest; whenever they got bored with one, they would switch back to the other. Oddly, it was the most productive they'd been all year.

Ginny flounced up to Neville, leaning the small of her back and her elbows on the the table they were sharing, and fixed him with a brilliant smile. Neville looked up and swallowed heavily.

“Hullo, Neville,” she said breathlessly.

“Hello.” Neville smiled politely, nervously.

Ginny's eyes flicked over to Harry for a moment before coming to land squarely on Neville. “So... It's a couple of hours 'til supper. Want to go for a little walk around the castle with me?”

Neville looked nervously over at Harry and Ron. “Actually, I was just working on my homework.”

“We wouldn't have to walk too fast.” Ginny batted her eyelashes appealingly. “We could even stop walking, just... hang out.”

“Hang out?”

Ginny toyed with Neville's sleeve, briefly looking over at Harry as she did so. “Have you ever seen the lake from the Astronomy Tower?”

Ron growled a little at this, but Harry put a warning hand on his arm. He'd seen something of the look in Neville's eye, and wondered what was going to happen next.

Neville set his quill down, closed his text, and set his parchment to one side. He cleared his throat and looked up at Ginny. “For the past couple of years, when I've been daydreaming about you in Potions... I mean, it's not like I'd ever think about Potions, or anything... Anyway, whenever I imagine you kissing me, I've always imagined that it was me you wanted to be kissing.

“Now, I could be all wrong, but it kind of looks like you really just want to make Harry jealous. And when you kiss me, I don't really want you to be thinking about anyone else. So, even if it kills me to say it, I think I'll stay here for tonight.”

Ginny backed away, a look Harry didn't recognize in her eyes. She put a hand to her mouth, and dashed upstairs into her dormitory. Ron and Harry watched her go in shock, then turned back to look at their normally shy friend.

Neville looked back down at his work and sighed. “I don't think I feel like working just now.”

Ron's eyes narrowed. “Longbottom? You been daydreaming about my baby sis?”

Neville pulled himself straight. “Yes, actually.”

Ron pulled a face. “I'm gonna-”

He was silenced as Harry slapped a hand over his mouth. Harry spoke on behalf of his friend. “Be quiet, and hope something good happens for his sister and our friend. Right?”

Ron glared at Harry. After a long silence, Ron finally nodded. Harry pulled his hand away and closed his books too.

Ron slammed his book shut, his notes stuck roughly in between the pages. “So what do we do besides this?”

“Talk Quidditch,” Neville answered.

Ron frowned. “Naw. The Cannons are dying the last few games.”

Neville looked thoughtful. “Aren't they in a ninety-something game losing streak?”

Ron's expression was black. “I said a few games.”

“Right.” Neville hid a smile behind a cough.

Harry leaned in. “Well, I for one want to know what's going on with Luna.”

Harry and Neville turned to look at Ron. Ron blushed. “How would I know?”

Neville rolled his eyes, while Harry just snorted. Ron toyed with the edge of his textbook. “Well, she was fine last night.”

Harry turned to look at Neville questioningly. “Was this the night no one could find him after dinner?”

“I think so,” he answered, looking thoughtful. “Hard to tell, since we haven't been able to find him after dinner for a week.”

“Oh, you two are right comedians, you are,” Ron grumbled.

Harry grinned. “So why haven't you disappeared tonight?”

Ron mumbled.

“Didn't catch that,” Neville said with a smile.

“I said,” Ron answered tartly. “It just so happens she has a review session tonight.”

“Ah.” Harry said, still grinning.

“What about you, oh Boy-Who-Can't-Get-A-Date?” Ron nudged him. “Any prospects now you're a free man again?”

“No,” Harry answered simply. “I'm more worried about Hermione, though.”

Neville and Ron exchanged an inscrutable look as Harry continued. “No one's asked her out since you two broke up, and I think it's hurting her feelings.”

Neville pointed at Ron, who shook his head vehemently. Ron pointed at Neville, who sighed and mouthed, 'Me?' Ron nodded, and Neville sighed again. Harry watched this byplay, baffled.

Neville chewed his lip nervously before speaking. “Well, Ron and I think that maybe no one's said anything to her for fear of you killing them slowly.”

“The hell?” Harry looked back and forth between the other two boys.

“See, you and Hermione are awfully... close,” Neville pressed onwards. “I mean, just about everyone in Britain has at one time or another assumed you were... closer. Even if that was absolutely not true, I mean! Anyway, I think most people assume... and totally wrongly, I'm sure... that if they made a move, they'd be stepping on your toes. And stepping on your toes? That's scary.”

Harry sat back, looking stunned.

Ron cleared his throat and spoke up. “Course, if you want to make sure Hermione has the opportunity to date loads and loads of guys, you could nip all that in the bud. Just make it pretty public you're not in the least interested, I'm sure her dance card'd fill up right quick.”

“Er,” Harry said.

“You do want to help Hermione find someone, right?” Neville leaned in closer to Harry. “How about that big guy in Hufflpuff, the Keeper with the chin? All the girls say he's dead handsome, and I'm sure I've seen him checking Hermione out in Herbology.”

Harry glared at Neville. Oddly, Neville didn't back away like most people, but smiled widely instead.

Ron looked over at Harry. “You look awful, mate! What'cha thinking?”

Harry looked down at his broken wristwatch. “Uh, I have class with Snape. I have to go!”

Harry left his bag and books where they lay and scuttled to the portrait hole. As it closed behind him, Neville shook his head sadly. Ron sighed. “He's got the Pharoh's Disease, he does.”

“The what?” Neville looked over at Ron.

“He's the King of De Nile,” Ron said sadly. “It's a crying shame him and Hermione are mental, the both of them.”

“Yeah,” Neville said. He coughed. “So, Exploding Snap?”

“Sure.” Ron reached for a pack in his bag. “While we play, you can tell me about the bit where you've been daydreaming about my sister.”

Neville winced.

Meanwhile, Harry hurried off to Snape's dungeon offices, more than a little disturbed by his conversation with Ron and Neville. The rushing in his ears had made hearing a bit more difficult than usual, but it had sounded like Harry's mere presence was enough to keep Hermione uncomfortably alone. Although they hadn't said it, Harry thought it sounded like he was overbearing, maybe even acting like he was jealous!

He knew those were descriptions of himself he absolutely did not want to live down to. Overbearing and jealous were pretty good adjectives to apply to the sixteen-year old James Potter that Harry had seen in Snape's Pensieve. He couldn't let Snape be right in thinking that Harry was the living embodiment of his father's flaws, nor did he want to hurt Hermione by being her friend. He decided then and there, on his way down into the dungeons, that her happiness was the most important thing to him. He resolved to figure out what to do to help as soon as possible.

Harry slipped quietly into Snape's office. The sallow Potions master was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed. He regarded Harry down his hooked nose coolly. “You are four minutes late, Mister Potter.”

Harry nodded. By now, he'd gotten used to the simple fact that neither apology nor explanation mattered to his Legilimency tutor. Snape assumed you had a reason for your failings; he just didn't care. Similarly, he didn't want apologies, he wanted compliance.

When it was clear Harry wasn't about to torment him with excuses, Snape nodded approvingly. “Your deranged band of misguided students performed adequately against the Aurors. You personally performed surprisingly well.”

“Thank you, sir.” Harry blinked at the unexpected, if backhanded, compliment.

“Of course, the fact that you avoided whinging was surprising. Is it possible that peering into my mind is all that is required to assist all my pupils in growing up?” Snape scowled, and shuddered. “Perish the thought. I don't think anyone could stomach the months of this required to turn Mister Weasley into an adult.”

Harry bit his cheek. He didn't want to say anything to upset the Potions professor, but it was hard to avoid. Did he always have to be like this?

Snape nodded at Harry. “Begin!”

Harry extended his wand, and muttered, “Probitatis.”

For a brief moment, his vision was obscured by a fuzzy image of Snape correcting papers for his fourth year class. He pushed with all his will, and the image snapped into focus. It looked like Harry wasn't alone in receiving regular 'T's' from the Potions Master.

With a jolt, the image faded. Snape nodded. “If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try, try, try, try again, hmm? You may be taking painfully long, but you are starting to show a glimmer of hope.”

Harry wiped his forehead an nodded. It was difficult, forcing his way into someone else's memories. Snape rolled his eyes. “Are you ready again, or do you need a nap first? I assure you the Dark Lord will not honor requests for time out or Kings X.”

Harry grimaced, but brought his wand to bear nonetheless. With a brief incantation, Harry started again. Nothing happened, no dimming of sight, no foggy visions.

Snape clucked at him. “Is it possible you're actually getting worse Potter? How sad.”

Harry gritted his teeth and pushed. Again, a foggy image appeared before Harry. This time, Harry caught sight of white-blond hair, and red eyes. Harry caught his breath and dragged the image to his mind with all his might.

Draco was rising from the ground, clutching the Dark Mark freshly burnt into his arm, his father, Snape, and Lord Voldemort crowded about him. Thick, sluggish blood flowed from beneath the hand Draco used to staunch his wound. Unconcerned by the pain on his new follower's face, Voldemort tipped Draco's chin upwards with a long, white finger. “And now, boy,” Voldemort whispered in a hiss, “what do you have for me?”

“Potter's girlfriend,” Draco gasped. “The mudblood! She's... ah! She's staying at her cousins' for Christmas holidays!”

Voldemort leaned in, his corpse-cold breath stirring Draco's hair. “That is all you have?”

“I have the location,” Draco gasped, still holding the oozing wound on his forearm. “And unlike her house, this one won't be protected by the Ministry.”

His flat red eyes blinked slowly. “And you think I should care about this mud-child for what reason?”

“Kill her,” Draco said, smirking through the pain, “You'll break him, my Lord.”

“I doubt it.” Voldemort straighted up, a hideous smile on his lipless mouth. “But let's try, shall we?”

Harry slammed against the stone wall in the dungeon, forcibly ejected from Snape's mind. He snarled at his Potions Master. “You knew? You knew they were going to attack Hermione's family, and you didn't do anything?”

