Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein Harry gets the medical low down on Hermione's condition, learns of something odd in Hermione's living will, considers heroic measures, learns about Thomas Walker, almost has an incident with Romilda Vane, increases his reliance on Occlumency, hears a social announcement, receives an unexpected invitation, has an incident with Fleur, attends Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts, vanquishes competition for Seeker, learns who made the team, gets a new/old wand, has an incident with a girl he didn't know before, has another nightmare, and learns something from Horace Slughorn

Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim any other rights in the characters and other concepts created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money, nor do I seek any commercial advantage from this work. As such it constitutes "fair use" as defined in 17 U.S.C. §107.

Chapter 40 - Staying Alive

Hlr. Huxley fixed Harry Potter with a practised eye and tried, as gently as possible, to draw the boy into the discussion that neither of them wanted - but both knew they had to have. "Well, Harry, before we start I must go through the formality of personally reviewing Miss Granger's living will. May I see it?"

Harry looked surprised. "Oh…, that … sure," he agreed, whilst fumbling in his robes. Finally, he found the pocket into which he had hastily shoved the document after it had flown to him. "Here."

Hlr. Huxley gave it a perfunctory once over. Everything certainly appeared in order … until the very end, when his eyebrows shot up.

Harry noticed, but waited for the Healer to finish. Not much later, Hlr. Huxley laid the document on the table and declared, "Everything is in perfect order, as I expected. Since I am trained in healing, not the law, I cannot speculate about anything beyond its form. The only thing out of the ordinary is this right here … at the end…."

Harry leaned forward, looking over Hlr. Huxley's shoulder as the Healer pointed to a short, incomprehensible string of letters and numbers written just after Luna's signature as a witness. It was the very last thing on the page, with only blank parchment below. The word it spelled out - which Harry knew full well was not a word at all - was:

K₃[Fe(CN)₆]

"What's that mean?" Harry asked curiously.

I'm not at all sure," Hlr. Huxley admitted, shaking his head slightly. "Unless I miss my guess, it's a Muggle chemical formula - for what we wizards call Farmer's reducer. It's a fairly common industrial chemical, usually dissolved in water, used by the Muggles for various things, such as electroplating, tempering, photography, steganography, reagency, oxidisation, and encolouration."

Even though raised by Muggles, Harry did not know what half those words meant, and hardly cared. "What's it got to do with Hermione?" he framed the only question that mattered.

"Other than her choosing to write it on a document such as this…? No earthly idea," the Healer replied frankly. "Farmer's reducer is only used as a colouring agent in a few minor potions, since its concentrated form is bright red. I know of no use for it in either healing or Muggle medicine. In fact, it's rather poisonous, especially in combination with acid."

"Oh," Harry responded blankly, not sure if Hlr. Huxley was done. Even in a coma - especially in a coma - Hermione's mental processes were far beyond him.

Hlr. Huxley pointed his wand at a cupboard on the far wall. "Nevertheless, since this is the Room of Requirement…. Accio Farmer's reducer."

The cabinet flew open and a frosted glass bottle holding a lightly pink liquid flew into Hlr. Huxley's hand. "I don't know why, but if Miss Granger bothered to write out that formula whilst contemplating the possibility of her own demise, I have to think it's important somehow. Therefore, I think you should have this - in case you come up with any better idea than I have."

Harry accepted the proffered bottle, removing the stopper to peer inside. "You said it's poisonous…," he said slowly. "You don't think she could have been poisoned…."

"Frankly, no," Hlr. Huxley replied confidently. "Since she wrote this," he jabbed at the markings on the parchment with his finger, "it would have to be a suicide attempt, and that I can't conceive of. At the time of this writing, she was about to submit herself to serious magic indeed … which she did.… Why would she seek to kill herself on the verge of that? To tell the truth, she had everything in the world to live for - especially you, it seems. Self destruction would make no sense."

"Nevertheless…," Harry began. There were things about Hermione's personal circumstances that only he knew … such as the horrific emotional stress his own conduct must have caused her.

"I will have it checked, Harry," Hlr. Huxley responded, before the thought was even completely out of the boy's mouth. The Healer produced a small mirror, waved his wand over it and gave instructions to the witch whose image appeared.

"Madam Pomfrey, would you be so good as to scan Miss Granger for any sign of Farmer's reducer, or potassium ferricyanide, and any of its metabolites - and report the results to me statim." A pause occurred, apparently for a response. Hlr. Huxley added, "No, I frankly don't expect that you'll find anything, but I want to be one hundred percent certain."

Putting the mirror away, Hlr. Huxley turned his swivel chair in Harry's direction. Seeing the boy's inquisitive look, he explained, "Ever since I became Hermione's attending Healer, I've needed Poppy's help - hence the mirror. They're handy devices. I use them at St. Mungo's."