Snape held a hand to his temple and shook his head delicately. “Of course not, you idiot Gryffindor. They attacked twelve half-blood families at once. My information was given to the Aurors, I've no idea why they weren't in place!”

“You have to know something!” Harry advanced on Snape, who sneered.

“Oh, I have to, do I?” Snape glowered at his student. “For your elucidation, I have been without information of any sort since I took up your training, you insufferable little snot! Which, I might remind you, was shortly after the attack on the Grangers!”

Harry paced in a tight circle, heart hammering against his chest. Draco had tried to kill Hermione, had succeeded in killing her mother. He was here at the school, he could try again. Thoughts swum around Harry's head like startled fish. He thought about the visions he'd had of the thing, the letter in Draco's pocket. There was something there, something creeping towards him on bloodstained feet. Whatever Draco and the Death Eaters were planning, Harry could feel it towering over him, over Hermione, ready to crash down.

Harry snarled. He had to assume that the visions were false, yet another trick on the part of Voldemort. But what? What could their plans be? Harry could only think of one way of finding out, and the bottom of his stomach fell out to even think of it.

Snape looked exasperated as he watched Harry pace furiously. “Are you finished with your tantrum?”

Harry swung about, his mind made up. “Probitatis!” Harry shouted, a very specific question on his mind.

There it was, as clear as the sight of the Potions Master had been a second before. Harry saw Professor Snape walk up to the blank wall concealing the Slytherin common room, and speak the pass phrase. Angra Mainyu.

Harry pulled free from the Legilimency vision, as Snape reeled backwards. “What do you think you're doing?”

Harry already had his wand out, and pointed at his Professor, so it was a simple matter to hurl a Full Body Bind at him. For good measure, Harry shot ropes from the end of his wand which twined themselves about his torso just before he toppled over backwards.

Harry walked over to Snape, and knelt down. “Sorry about this, but I think Voldemort's planning something right now. And I really, really need to know what. Sorry, sir.”

Harry bolted from the room, running as fast as he could toward the lower level dungeons. He skidded to a halt before a section of blank wall, so very familiar from his most recent vision. The trick to getting the information, he thought, would be absolute and unquestioning fear. He needed Draco afraid. Harry yelled at the wall. “Angra Mainyu!”

The bricks shifted and ground together, each stone sliding to one side or another. Harry stormed into the Slytherin common room, and a dozen faces turned in shock to look at him. In the back, Harry saw Crabbe and Goyle staring at him in slack jawed awe. “Draco!” Harry thundered. “Where is that dead man!”

Crabbe pointed to a door at Harry's right. It was Draco's dormitory, the one Harry had glimpsed in his vision. A quick Reducto and the heavy oaken door was reduced to splintered shards swinging crazily from a surviving hinge.

“Draco!” Harry ground out as pieces of smoking wood drifted down around the common room. “Do you have any idea how much pain you've caused here?”

Malfoy sauntered out of his room, brushing splinters from his school robes. “Spare me the plebeian morality, Potter. I don't care.”

Harry gritted his teeth so hard, he felt flakes of enamel. “I want to know what little plan you're working on, Death Eater.”

Draco sneered easily. “It isn't wise to level baseless accusations at innocent students. I imagine you'll be quite a bit of trouble for destroying my door, too. Well, well, I guess spring is coming early this year.”

Harry lashed out with his wand, crying, “Supare!”

The cut curled down Draco's arm from shoulder to wrist, drawing blood and parting the sleeve of his robes. Visible as he flinched and grabbed his arm was the Dark Mark burnt into his forearm. A gasp ran though at least some of the Slytherins.

“Again, Death Eater!” Harry stalked forward. “What's the plan?”

Draco pressed a hand flat to his shirt pocket. “Nothing. I don't know anything.”

Harry's bright green eyes narrowed. Draco wasn't afraid, not yet. His hand pressed to his shirt pocket, it seemed affected somehow. “Try again. Start with what's in your pocket.”

“Letter from home?” Draco smiled too easily.

“Pull it out.” Harry held his wand on Draco as the blond withdrew a letter from his shirt pocket. It was the same one Harry had seen in his vision, with the skull and snake device affixed to the wax seal. Without prompting, Draco held the letter out for Harry to examine.

Harry's eyes widened, then hardened. He had a sudden hunch as to what the letter was. Harry stepped backward sharply, keeping Draco in his sight. “I don't think I want to touch that bloody thing!”

Draco looked a little stunned. For the first time, a hint of panic shone in his pale eyes. With a flick of the hands, he threw the letter at Harry.

Harry jerked his wand at the letter. “Immobulus,” he yelled, freezing the letter in midair.

Draco took advantage of his distraction to draw his wand. Harry used his off hand to summon the wand wordlessly from Draco's grip. The blond boy's ebony wand arced skyward, and landed in Harry's left hand. He tucked it into his pants pocket.

“How- how did you do that?” Draco gestured to Harry's now-empty hand as he spoke.

“The better question,” Harry said with a tight smile, “is what am I going to do next. I'm guessing that letter is a portkey. I want to know where it goes.”

From the way the Slytherin's eyes widened, Harry realized he'd guessed right about the letter. Draco looked around the Slytherin common room urgently, clearly desperate for rescue. “I- I don't know what you're babbling about!”

“Fine. The hard way then.” Harry snarled. “Iacto Draco!”

With a wave, Harry slammed the blond boy into the corner, and kept him pinned there several feet off the ground. Harry stomped up to Draco, shaking with anger. “Tell me where the portkey goes. What's the plan?”

“I'm not telling you anything, Scarhead!” Draco tried to look haughty pinned to the wall. He tried to sound nonchalant “I guess you'll just have to kill me.”

Harry slammed Draco into the ceiling before sliding him down the wall to eye level. “I know you tried to murder Hermione. You got her mother killed,” he growled, low and dangerous. “Please, keep lying to me. I want to beat it out of you.”

Draco looked terrified now. “It's a trap. I was supposed to get you to touch it, and the Dark Lord would do the rest. I don't know where it goes to.”

“I believe you.” Harry looked at Draco, and turned away. Spinning back, he punched Draco as hard as he could in the chin. Draco bounced off the wall and crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Harry turned back to the letter, still drifting midair. He waved his wand hand over it. “Nocis Vocis Remandant .”

An image of a decaying Jacobite manor house wavered into view over the letter. Harry looked up at Crabbe and Goyle. “Do you two recognize this?”

Goyle looked over, face white. “Malfoy Manor. It's on Foulness Island, south of QinetiQ.”

Harry grinned nastily. “Thanks.”

He turned around and walked out of the common room. Crabbe cleared his throat and spoke up. “What are you going to do?

“Pick a fight.” With that, Harry disappeared around the corner. The Slytherins stared at one another for a while.

Goyle looked over at Crabbe. “Should we get help?”

Crabbe shrugged. “Dunno. Think it's safe to move?”

Harry was already a floor away, running at full speed. He grabbed hold of the banister for the lower stairs, and used it to stop himself. He turned and ran up the stairs, lungs burning in his chest. He knew he didn't have much time to get out before either Snape or the Slytherins got Dumbledore's attention. Harry slid to a halt in front of the portrait hole leading into Gryffindor Tower. He tried breathing deeply, and acting as calm as possible. He couldn't afford for anyone in the tower figure out what he was up to.

Harry gave the password, and walked very calmly and coolly up the stairs to the his dormitory. Hermione waved him over, but he just shook his head and kept going. She looked worried, but not enough to come over and stop him. Harry slipped into his dorm room, and locked the door with his wand.

Harry tossed his trunk, looking for everything he needed. From the bottom, he pulled up his father's invisibility cloak, and threw it on. For good measure, he taped his head with his wand and disillusioned himself. Then he stood up on his bed to pull down another item he needed.

From Draco, Harry had learned that Voldemort's plan was stupidly simply; lure Harry into yet another a trap. He smiled to himself. What it meant to him was that Harry knew exactly where to find his nemesis. And with all the Death Eater's attention focused on the point they expected him to portky into, Harry thought he'd have an excellent chance of slipping in behind them.

No one else needs to die, he thought as he tore his coverlet into strips and tied them around his chest.

A minute longer he worked, and then another. Finally Harry was finished. He grabbed his Firebolt, ran to the window, and threw it open. He winced as he thought of one more thing he had to do before he could go. He paused grabbing a quill and a scrap of parchment from his bedside table and dashed off a quick note. He tossed the note onto his bed, and then leaped from the window. Tucking the broom beneath him, Harry pulled up from his free fall, and sped off towards the Forbidden Forest.

Once I clear the wards, he thought as the wind pulled at his hair, I can Apparate to Foulness Island.

* * *

The portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room opened abruptly, and Albus Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall stepped through, moving with more urgency that anyone had seen before in the headmaster. McGonagall headed up the stairs towards Harry's dormitory, as Dumbledore addressed the students still in the common area.

“Excuse me for being abrupt,” Dumbledore said, “but have any of you seen Mister Potter tonight?”

Hermione's eyes went wide. “He's in his room, sir.”

All eyes turned to the sixth year boys dormitory door, where Professor McGonagall was using her wand to force the lock open. She swept in, and out of sight.

“You'd better be in there,” Hermione whispered desperately.

McGonagall came down the stairs waving a piece of parchment. “Albus! You'd best see this!”

When she reached the common room, Dumbledore took the letter, and scanned it very briefly. “Oh, dear. It seems Mister Potter has gone and done something rather rash.”

The aging wizard turned to his students. “I rather doubt it, but is there any chance any of you know where Mister Potter might have gone?”

Hermione shook her head, eyes bright.

A Boreal owl descended from Harry's dormitory, gliding downward to land lightly on the wingback chair next to the Headmaster. Hermione looked over, and saw the neat handwriting adorning the letter. It was from Mafalda Hopkirk from the Improper Use of Magic Office. Dumbledore took the letter, and the owl departed in a flurry of noiselessly beating wings.