Hlr. Huxley returned Hermione's living will to Harry, took a deep breath, and stated, "Now for the main event…. What do you want to know about Miss Granger's medical condition? You see, that power of attorney allows you to ask me anything and get the same full answer that the patient herself would be entitled to receive."

Harry tried to act calm as he faced Hlr. Huxley, but his fidgeting betrayed a bad case of nerves. "I hardly know what to ask…. Why don't you just tell me how she is - and when she's likely to recover?"

"The proper way to phrase that question, Harry, is, `Tell it to me straight, doc,' and I can do that," the skilled Healer agreed, using his practised bedside manner to lighten things a bit.

Harry simply nodded.

"I've run a complete battery of tests - both magical and Muggle - everything I can think of…. Whilst she appears fully recovered physically, mentally she seems to be completely unreceptive to any measure and unresponsive to any treatment."

Harry flinched visibly, but still said nothing. His eyes, however, were extraordinarily attentive.

"I repeat, whatever it is, it's not a physical issue. Her eyes react to light and her ears react to sound. Miss Granger's mother - however either of us might otherwise view her - is quite skilled. Her seat-of-the-pants physical essentially hit the nail on the head. And that is where the problem lies … in your friend's head."

"You…. You mean … that … that she…." Harry was having trouble articulating what he needed to say. He feared even voicing the thought out loud, irrationally believing that doing so would somehow make it that much more probable. Ultimately, his need to know won out.

Hlr. Huxley had been in this situation more times than he cared to count. He patiently waited for the boy to finish.

"You mean … that she's … brain dead?" Harry finally choked out, and then buried his face in his hands. He started to tremble, waiting for the Healer to answer. From conversations with Dumbledore, Hlr. Huxley knew better than to view Harry's reaction as anxiety. No, Harry's trembling was characteristic of intense, if imperfect, Occlumency.

"No, I do not mean that she's brain dead," Hlr. Huxley answered slowly and clearly. "A less skilled Healer than I - or perhaps a Muggle physician - might make such a misdiagnosis, but it is simply not true. Her diagnosis is nowhere near that simple."

Harry sighed and allowed himself to breathe again. "Oh, sweet Merlin, you don't know how much I needed to hear that…."

"But I think I do," Hlr. Huxley replied calmly. "I overheard your confession when you thought you were alone, after all."

"I … I … I couldn't do it, you know," Harry went on. "Not and be able to keep on living afterwards…. I couldn't pull the plug…. Not on her…. It would be easier to pull the plug on myself." Despite all the Occlumency, the boy seemed again on the verge of surrendering to his emotions.

With his finely tuned diagnostic senses registering warning signs of spontaneous magic, Hlr. Huxley placed a hand on the distraught boy's shoulder. "That's fine, Harry, I understand," he soothed, "remember, I've been through this kind of thing before. You, thankfully, have not. But I might as well discuss something now that I would have to bring up before we finished."

"What's that?" Harry asked, lifting his head fully out of his hands for the first time since he asked the key question.

"How do you feel about heroic measures, Harry?" Hlr. Huxley asked.

That inquiry seemingly stopped the boy's train of thought in its tracks. After a pause he answered, slowly, "Well … that's … that's what everybody says I'm best at. So, just tell me what you need me to do and I'll do it - no questions asked."

"Actually, Harry," the Healer prompted, "that's not exactly what I had in mind. I doubt there's anything I could ethically ask of you at this moment. I meant heroic medical measures."

Harry looked back, still rather confused. "Such as?" he asked.

"I'm talking about artificial prolongation of life," Hlr. Huxley explained, "or what some people consider life, at any rate. For example, if she became unable to breathe on her own, would you want me to perform a Ventilation Charm? It's effective, but not very pretty to watch. If her kidneys failed, would you want artificial dialysis? That sort of thing…. That parchment says that these are your decisions to make."

The haunted look returned to Harry's eyes as Hlr. Huxley spoke. The Healer did not miss that reaction, or what it meant. "…Not if you don't want to, Harry. She's nowhere near that point. But you need to think about it, given the measure of trust she has reposed in you."

"Okay … but I don't want to discuss it now," Harry answered softly. "I just … can't. Exactly what point is she at?"

"Frankly, that's maddeningly hard to say," Hlr. Huxley admitted. "Here, let me show you what I mean…. Accio chart."

A clipboard holding a sheaf of multi-coloured pieces of parchment flew across the room into Hlr. Huxley's outstretched hand. He flipped through several pages, showing Harry numbers and tables with his hand-entered data.

"It doesn't look like anything's changed much lately," Harry observed carefully.