Dumbledore opened the letter, and scanned it quickly. He turned to Professor McGonagall, looking grim. “He has Apparated away-”

“Apparated!” McGonagall looked stricken.

“We know where he has gone to,” he said calmingly. “Please go alert the others, and we will go after him. A good many of our... friends should be at the Old Place.”

As McGonagall left through the portrait hole, Dumbledore turned to address the Gryffindors. “Mister Potter will be back shortly. Please all of you, wait here and remain calm. There is nothing for you to be concerned about.”

“This letter, however, is for you.” He handed Hermione the scrap of parchment McGonagall had been waving as she ran down from Harry's dormitory. And with that, Dumbledore fled the common room as quickly as possible.

She looked the letter over. It was torn off of his Artifaction notes, scrawled in his crabbed and awkward writing.

Hermione,

I realized I have a lot I want to say to you. Wish I had more time, since it's not fair to say some things in a letter. Please know I'm going to do what I have to, and if I can, I promise I'll will be back.

PS: If I don't come back, Draco's the one who set your family up. You should know.

He hadn't signed it.

Hermione took a deep breath, chewing her lip and blinking furiously. She nodded to herself, then flew up to her dorm room at a run. She was back moments later, wearing simple muggle clothing and pulling her messy hair up into a bun as she jogged down the stairs. Her wand hung from a D-ring at her side, and the top of the Magic Pez dispenser poked up over her hip pocket.

She started for the portrait hole, but Ron grabbed her arm to stop her. “Where do you think you're going? Dumbledore said there was nothing to worry about.”

“And you believe him?” She looked half wild.

“Er, sort of, I guess.” Ron lowered his arm, seeming sheepish.

“'Sort of' isn't good enough for me.” Hermione headed for the portrait hole, but was stopped again as Ron jumped in front of her.

“And how do you expect to figure out where Harry is, exactly?”

She stomped her foot in irritation. “Something Harry saw or did set him off. He studies with Snape most nights, so I should be able to start there. All I have to do is retrace his steps, and I can find him.”

Ron looked serious, an unexpected look on his usually mobile features. “And if he's toddling off to find You Know Who, what then?”

“Then I'm going with him.” Hermione drilled him with a glare that burned.

“Right then.” Ron fingered his Prefect badge for a moment, then tossed it and his robe aside. He loosened his tie and followed her to the portrait hole. “Just checking, let's go.”

Ron and Hermione closed the portrait hole behind them, looking around to see if anyone was watching them. The castle stairs were deserted. Just then the portrait hole behind them opened again and Ginny, Neville, and Seamus poured out. Ginny looked pale, Neville was grim, and Seamus was rolling up his sleeves. “What're you starin' at?” Seamus looked at the two of them with a nervous grin on his face. “We figured you'd need at least one Irishman if you wanted to take on a Dark Lord.”

Ron groaned and rolled his eyes. Hermione just nodded and started off down the staircase. “We don't have much time!”

At the first landing she nearly ran headlong into Crabbe and Goyle, running up from the lowest levels. “Oy!” Goyle wheezed. “We was lookin' for you.”

“No time,” Hermione said brusquely as she sidestepped the two of them and continued down. “I've got to find Harry.”

“Malfoy Manor,” Goyle said with a grimace, holding onto the stitch in his side and gasping. “Draco's workin' for You Know Who, tried to set him up. But Blondie still has a Portkey set for the manor.”

Hermione stiffened. “Then I want Draco.”

“Potter sent 'im to hospital wing,” Goyle said, holding onto his chest and trying to breath.

Hermione pivoted about, and tore off towards the infirmary. Crabbe and Goyle shook their heads disbelievingly, and tried to keep up.

Seamus shot an ugly look over at the two thugs. “An' why should we believe the likes of you?”

“Slytherins talk a good game," Goyle answered between puffs. "'I'm gon'ter take over the wizarding world.' 'S just noise, somethin' to say to your mates around a pint. But Voldemort's got a real yen for destruction. Could really do it. And where are me an' me mate wifou' Honeydukes?"

Crabbe smiled. “Sides, birds dig a bloke wif' ethics...”

Hermione slammed bodily into the oversized infirmary doors. Pushing off of them, the pulled the right hand leaf open and pounded into the hospital wing. Draco looked up nervously from his spot in a brass bed on the right hand side, his head and one arm swathed in bandages.

Madam Pomfrey strode out from her office. “Miss Granger! What is the meaning of this? I can't have you disturbing my patients at all hours of the-”

“Sorry,” Hermione said with a wince. She pulled her wand free of it's clip. “Petrificus Totalus!”

Madam Pomfrey toppled over onto one her her beds, frozen in a look of indignation.

Draco looked back and forth between Madam Pomfrey's frozen form and Hermione's towering anger. “You just attacked a teacher!”

Ron shrugged. “Old hat for us.”

Seamus pushed a bed over in front of the doorway out, and Ginny used her wand to lock it more thoroughly. Draco pulled the sheets up tighter about his throat, all too aware that Potter had taken his wand.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Ron, hold Draco down! Neville, fetch the Blood Replenishing potion. Madam Pomfrey should have some in the cabinet behind her desk.”

Ron looked at her strangely, but Neville ran off into the office.

Draco looked whiter than his linens. His voice broke as he spoke. “Blood replenishing potion?”

Hermione grabbed one of the glasses from his sideboard and shattered it against the wall. She extracted a long shard of glittering glass.”Yes. If you bleed to death, you can't tell us how to get to Harry.

Draco swallowed hard. “You're bluffing.”

Ron pinned Draco idly with one hand, holding the other out to forestall Hermione. “Uh, you know how Harry's note said this rat told the Death Eaters where to find your family?”

Hermione ripped Draco's shirt open from collar to hem. The slender Slytherin tried to wiggle away, but Ron's hand held him firmly in place. Hermione looked up at Ron, eyes burning. “How could I forget, Ron”

“Right.” Ron nodded at the shard of glass glittering in her hand. “I don't think you should be the one questioning him.”

“Why not?” Hermione appeared to be working up her courage as she stood straighter and licked her lips. “It's not like I don't have sufficient motive to torture him or anything.”

Goyle leaned sideways and whispered to Crabbe. “Didn't we just leave this party.”

Crabbe nodded quietly. “Match made in 'Eaven, those two.”

Goyle winced. “I was thinkin' abou' somewheres south o' that.”

Draco gasped, staring up at the glass sliver hanging like the sword of Damocles over his head. “The portkey's in my pocket. Activation word's 'vengeance.'”

Ron clearly wasn't paying any attention. “Why don't you leave him to me, or Neville.”

Hermione adjusted her grip on the glass shard, trying not to look in Draco's eyes. “No, really. I'll be fine. He'll talk.”

Draco giggled hysterically. “Honestly, I've a portkey in my pocket! Aren't you listening to me?”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. Ron shrugged, and Hermione licked her lips again. “He could be lying?”

“You crazy bint, I'm a Death Eater!” Draco struggled against Ron's restraining hand. “Keep her away from me!”

Ron drew his wand. “Stupefy!”

Hermione reached into Draco's pocket with an expression of profound distaste, and withdrew an envelope with a Dark device affixed to the wax seal. “Well, I suppose that worked.”

“What now?” Ron looked around the infirmary.

“Who ever's coming, gather 'round.” Hermione walked into the center of the room, holding out the letter in front of her. For a moment, déja vu washed over her. She saw herself, standing where she was now, holding out her time turner for Harry to loop over his head. She shook the image off, and looked around at everyone. “You should probably all stay here.”

The other students gathered around, each getting at least a finger on the letter. Crabbe and Goyle reached in, and got their stocky mitts on the letter. Seamus looked over and coughed.

Hermione looked up at them uncertainly. “Why are you coming? And don't tell me it's because you don't want to loose a tutor.”

Goyle looked sullen. “Good odds me dad's in that manor. I want to stop him before he gets himself killed.”

Hermione sighed. “You know there's a good chance he might not care to listen to you.”

Goyle's jaw clenched. “Gotta try, I suppose.”

Hermione nodded, then looked over at Crabbe. He shrugged, pointed at Goyle.

Ron shrugged. “Stupid enough reason. You're in.”

There was a very polite knocking at the infirmary doors, and everyone's head swiveled to look. Hermione set her jaw. “Everybody ready?”

“Excuse me,” came the dreamy voice from the other side of the doors. It was Luna. “There seems to be something blocking the door.”

Seamus groaned, and Ron glared at him. Extricating himself from the tightly knit pile of people, Ron ran to the doors and pulled the bed to one side.

Hermione hissed. “We don't have time for this, Ron!”

Luna pushed the doors open, and tripped into the room. Her blond hair was in even more disarray than usual, and she was winded from dragging a ridiculously bulging sack. Her wide grey eyes took in the infirmary, the stunned and wounded Draco, and the petrified Madam Pomfrey. Finally, she looked over at the group of people clutching the letter. Luna pushed errant strands of dirty blond hair behind her ear. “Portkey?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah.”

She blinked slowly. “Harry's gone, and we're chasing after him.”

Ron shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Luna dragged the bag over to the group of students. “Let's hope this rescue goes better than the last one.”

“Are you sure you want to do this, Luna?” Hermione looked at the young Ravenclaw worriedly. “I'm sure we'll be walking into a trap.”

Luna shook the bag. “Ever since I got that letter from Harry, I was confident this was how we'd spend our spring session. I've been collecting.”

Ron elbowed in between Crabbe and Seamus. “Push over!”

With a great deal of jostling, Ron and Luna situated themselves in the ring of students. Ron cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say, you're all really great, you know.”

Crabbe straightened his tie. “I know.”

“Oh, holy cricket,” Hermione muttered. “Vengeance!”

There was a noise like the rushing of air, a brief light, and then finally a small pop.

The room was still, empty save for two unconscious bodies.

* * *

-->

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

Harry appeared midair, low over the fens in the glowing darkness of early evening. A quick look around at the low, depressed shrubs and sodden ground suggested that Foulness Island really wasn't able to afford the niceties like hills and trees. For miles around, there wasn't anything rising on the horizon but for a single, weathered manor house.

Harry dropped low to the ground and accelerated toward the house. As he drew nearer, he could see why generations of Malfoys must have loved it. There was no gaudy or ostentatious ornamentation to soften the heavy granite lines of the place. The closest thing to decorations were the single central tower, and the carved stone spindles for the railing on the widow's walk. And with the ground around it level with the surrounding ocean for miles, an attentive guard should be able to see anyone coming.

Yup, Harry thought, it's cold, colourless, and vaguely paranoid. Draco must feel right at home.

Harry swerved through the ornamental flower garden, dodging large stone urns and hedges. Up at the top of the tower, Harry noted two men uncovering a shrouded lamp. Lookouts, he thought. Harry charged the front doors, leaning over his broom to accelerate to full speed.

The huge brass pulls grew as Harry raced towards them. At the last moment, Harry hooked his heels around the haft of his broom, pushing down with his feet and pulling up hard with his hands. The Firebolt skidded vertical inches from the façade, and Harry accelerated vertically up the side of the building. He dodged window sashes and downspouts as he raced toward the central tower.

Harry drew his wand, clutching the neck of his broom in a desperate bid to avoid slipping free. He whistled loudly, and two heads poked over the railing to look down. Harry recognized Crabbe and Goyle Seniors in the instant before he hit them with a pair of stunners.

He overshot the tower, and had to loop back around in order to land.

The two Death Eaters were sprawled haphazardly atop one another in a tangle of unconscious limbs. The shrouded lantern was tipped over, though fortunately not leaking onto the wooden floor of the watchtower. Harry alighted next to the two, bent over, and righted the lantern. He freed himself from his broom, the undid one of the loops of torn coverlet he had tied under his robe. Pulling it free, he tied it around the neck of his Firebolt, then slung the broom over his shoulder.

There was an iron ring set into the floorboards, and Harry bent over and heaved with all his might on it. With a groan, the access door pivoted open and slammed back against the floorboards behind the hinge. Below, Harry could make out a wide spiral staircase, mounted to the circular wall of the tower. The central shaft was open all the way down past the ground floor of the manor house below.

Harry hastened down the stairs, jogging loosely with his wand out. Two circuits of the tower later, Harry met with the first doorway. He really wasn't sure where to start looking, so he decided to start at the top and work his way down.

The door had a simple through latch, which Harry undogged before opening the door. He pushed the door open, and came face to face with a short, ugly, large-eyed face. Kreacher. The foul little house elf's eyes widened in shock, and he looked Harry up and down in a way that made it quite clear that somehow, he could see Harry. Kreacher vanished with a pop just as Harry lunged for him.

“Blast,” Harry snarled.

From one floor below, Harry heard sounds of alarm. Then doors into the stairwell opened, and heavy boot steps thudded upwards towards him. Harry turned tail and ran, unsure of how many there were below him.

Red stunners flashed against the stone by his shoulder, and Harry flinched away from their dazzling impacts. He could see two more wizards on the circuit below him, but on the opposite side of the tower. With the open shaft through the center of the tower, they had a clear line of sight. Harry's only question was how they could see him.

Harry threw a few mild hexes over his shoulder as he ran, more to keep their heads down than with any hope of really stopping them. He just needed to get clear of them!

Then a voice he recognized, Avery, changed spells. “Avada Kedavra,” he called out, and Harry hit the steps as the sickly green light shot over his head.

A second voice, Nott's, rang out. “Reducto! Reducto!”

Stone chips dug into Harry's out flung hands as the spells blasted chunks from the wall over his head.

Harry fumbled at his pocket, pulling the Potter's Pez free. He flicked the head open, and a giant headstone slammed into place between him and his attackers. As Harry watched, a dazzling green light slapped into it and stopped.

There was a pause, then a flurry of Reductos shattered the headstone, dust and shards arcing away down the vertiginous drop of the tower shaft. The blistering red spells kept coming, and Harry tried to burrow further into the wood. He held up the Potter's Pez, but one of his attackers cried out with an Expelliarmus, and the little object flew out of his hand and toward Avery.

Nott kept hurling Reductor curses, and one of them shattered the flying Pez dispenser. There was a whooshing rumble as seven headstones expanded to full size midair, still arcing across the tower towards the two Death Eaters.

Arms flung over his head, Harry only heard the splintering of wood, then yells and screams. The tower shook, and more splintering crashes followed, sounding for all the word like an avalanche. Harry grabbed hold of the rock wall to keep himself from being flung out into the tower's central shaft.

As the rumbling echo faded away, Harry raised his head and peered around. The stairs on his side of the tower still clung to beams mortared into the tower walls. The opposite side of the tower, however, was smooth stone wall punctuated by the shattered stubs of the wooden supports. Down at the base of the tower, a cloud of rising dust partially concealed the splintered wreckage of the stairwell that had been sheared away.

Harry coughed on the dust and struggled to his feet. The stub of a stairwell groaned around him as he fought to get his footing. The shattered staircase now ran back up to the top of the tower, and down partway to the door he'd found Kreacher behind.

“Well, I'm not walking out of here,” Harry said to himself as he looked around. Harry unlimbered his broom, and realized abruptly why everyone seemed to be able to see him.

He had forgotten to Disillusion his Firebolt after he'd cast the spell on himself! All this time, they'd only had to target the bobbing and floating broom.

From down at the bottom of the tower, Harry could hear someone yelling as they picked through the rubble. Harry pulled his Invisibility Cloak off and tucked it away, deciding that since stealth was out, he'd rather be able to move more easily.

Harry hopped on his broom, and angled downward, hoping to find an unlocked stairwell door.

* * *

With a flash-bang, eight students popped into being and promptly tumbled to the ground. As quickly as possible, those students who'd been at the Ministry the year before scrabbled to their feet, wands out. Seamus, Crabbe, and Goyle were left sitting on the ground, shaking their heads and looking around.

The room was so dark, Seamus tentatively held his wand aloft, and called out, “Lumos!”

The harsh wandlight set the wet black stone walls to shimmering as he pointed around the room. Every drop of water leaking from small fissures in the stone echoed in the large circular room. He and the two Slytherins were sitting chest deep in ice cold fog . Surrounding the eight students were a series of squat, light coloured standing stones. Despite the fog and the wet walls, they alone were warm and dry.

Hermione spun around in a tight circle, taking in the rough archway leading to the only door out of the room. “Doesn't seem like anyone waiting to spring the trap.”

Ron nodded grimly. “Well, Harry did get here first...”

Hermione turned on him with a horrified, shattered expression. Ron shook himself, and continued. “Not that he was here. Just, you know, he probably pulled everyone away from the trap when he showed up somewhere else. Yeah.”

Hermione fumed slowly for a moment before turning to the three people still collapsed on the floor. “Goyle! Where in the Malfoy house are we, exactly?”

Goyle scoffed. “Sure, right after we made the house team, Lord High Malfoy hisself gave us all a tour of the family dungeons.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “The dungeons?”

Goyle lumbered to his feet and slapped the dank walls. “Yeah, dungeons. What, you think he's got a plumbing leak right off the formal parlour?”

“Don't touch anything,” Hermione hissed.

As she stalked toward the door, Goyle shot Ron a truculent, aggrieved look. Ron could only shrug helplessly. Hermione threw open the door and jumped back as a cascade of broken lumber and shattered stones tumbled into the room. Ron ran over, and peered over her shoulder at the pile of debris. Two Death Eaters were tangled up in it, unconscious or worse. Above them was the scarred and damaged shaft of the tower stairwell, the nearest door hanging some twenty feet over their heads.

Ron looked over at Hermione. “Well, at least we know Harry's been through here.”

“Don't be flip! Can't you see the stairs are out,” she snapped at him.

Ron settled his hands on her shoulders. “Swish and flick, remember?”

“Leviosa, of course!” Hermione settled down a bit at this. She called back to the others in a forced whisper. “Come here everyone. We'll start flying people up to the ground floor!”

Seamus shook his head. “This doesn't sound good!”

Hermione and Ron took turns lofting their fellow students up to the nearest door in the tower. Soon they were the last two left in the low stone chamber. Hermione cleared her throat. “I'll send you up, and you lift me up once you're on the next floor.”

Ron grabbed hold of her wand impulsively.

“You're in love with him, aren't you?” He blurted it out as though he couldn't hold it in any longer.

Hermione flushed. “Ron, please! Ginny was entirely-”

Ron held up a hand to forestall any more. “I know you two weren't up to anything. I'm just saying, you're in love with him now, right?”

Hermione couldn't meet Ron's eyes.

Her best friend and ex-boyfriend patter her arm delicately. “You really should tell him, you know.”

A voice called out from up above them. “Oy, hurry up, you two!”

* * *

On the floor above, Harry scrambled through an elaborate maze of richly appointed private apartments and dark paneled hallways. More Death Eaters than Harry remembered seeing at Voldemort's rebirth pursued him, Impedimante and Alohamorae echoing from never more than a room away. He pushed an armoire over into the the door he'd just come through, then bolted for the next door into the corridor.

He pulled a smallish box from his pocket, and set it alight with his wand tip. Dropping it onto the ground outside the door, Harry left it there fizzing and smoking as he rounded a bend in the corridor and kept running. Behind him, the fizzing smoke just obscured the WWW logo on one side. Hot on his heels, a half dozen black-robed men burst from the room into the corridor.

The last of Harry's stash of Weasley Wizard Wheezes detonated, spinning Catherine wheels arcing through the packed mass of Death Eaters. As the dim corridor lit with flickering fires and echoed with piercing shrieks, Harry turned back and raised both his wand and Draco's at the ceiling.

“Iacto beams!” Harry concentrated, and parts of the ceiling ripped free. The nearest Death Eaters shoved their way through the fireworks and their compatriots in order to get out of the way. With a groan, the floor upstairs bucked, sagged, and collapsed, sealing the corridor tightly.

Harry turned and ran, knowing Bellatrix and Lucius were racing through the south wing to cut him off. He'd seen them a minute before, headed the long way around the manor, sealing doors as the ran. Harry knew what the other Death Eaters were to those two; the hounds to the hunters. He pushed open one of the doors to the library, only to see Lucius and Sirius' killer race through the far entrance.

Lucius was shaking with fury as he screamed spells out, hurling pieces of furniture at Harry. He ducked several chairs, then looked up to see a huge Thracean statue flying at him. Harry leaped away from the library doors as the statue struck, fracturing in midsection. The doorway broke with a rending crack, one of the doors pinwheeling away over Harry's head.

Harry slipped and slid along the parquet flooring as he tried to get out of the way of Lucius Malfoy's enraged spellcasting. He hurled a stunner backwards as he tried to get away, but Lucius' shield was too strong, and the red spell rippled and died feet from his face.

Harry was getting desperate as a writing desk blew through the plaster and lathe wall just over his head. He aimed for the floor under Lucius' feet. “Scourgify! Tergify! Tergify!”

Scrubbing brushes and suds appeared around Mister Malfoy's brightly polished boots, briskly soaping and scouring the very floor under his feet. With a roar, Lucius lost his feet, and toppled over.

Harry rolled onto his back, trying to get a clear shot at the senior Death Eater. “Leviosa Malfoy!”

Lucius leaped aloft, slamming into the ceiling hard enough to shake plaster dust loose. Harry released him, and he fell bonelessly to the ground. Before Harry had a chance to smile at the sight, hideous purple and orange spells were burning the very air around him.

Bellatrix Lestrange stalked through the shattered library, clearly more comfortable attacking Harry with direct spells rather than the flying furniture of her distant cousin. She lifted the hem of her black Empire waisted dress as her patent granny shoes danced over the rubble on the floors.

Bellatrix advanced on him, her wide smile belied by the blistering madness of her soul deep black eyes. “Fitting, widdie baby Potter! First your mongrel Godfather and now you!”

Harry snapped, and the fear burnt away leaving a terrible smoldering clarity to his view of the ruined hallway. He bolted to his feet, and started hurling hexes with both hands as he advanced on her. Terrifyingly, her spells kept everything he was throwing at her at bay, and she cackled wildly as the air around her simmered and sparked from their curses.

Her twisted smile turned darker, and with blazing speed she redoubled her efforts, her wand a barely visible blur. Harry fell back suddenly, searching his mind for every defensive spell he could think of as he gave ground. She seemed to gain in size as she advanced, her ruined beauty presiding over a Victorian charnel house. Her smile was nearly a snarl as she pressed her advantage.

“Tell me, Ickle Potter! What's it like to fear death?” Her high, delicate voice was utterly out of place emanating from her madness-wracked form. “I wouldn't know!”

Harry aimed past the raving madwoman. “Accio stautue!”

The shattered pieces of the Thracian statue Lucius had tried to bludgeon Harry with had been lying discarded in the middle of the hallway. Now they lifted themselves up and raced through the air at Harry. And Bellatrix was solidly between him and the metric tonne of stone now airborne. Harry threw himself to the ground.

She screeched, and valiantly tried deflecting all the lumps of marble away as they battered her. But the sheer numbers outdid her, and Bellatrix slumped to the floor unconscious.

Harry stumbled to his feet again, robes ripped in a dozen places. A quick look suggested that if he made it out of here, he'd owe his broom a great deal of maintenance. Of course, from the pain of the cuts on his face and arms, Harry thought he could use more than a little maintenance himself.

A slow and genteel clapping echoed from the sitting parlour at the far end of the corridor, punctuated by the intermittent crunch of falling plaster. Harry turned around slowly, finding Lord Voldemort seated in a channel backed chair, his flowing robes starkly black against the rich greens of the draperies and rugs. He looked even less natural, surrounded by the details of everyday life, a cheerful fire burning behind a screened mantle.

Voldemort unfolded himself from his seat, his red eyes burning. “They didn't kill you, Harry. That pleasure, long denied, is mine alone.”

Harry swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, then advanced on the skeletally thin murderer and his inhumanly cold face. He pulled his tattered robes about himself as he walked, and tried to look dignified. “No, Tom. I'm here to stop you.”

The deliberate use of his muggle name tightened Voldemort's lipless mouth in a brief spasm of anger. The expression melted away quickly, replaced by black amusement. “'Stop me?' Child, you've been so weakened by that muggle-loving fool you cannot even say what your heart truly wants anymore. You don't want to 'stop' me. You want to kill me. You want to witness my death, and you want to feel the pleasure of causing it.”

Harry took a deep breath as he entered the same parlour Voldemort dominated like a long shadow. “You're wrong again. I just want the killing to stop.”

“It never stops, child.” Voldemort smiled widely. “That is the central truth, the reason I have sought for so long for my own immortality. Because all this world has in it, is the killing.”

Harry took a shaky breath, standing not six feet from the nearly bloodless thing that had killed so many people. He stood up as straight as he could, trying to defy the Dark Lord with every gesture possible. “Then after tonight, there'll be one less killer in it.”

Harry grasped the seam of his robes and ripped. The front split open, to reveal the Mirror of Morgraine tied crudely to his chest, facing outwards. Voldemort looked down upon his reflection in confusion for a moment, then stumbled backwards as the magics were stripped from him. The Dark Lord hit the chair behind him, knocking it over as he collapsed to one knee. His near-life was only sustained by magics dark and thick; with his ties to magic severed so brutally, he collapsed like a marionette whose threads were cut.

Harry smiled grimly, raising his wand. “It ends here, Tom.”

“You're correct about that, boy,” came the patrician voice from behind Harry. “Sella Leviosa!”

Voldemort's discarded chair slammed into Harry, sending him sprawling. His wand tumbling from suddenly nerveless fingers as he crashed into the mantle. Harry slid to the hearth dazed. He put a hand to his spinning head, and it came away wet with blood. He looked down, and saw his pale, blood smeared face reflected in the countless shards of a broken mirror. He touched his chest, and felt the cracked and empty frame tied there.

Harry rolled over, pressing his bruised and aching back against the carved fireplace. Though blurry, he could make out Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange enter the parlour and help their master to his feet.

Lord Voldemort was still unsteady, and Lucius summoned the chair for him to rest upon. The flat, snake-like nose dilated as he gasped for breath. “That was entertaining, child. Bella, see what other entertainment the boy might be good for. I want tonight to be... gratifying.”

With her black hair speckled with dust and debris, falling wildly about her, and blood running freely from the cuts in her scalp, Bellatrix looked more unhinged than ever. Her twisted smile did nothing to give life to her broken, dead face. “Crucio!”

Harry arched backwards, screaming, as all thoughts died.

* * *

Crabbe looked up at Goyle from the back of the pack of students as they jogged down yet another richly appointed hallway as they followed the sounds of things breaking. “Do you think we ticked off the Chinese wif' out known' it?”

Goyle huffed, wand clutched in a sweating palm. “Wha'cho say that for?”

Crabbe was red faced, his shirt soaking. “Id'nt it their curse? May you live in interestin' times?”

“Good point,” he gasped. “I shouldn't'a been so forward on that date wif' Cho Chang, should I?”

Crabbe shook his head, sweat flying off of his bristly pate. “She's not Chinese you twit. Listen to the accent. She's from Newcastle.”

Goyle squinted as sweat ran into her eyes. “I was referrin' to her ancestry.”

“Ancestry ain't got nuffink to do wif' it.” Crabbe chugged along, arms flailing as his stamina failed him. “All's I'm sayin' is, you can't call down ancestral curses if'n yer from Newcastle. I mean, 's Newcastle for Merlin's sake.”

Goyle ran in silence for a few more yards. Finally he worked up enough spit to keep talking. “Fair point. I can't think a' what we done to deserve this, then.”

From somewhere up ahead, a boy's screamed out in agony. The wrenching noise ran on and on, long past being reduced to a hoarse cry. It was Harry.

Up ahead, Granger and the Weasleys started running faster. The rest of the group followed along, leaving the two Slytherins to slap the wooden floors more heavily than ever in a blind bid to even keep sight of the others.

The group, strung out in a long gasping line, rounded yet another corner in the ancient manor house, to find the open doorway to the sitting parlour some fifteen feet ahead. Through it, they could just see Lord Voldemort himself, Bellatrix LeStrange, and Lucius Malfoy gathered over a crumpled shape on the floor.

Hermione screamed. Bellatrix turned with a smile and a curtsy, and closed the door with a wave. Ron slammed into the door, but it didn't budge.

“Move over,” Hermione gasped. “Alohamora!”

She rattled the knobs, but the wouldn't budge. She kicked them, and tried again. “Reducto! Incindeo! Oh, blast it all... Iacto door! Diducere!”

The door was utterly unmoved and unchanged by the assault. She ran a finger along the carvings adorning the door. She sounded frantic, desperate even. “Runes? No, no, these say the door is impervious to magic!”

Seamus reached over Ron's shoulder to pull her away from the sealed door. “We're finding another door!”

He turned around to see six masked Death Eaters rounding the end of the corridor, wands out.

“New plan,” Hermione said quickly as she pulled loose from Seamus. “You hold them off, I'll get the door open!”

“Buail craiceann!” Seamus licked his lips, and took out his wand. He slapped Goyle in the chest. “You lads ready for a scrum?”

Crabbe and Goyle rolled up their sleeves, and lined up on either side of the short Irishman. Crabbe thumbed his nose, and spit onto the torn and smoking Persian rug.

Hermione turned back to the door as a hail of curses crackled through the air behind her. She read the carved runes hurriedly by the flickering red and blue light of spell fire. Given where the runes are placed, she thought, maybe the hinges...

Harry's hoarse screams echoed from the other side of the door again, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut tightly to keep from joining him. She looked over her shoulder, and saw that Seamus and Goyle seemed to be providing protective spells for the group as Ginny, Neville, and Crabbe kept their attackers at bay with a torrent of offensive magic. She turned back to the door, and the terrible screams, and tried again on the hinges.

Luna dragged her huge sack up to Ron, and dropped it at his feet. “She did say 'impenetrable by magic,' didn't she?”

“'Impervious,' actually,” Ron licked his lips and sent a few spells arcing over his sister's shoulder and into the bubbling horde of Death Eaters. It looked like the students were winning, with three of the Death Eaters down and not getting up any time soon. “Got any ideas?”

“Sort of.” Lune fiddled around in the bag for a moment, before pulling out a huge, dirty muggle object. “Do you think you could work this?”

* * *

His chest and throat burned from the screaming. With pale, shaking hands Harry tried feebly to push himself up from the floor, the taste of bile sharp in his nose and mouth. He struggled to his knees, drawing a polite smirk from Lucius, and a disturbingly childlike skip and giggle from Bellatrix. Voldemort merely steepled his unnaturally long hands.

“And this is all you have, child?” Voldemort peered down at him maliciously, his high voice cold and cruel. “No more threats? No more tricks? Just another unskilled schoolboy ready to die? Disheartening, really, that there should be no one of note for me to triumph over. Just sad little you.”

“Dumbledore,” Harry croaked, shaking as he tried to stand up.

Voldemort laughed, a creaking rattle. “Your fool and his precious little Order are fighting to gain access to this house even now. They seem completely at a loss, facing so very many Dementors. No Harry, he won't save you.”

Voldemort crawled out of his chair, and grabbed Harry's jaw roughly in his cold white grip. Harry reached a trembling hand into his boot top, fumbling with nerveless fingers for Draco's wand. Now, he thought, maybe I'll have one last chance to finish this. Voldemort smiled, his blood red eyes empty. “No one will save you tonight, child.”

A dull, luffing roar came from the sealed doorway. In a moment, the noise soared in volume and pitch, until it was an earsplitting burning shriek. I've heard that before, Harry thought dully.

In a shower of wood chips, a thick dull blade slid through the door just above the lock. Magically, the humming, shimmering blade sliced through the door in a shower of dust.

Lucius flushed, scowling petulantly. “That's impossible! That door was warded by my Great-Grandfather!”

The lock dropped to the carpet with a dull thud, and the door swung freely open. Ron Weasley stepped into the room, sweating and dirty, a roaring chainsaw in his hands and his wand tucked behind his ear. Right behind him Luna and Hermione charged in, finding themselves facing the three most vicious Dark Wizards in two generations.

Everyone was quiet, save for Harry's shattered gasps. “Hermione,” he struggled. “Run!”

Lucius and Bella stepped forward, interposing themselves between the interlopers and their master. Ron, Luna, and Hermione exchanged a look and fanned out slowly. Ron shifted the chainsaw to his left hand, and drew his wand from behind his ear. The battle in the corridor was a mix of shouted spells and thundering impacts, muted by the wall. The chainsaw rumbled and sputtered in Ron's left hand, smelling like a petrol refinery. But the five people did not speak as they circled around.

Hermione lunged to the right, trying to get around Lucius and Voldemort. Bellatrix screamed an Unforgivable, and Hermione dropped to the floor as it arced on by. Ron lashed out with a Stunner while she was distracted, and winged her. Hermione got to her feet, pushing her hair from her face, and the slow circling began again.

Luna pointed her wand at Lucius. “Immobulus!”

He flash his wand in an arc before him, and Luna's spell sizzled harmlessly before him. He flicked the tip at her abruptly. “Inflamare!”

A tongue of flame licked out at the Ravenclaw, who held her bag up in front of her face. The flames danced across it, but didn't burn through. She lowered her bag, and shot Lucius a nasty look.

Voldemort sighed, bored. “Enough, Lucius. I will finish them.”

He turned his back on Harry.

Harry had the ebony wand in his unsteady hand, and he pressed forward until it was firmly between Voldemort's shoulder blades. He was afraid he'd miss otherwise. He grabbed Voldemort's tall bony shoulder for support, and snarled into the ancient wizard's ear. “Reducto, you bastard!”

With a bang, Harry and Voldemort tumbled apart. The smoking, splintered wreckage of Draco's wand fell from Harry's bloody and lacerated hand. Voldemort staggered forward and sank to the ground, pale and misshapen mouth working noiselessly as he tried to reach around to the smoking hole in his back.

Bellatrix screamed wordlessly, and turned on Harry in a hail of Dark magic. Harry scrambled behind a table, which writhed and melted under her attention.

Ron hit her in the back with another stunner, but she kept coming. She flicked her wand at Ron, and hurled him into a wall fiercely. The redhead crumpled to the ground, chainsaw coughing to a stop as the dead man's switch was released. Across the room, Harry dimly caught sight of Hermione battling Lucius with fierce determination.

Luna stepped in front of Ron as Bellatrix turned back to Harry, scorching holes through the floor all around him. Harry scrambled for his discarded wand, seizing it just as Bellatrix caught him with the Cruciatus Curse again.

Harry screamed for what seemed like forever. Suddenly, the pain was lifted, and Harry could look around in wonder. Bellatrix was standing over him, a look of demented rage twisting her face into a hideous mask. She had her wand out, trained on Harry, but wasn't doing anything. Suddenly, she toppled to one side, frozen in place. Behind her was Hermione, shaking as she put her wand away. Over her shoulder, Harry could see Luna checking on Ron.

Hermione ran to him and dropped to the her knees at his side. She threw herself into him with one of her rib-endangering hugs. “Harry, are you all right?”

Harry shook slightly. “I- I think so.”

Hermione pulled away from him, and for a moment she looked like she wanted to read him the riot act. That look melted away somewhat, and Harry knew he had at least a few hours grace before he heard about his abrupt departure. She helped him to his feet, and steadied him there as he looked around. Voldemort lay crumpled by the fireplace, Lucius's fallen body was half hidden behind the settee, and Bellatrix lay frozen at their feet.

Harry grinned wearily, feeling shaky and somewhat empty. “I don't think we did too badly.”

Hermione shot him a tight look, but helped him over to where Ron was lying on the ground. Luna had his head in her lap, and was running her fingers through his hair and humming softly. Hermione put a hand to her mouth. “Is he alright?”

Ron smiled with his eyes closed. “If she'll keep playing with my hair, I'm fine.”

Harry rolled his eyes, and looked out into the hall. The rest of the students were milling about in the doorway. Still clutching Hermione for support, he gestured for them to come in. Neville had his tie bound around a cut on his arm, and Seamus was leaning on Crabbe and limping, but otherwise they seemed unharmed.

Seamus nodded at the four of them in the room. “You lot alright, then?”

Ron spoke from his place on the floor. “Fine. You?”

“Sure.” Seamus hopped a bit on his one good leg. “Never better.”

Neville pointed at the lump of rags in the middle of the room. “Is that You-Know-Who?”

Harry could only nod. He felt Hermione's arm tighten about his shoulders.

Neville nodded. “Good.”

Harry swayed in place in the middle of the room before his eyes snapped wide open. “Dumbledore! Voldemort said he and the Order were facing Dementors out on the grounds!”

“You should sit down,” Neville said. “We'll go get 'em.”

Harry hunted around for his wand one handed, the other wiping blood away from his eyes. “I should be out there.”

“You should be back at hospital,” Hermione said, pulling his wand away and sticking it back in his pocket. She looked desperately worried, and it was the only thing that sank into his sunned perception.

Harry nodded. “Alright, I'll stay. But be careful Neville. You don't know what's still out there.”

Neville shrugged. “Can't be that bad. C'mon!”

After Ginny and Goyle followed Neville out, Crabbe helped Seamus limp after them. The short Irishman looked up at the Slytherin, looking indignant. “Oy, this is peachy, this is! Let's have the lamed one go walking abou', eh? Nice!”

“Yes,” Crabbe answered placidly. “You're suffering terribly. Shut up.”

There was a lot of groaning, and Harry and Hermione turned to see Luna helping Ron to his feet. Ron rubbed the back of head. “I think Luna an' me are going to go make sure that lot doesn't get into trouble.”

Harry waved distractedly as his friends left, watching them hobble out of view. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his good hand. Thoughts kept racing about in his head. Voldemort wasn't ever going to threaten him or anyone else ever again. The war was going to be over. Everyone was safe. Nothing in his life was ever going to be the same again. Around and around these thoughts went, and he teetered between giddy euphoria and a desire to sit down and sob uncontrollably. He was interrupted by the feel of Hermione's hand clutching his shirt tight before releasing it, and then trying to smooth out the creases.

Harry looked down into Hermione's face intently, feeling like at that moment he had to memorize every crease of her lips, every freckle. It seemed the most important thing he could ever do.

Hermione worried her lower lip. “I need to get you out of here! Merlin knows if there's any Death Eaters left in the castle.”

“Manour,” Harry answered slowly. “And I don't really care.”

He leaned in swiftly to capture her lips, and she froze. A little voice in the back of his mind told him that his best friend probably didn't appreciate being kissed out of the blue like that. Then she shifted slightly, and returned the kiss.

With a shake of her head, Hermione took a half step back from him. “Oh, Harry, no! You're bound to be in shock after everything that's happened tonight. That's all this-”

Harry sagged at this, seeming to get ever so much smaller as the light in his green eyes faded. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Hermione's brow knitted, and she touched his face softly. “Let's get you to hospital, and we can talk later, alright?”

He nodded morosely. She seemed to sense his mood, and impulsively leaned in to hug him tight. It was another of Hermione's famous rib-breaking hugs, bestowed upon friends and family alike, and for the first time ever, Harry was stiff and unyielding in the face of it. Then he realized she was stroking his back slightly, and he smiled just a little bit. Maybe, he thought, she didn't hate me kissing her. Harry returned her hug bit by bit. They stood together for a time, content to just be hugging. Oddly, Harry thought it felt the most natural thing in all the world.

Harry looked over Hermione's shoulder, and his brow furrowed. He thought for a moment he'd seen... Lucius Malfoy pushing himself upright, wand already pointed at Hermione's back, a snarl on his face. “Avada-”

Hermione gasped as she saw Lord Voldemort sit bolt upright, his bony frame creaking as he moved. The last half of his spell was dying on his lips. “-Kedavra!”

As one, Harry and Hermione spun each other counter-clockwise, each trying to turn the other away from an unseen danger. Their eyes widened as they saw the sickly green light accelerating toward their loved one's back despite their efforts. Harry closed his eyes, Hermione stared into his face, shocked and angered that it should end like this. There was no time for tears.

The Killing Curses caught them both from behind, enveloping each of them in burning green fire. Just as quickly as they had been struck, the curses rebounded away. Behind Harry, there was a thud as Lucius Malfoy's body collapsed sightless to the ground.

But Voldemort did not fall dead as the sickly green light coursed through him. Rather, the blast of corpselight lifted him full to his feet, smoldering robes briefly whipped away from his skeletal body. His wand caught fire like a roman candle before guttering and dying. Then the greenish light died away, and Voldemort remained, the stench of burning flesh sharp in the air. His pale white face could not be seen for the depths of his cloak's hood, but the fingers gripping the remains of his wand were blackened and dry.

Voldemort's voice, when he spoke, sounded like burnt paper and dying leaves. “You thought this was the end? That I could ever be killed, like some squalling mortal muggle? I cannot.”

Harry let out his breath in something near to a laugh. He tried to push Hermione behind him, but she wasn't budging.

Voldemort summoned Bellatrix Lestrange to his side with a wave. “This isn't over, Harry Potter. This will never be over. Eram Sumero!”

With that simple spell, Voldemort and his Petrified minion Apparated away.

Harry and Hermione sagged against one another. He shook his head. “It's still not over, is it?”

Hermione stroked his hair and shook her head sadly. Harry looked around the shattered and broken room, the empty gaze of what was once Lucius Malfoy staring back at him. Harry collapsed to the floor shaking, and Hermione went with him. They were still there holding each other when the Order finally arrived.

* * *

-->

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

The Headmaster's office had never felt so tiny and crowded before.

Harry sat on a simple wooden chair, his right hand fairly heavily bandaged and his left drifting over to almost but not quite touch Hermione's hand. She of course was sitting to his left, and past her Ron, Luna, and Ginny. To Harry's right Seamus, Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle were all fidgeting in their respective straight backed chairs. All of their chairs were in a tight semicircle around the Headmaster's always imposing desk. Harry was fairly certain most of the other students were scared at the prospect of facing the wrath of their teachers. He was also pretty sure that Hermione at least was as overloaded and numb as he felt. He looked down and noticed that her trainers had pale pink laces. Harry wondered idly if they came that way, or if she bought them separately because she liked the colour.

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat, and Harry brought his attention back to where his Headmaster sat calmly in his chair, Professors Snape and McGonagall glowering from over his shoulders. Harry looked around, and realized that it didn't help everyone's case of the crawling fidgets that arrayed behind them were all the Order members who'd charged Malfoy Manor that night. To Harry's unfocused eyes, it looked as though everyone was there.

Dumbledore put his hands flat on the desk, and addressed Harry directly. “Explain please, why you did this.”

Harry answered, his voice starting out tremulous but growing stronger the longer he spoke. “I was... in my class with Professor Snape. I found out Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater, and he'd been the one to tell them where to find Hermione's family. To tell Voldemort, I mean.”

“A couple of times now, I've fallen asleep away from my bed... away from the Mirror of Morgraine. Both times, I had the same vision; finding something important Draco had.”

“That,” Snape said with a snarl, “does not explain your unprovoked attack on my person. Did you, by some miracle of visual impairment, mistake me for Mister Malfoy? Or has your aim worsened to the point it can now compete with your academic skills for the title of 'Most Execrable in the Castle?'”

Several of the other students leaned forward in their chairs and craned their necks to stare at Harry. They hadn't known he'd attacked Snape, the single most feared teacher at Hogwarts. Seamus whistled silently. Harry cleared his throat before speaking. He just didn't have the energy left to even try to lie. “No sir. It was obvious they had some kind of a plan, and Draco was a part of it. I wanted to find out what it was, and I knew you wouldn't let me go unless... well, unless I knocked you cold first.”

If anything, Snape's expression fell still further at this. Harry couldn't quite read all the emotions simmering in the Potion's Master's back eyes, but it was obvious he had been stricken speechless.

Dumbledore peered over his half moon spectacles at his wayward students. “You were thinking, unless I miss my guess, that the sooner you could face Tom, the safer everyone you loved would be?”

Harry nodded, then shivered. For just a moment, he could remember so clearly the sound of the stairwell collapsing. He wondered just what happened to Nott and Avery.

Harry's musings were interrupted by Snape's incredulous snort. “Just like that, you decide to toddle off the face the Dark Lord? You truly are as insufferably arrogant as your father, Potter! Did it not occur to you the most likely outcome would be your sticky demise?”

“Wouldn't matter much if I got him first.” Harry shrugged. “And I had a pretty good plan.”

Harry looked up to see Snape's disgusted glare, McGonagall's horrified look, and Dumbledore's penetrating bright gaze. He dropped his head. “Didn't work though.”

Dumbledore swept to his feet, and came around the desk with as he spoke. “I think that is enough talking for one night. I should imagine that by this time there should be sufficient quantities of hot cocoa in your common rooms to allow you all a night to rest. This has been an eventful evening, and I see no point in belabouring it further.”

Snape looked outraged. “Headmaster, you cannot be seriously entertaining the notion of packing these deranged miscreants off to bed with a cup of chocolate and a pat on the head? It's just as likely they'll have started a border war by morning!”

“I rather doubt it,” Dumbledore replied with an indulgent smile. “I know we both have much to say Severus, and I know we both can wait a few hours.”

Snape's lips thinned in a remarkable impression of Professor McGonagall's, but he nodded his acquiescence.

Dumbledore shooed the students toward the door, and they hastily got up and started filing out. Harry was amongst the last to make it to the door, and the elderly wizard stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“It is insufficient, Harry, to find things worth dying for.” Dumbledore focused his brilliantly blue stare upon the exhausted youth. “Reasons to fight and die are scattered liberally in every spot one cares to look. Far more difficult and more important is finding things to live for.”

Harry pulled his eyes away from the Headmaster's knowing gaze, and looked down the spiral staircase where the top of Hermione's head was just disappearing from view. He looked back at the old teacher, and smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

Dumbledore patted his shoulder. “Off with you then. We can deal with the consequences in the morning.”

Harry trudged down the spiral staircase, bone weary. He looked at his good left hand, rotating it in front of his face. He'd just been struck with the Avada Kedavra for the second time in his life. It seemed he should feel different, more like the legendary Harry Potter everyone talked about. Instead he really wanted to eat something sweet, hug all of his friends, and maybe sleep for a day or two.

Nope, he thought to himself as he headed off down the corridor to catch up with the others at the far end, I don't feel at all different.

Harry caught up to the others just outside the Gryffindor portrait hole. It seemed, as he approached, that Crabbe, Goyle, and Luna were making their goodbyes. Harry shook his head. “Wait a second! You should come inside like the rest of us if you want. You don't have to head off.”

“Yeah, but we want to,” Goyle said earnestly, and Crabbe nodded vehemently to punctuate his friend's words. “I mean, we had us an arse-all pagga tonight, and didn't get nicked by the panda cars! We're going to be bloody important in the ol' snake pit!”

Harry shook his head. “The junior Death Eater's are going to hate you.”

“Nah, they're no cop.” Goyle shrugged. “They'll throw a benny alright, but I reckon they'll be afraid of us for a change. We plan on bein' cocks o' the walk for our last year.”

Luna stared at Harry owlishly. “I just don't want to upset my house mates. If I stayed in your tower another night, I think my Prefects might explode. I've heard that can happen, you know. One moment a wizard could be talking, and the next- boom. Just like a Skrewt. But you're all welcome to come to Ravenclaw tower, if you like.”

Goyle shrugged. “Yer not welcome in Slytherin. Sorry, but with tha' whole blasting doors down when you're throwing a wobbly, I don't think the birds'd appreciate your colourful presence.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry nodded slowly. Crabbe and Goyle stomped off, and after an extended spot of staring with Ron, Luna left in the opposite direction.

Looking down the staircase after the two Slytherin's, Seamus leaned in close and whispered to Harry. “Those two aren't all ropey, but it's like they can't speak Queen's English ta' save their lives!”

Harry turned slightly to stare at the earnest looking Irishman. After a moment, he shook his head and trudged into the Gryffindor common room. The moment the portrait swung inwards, Harry was gripped by the pandemonium of those Gryffindors left behind. It looked as if no one in the tower had tried going to sleep yet; they were all clustered around the gathering room. And as his friends filed in, it seemed everyone had at least twenty questions to ask, all at once, and quite loudly.

Harry managed to push his way through the crowd, and headed for his dorm room. It looked like Ron and Seamus were doing a fine job of answering everyone's questions and spinning quite a story about how the night had progressed. They were engrossing enough that Harry made it to his door almost unmolested.

Harry sat down on his bed awkwardly before deciding to struggle out of his torn and stained robes. He was trying to work out how to get his shirt off over his bandaged hand when the door behind him opened and closed quietly.

Tie off, Harry turned abruptly, eyes wide. He relaxed when he saw it was Hermione, and he put his wand back down. He smiled. “Hullo.”

Hermione walked in quietly, sat primly upon Ron's bed opposite him, and tried to brush the soot stains unsuccessfully from the knees of her dungarees. She spoke quietly, not looking him full in the face. “I am furious with you! You promised us, promised me you weren't going to go racing out after Voldemort on your own, that you wouldn't push your friends away, and that you wouldn't keep secrets from us. You promised you wouldn't, and here you are, doing it anyway!”

Harry frowned. “When did I say all that?”

“On the carriage ride to Hogwarts, when we had you petrified so we could talk to you!” Hermione pressed her lips together firmly. “At the start of term, when I figured out why you were taking all these ridiculous courses! When I was crying and you were there! Every day for months, Harry! Being someone's friend means not abandoning them!”

Harry shook his head, feeling completely baffled. “I didn't mean to abandon anyone. I just wanted everyone to be safe.”

“You can't promise things like safety, Harry.” Hermione looked near tears. “You can't. You can only promise to do what you said you would. And running off didn't make anyone safer; we all came after you anyway.”

“Hang on,” Harry interrupted. “How did you come after me in the first place. I know the rest of you can't Apparate yet!”

Hermione nibbled on her lower lip. “We used Malfoy's portkey.”

“Malfoy's portkey,” Harry repeated in a daze. “Wait a second, the Death Eater TRAP Portkey? You used that?”

Hermione shrugged. “Well, they probably wouldn't have been ready to deal with eight students instead of just one.”

“Probably?” Harry flushed. “You risked your life on a 'probably,' and you're reading me the riot act for being reckless?”

Hermione flushed too. “Well, I wouldn't have had to if you hadn't gone haring off on your own!”

Harry took a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his face. He felt overloaded, shaky, and more that a little mad. But he also knew she was right, and moreover didn't want to have a row with her ever. “Fine. I promise I won't run off without everyone if you promise you won't put yourself in danger like that again.”

Hermione blinked, some of the angry flush leaving her cheeks. “That's it?”

Harry threw up his hands. “What more do you want? An essay?”

“No,” Hermione said with a frown. “I meant, you're not going to argue with me about this?”

“Why,” Harry said tiredly. “You're right, and I don't want to go running off anywhere. I just also don't want you getting curses thrown at you any more.”

Hermione smiled slightly. “I don't want any more curses thrown at you, either.”

Harry rubbed his eyes with his good hand. “Here's to that, then. No more curses.”

Hermione smiled and sobbed at the same time, surging off the bed to crush him with another hug. Harry hugged her back, wondering what all her hugging meant, exactly. He stroked her bushy, dusty hair, and Hermione held the hug longer than she normally did.

Harry cleared his throat. “Um, Hermione? About that kiss earlier-?”

Hermione struggled to her feet quickly at this, straightening her hair and wiping her eyes as she did so. She backed away, leaving Harry utterly confused. “It's late,” she said. “I should let you get some sleep.”

“I don't really want to sleep,” Harry said plaintively.

Hermione backed to the door, flushed again. “I should go. Goodnight, Harry!”

“Goodnight,” he said as the door to the dormitory swung closed. Harry gave up on trying to struggle out of his demolished clothes, and sank back into his bed as he was. Despite what Harry had just said, he was desperately tired, and sleep claimed him quickly.

Even without the Mirror of Morgraine over his bed, Harry's dreams were tumultuous.

* * *

The next morning Harry awoke early to run as was his habit. He moved to push his blanket off, but the sharp pain in his hand stopped him. Blinking, Harry woke up just a little bit more and looked around. His dorm mates were sleeping soundly, and Harry himself was sprawled sideways across his bed, lying atop his covers and wearing his stained and smelly clothes from yesterday. He looked down at his bandaged hand, then up at the bare hook over his bed where the Mirror used to hang.

Oh yes, Harry thought, this is the morning after.

Harry rolled over into a marginally more comfortable position and stuffed his uninjured left hand under his cheek. He fell back to a fitful sleep quickly.

It seemed his eyes had no more closed than Ron was prodding him awake. “Mate! You're going to be late if you don't wake up!”

“Fine.” Harry jambed his pillow over his face, leaving a smear of soot on the formerly crisp white pillow case. “I'll be late.”

Ron pulled his well-worn robe on over his school uniform. “Hermione'll miss you at breakfast.”

Harry snorted and pushed the pillow off onto the floor. “I doubt it.”

Ron stopped as he was fighting to tie his House tie. “What are you babbling about?”

“I kissed her. Last night.” Harry rubbed sleep from his eyes, slowly realizing Ron wasn't going to let him stay in bed where he wanted to be. “I don't think she likes me.”

“Huh,” Ron said, sounding genuinely perplexed. “Maybe you really are a terrible kisser.”

Harry glared at him through slitted green eyes. “You're not helping, Ron.”

“Wasn't really trying to, actually.” Ron actually smirked a little. “I'm just trying to get you up.”

Harry staggered to his feet, heading for the lavatory. “Arse.”

Ron put the finishing touches on his tie. “Prat!”

A few minutes later, Harry staggered out of the lav, and found some clothes to wear. He held out the burnt and stained school robe, realizing it was the only one he had. Harry shrugged and tossed his old robe into his school trunk. He figured he'd just have to go without for a while. The dorm was empty by this time, so Harry left and headed down the steps and into the deserted Common Room.

Hermione was sitting in one of the armchairs, waiting for him.

“Er, hello,” Harry said, blinking owlishly. It seemed odd to him, her sitting there waiting for him. She'd been quite keen on fleeing from him the night before, yet here she was, just sitting there in broad daylight, waiting for him. Harry cleared his throat. “Morning?”

“Yes, morning,” she answered, seeming oddly flustered. “Breakfast?”

Harry nodded with a smile. At least she seemed not to be avoiding him, so Harry decided to consider that a plus.

Harry pulled the portrait open for her, and let her duck through ahead of him. He stepped through, surprised to find her loitering around waiting for him rather that walking ahead as usual. She fell in step alongside Harry as they descended the stairs. “I reread your note last, Harry.”

His brow furrowed. “Note?”

“You left me a note when you took off last night.”

“Oh!” Harry looked over at her startled. He'd forgotten all about it in light of everything that had happened since. “Yeah, I did.”

“Harry,” Hermione said casually. “In your note, you said you had a lot you wanted to say to me. What was it, exactly?”

“Never mind it,” Harry answered dully. The way she had run away from him last night, he didn't really fancy telling her anything of what he'd been thinking the night before.

Hermione looked a little worried. “But I want to know!”

He sighed; there was very little Hermione didn't want to know about. Voraciously curious was how he'd have described her, right after beautiful, and caring, and... Harry shook that train of thought off. “Trust me, Hermione, you don't really want to know. It's not important.”

She stopped him on the landing, hand at his chest. “Please? Just tell me what things.”

Harry swallowed hard, looking down at her delicate fingers on his white shirt. It seemed a lot easier to write that note when he was fairly sure he'd never have a chance to put anything into words. And a lot easier before he found out she didn't feel anything for him. “Er, a lot of things, I suppose.”

“That much was obvious,” she said wryly. “Could you be more specific?”

“Alright, but stop me if I annoy you or anything.” Harry straightened up as best he could, and fought to look her in the eye. It was harder than he would have thought. “Last night I was talking with Ron and Neville, and you dating people came up, and I don't know. I think I got jealous. Of the idea, really.”

Hermione's eyes widened, but she didn't say anything so Harry continued. “So I thought about it and... Damn, I'm saying this all wrong! I guess I feel more for you than I should. I mean, I know you don't feel like that, so I'll stop now.”

Hermione cleared her throat, and looked him straight in the eye. “Harry, I think you should know that I'm in love.”

“Oh,” The bottom fell out of Harry's world. “With who?”

Her nose wrinkled as if he was being oddly thick. “What do you mean, 'who?' You of course!”

Harry blinked slowly. He didn't think the bump on his head was making him hear things. He spoke tentatively. “Didn't you run away when I kissed you last night?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “You were in shock, Harry. You might very well have kissed Ron if I planted him in front of you. I wanted to know if you genuinely liked me, or were just happy everything was over.”

“Oh.” Harry peered at her intently. “But you ran off again later, too.”

“You were tired.” Hermione pinked. “People act oddly when they're tired, or stressed. Some people don't handle stress very well.”

“Some people?” Harry tipped his head a little

“Yes.” She drew the word out as if daring him to say anything further on the subject.

Harry just smiled “Does that mean I can kiss you? And you won't run away?”

Hermione lit up in a bright smile. “I promise Harry!”

He leaned in and kissed her delicately. Oh, he thought, this is what all the fuss is about. Then she tipped her head a bit more to deepen the kiss, and Harry forgot all about thinking.

Eventually, Harry pulled back, red in the face. “Wow!”

“Hmm,” Hermione said, deep eyes half lidded. “Yes, indeed.”

Harry laced his fingers into hers. “We should keep going.”

Hermione looked startled. “What, here? Now?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered. “If we don't, we'll be too late for breakfast.”

“Oh,” She said, and tugged Harry down the stairs. “Yes, off to breakfast.”

Harry smiled in sudden comprehension. “Did you think I meant-”

“Finish that sentence, Mister Potter,” Hermione said as she blushed brightly, “and you'll be wearing your cereal instead of eating it.”

“Well, yes Miss Granger!” Harry smiled and tugged at her hand. She held on to him, and he smiled wider just knowing she wanted to. “Ready to face everyone?”

“Of course,” Hermione tutted. “I'm sure we'll be in terrible trouble for leaving school grounds, I only hope that the Ministry isn't vindictive. Even if they were Death Eaters, we must have broken a dozen laws, even if we are underage, they'll be sure to be-”

“Hermione!” Harry laughed a little, and shook her hand. “I meant, ready to face everyone, you know, holding my hand and all?”

Hermione looked down at their hands, suddenly silenced. She looked thoughtful. Finally she looked up at Harry. “I think so.”

“Good,” Harry said as the two of them crossed tot he doors of the Great Hall.

“I don't know,” Hermione said, worrying her lip. “I imagine Lavender and Parvati will be insufferable. I can't stand a know-it-all I-told-you-so, let alone two of them! In my dormitory, no less!”

Harry kissed her again, happy to know he could. “You'll live.” He threw open the doors to the Hall, and they walked inside.

* * *

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