"Precisely," Hlr. Huxley confirmed. "She's stable. All of her vital signs are rock solid stable. That doesn't mean they're normal - or good - by any stretch of the imagination. What they do mean is that you're not facing a life-or-death decision anytime soon, except with that blasted witch she has for a mother."

"Actually, Hermione's mother is a Muggle," Harry corrected.

"For once I wasn't trying to be literal," Hlr. Huxley replied. "Although, to be fair, she hasn't exactly been treated with the consideration a wizard parent would have received. But her being a Muggle only makes matters worse, because if your friend is exposed to any of the more extreme Muggle treatments for coma, a life-or-death situation could evolve very quickly. She's not in any sort of coma that I've ever seen before, and I've seen more than I care to discuss."

"What's different about it?" Harry asked. Hermione's mother was the wild card in all this - that was clear. In the foreseeable future, her meddling was far more likely to create a life-threatening crisis than would Hermione's actual medical condition. Harry made up his mind he would stun that woman first … and damn the consequences.

"Come here and look," Hlr. Huxley invited as he stood up and walked to a large metal machine covered with dials, switches, and wires. Its most prominent feature was a large black circular screen with a bright horizontal green line on it, running from one side to another.

"What's this," Harry asked, perplexed.

"Although you're Muggle raised, I gather you've never been in a Muggle hospital before?" Hlr. Huxley asked.

Harry thought a bit, going over his Muggle memories. Whilst they were not very pleasant, they were not that unpleasant. "No … I guess not. Not since I was little, anyway."

"This is Muggle monitoring equipment … producing a real-time image of Miss Granger's physical thought processes. It's highly charmed and insulated to protect it from the overall magical conditions at Hogwarts, but this Room of Requirement is, indeed, a wonderful space. I can stash all this equipment here to keep tabs on Miss Granger's ordinary, non-magical vital signs, with only the sensors themselves in the Hospital Wing, and thus exposed to magic."

"That … that line…. It's awfully … flat." Harry observed.

"It is indeed," Hlr. Huxley agreed with a grave expression on his face. "In fact, it would lead a less experienced Healer - or a Muggle physician, perhaps - to a very dire diagnosis. But observe closely how the same line is rather fuzzy and wide."

Harry could be rather perceptive when he wanted to be - and he wanted to be now. "Fuzzy and wide, compared to what," he asked.

"Very good, Harry," Hlr. Huxley praised. "Very good, indeed. I could make a Healer out of you yet. Perhaps a demonstration is in order."

As Harry watched intently, the Healer walked to a second, identical unit and flicked a switch, turning that unit on. For a moment nothing happened. Then Hlr. Huxley struck the side of the machine with the flat of his hand, producing a sound that reverberated through the room.

"Percussive maintenance," he remarked flatly.

Before Hlr. Huxley had finished speaking, a similar flat green trace appeared on the screen, but - Harry noticed - distinctly crisper and thinner than the line present on the machine that monitored Hermione's condition.

Hlr. Huxley took two steps to the side of the machine and picked up something circular, attached to the unit by wires. "This, Harry, is a transducer. Watch what it does…." Hlr. Huxley pressed it against his own skull. Instantly, the green trace began jumping around on the screen. "That, Harry, is what a normal human brainwave looks like when seen on an electroencephalograph."

"A what?"

"What it's called isn't important, Harry. What it does is, however." With that, Hlr. Huxley removed the transducer from his own head and pressed it onto Harry's. The same overall pattern immediately emerged.

The Healer's expression turned grave once more. "As you can see, there is no detectable movement in Miss Granger's case."

Harry's face fell at once. He understood instinctively what the lack of response meant.

"But … things are not what they seem…." Hlr. Huxley said mysteriously. As he moved to Hermione's unit, he continued to explain. "The fuzzy, somewhat indistinct nature of the trace on Miss Granger's screen is the giveaway, but you have to be looking for it. This isn't anything a Muggle physician would expect to see - and thus it would probably be overlooked."

He switched off the visual display on Hermione's unit. Then he opened a panel on the side of the machine and gave a dial inside two lengthy twists. "I'm increasing the amplification a hundred-fold - far beyond anything Muggle medicine would ever find useful or appropriate," he commented. "A Muggle doctor would consider such data spurious. I, however, do not." He closed the panel and turned the oscilloscope back on. "Voilà," he said.

Harry gasped. At that extreme magnification, Hermione's brainwaves looked to his untrained eye indistinguishable from those his own brain had generated only moments ago.

"She's.… She's still there!" he exclaimed jubilantly.

"In a sense, Harry," Hlr. Huxley agreed, "but don't get your hopes too high. This data tells me that, in a sense, Miss Granger is conscious - however, it is a very weak, very repressed, and very far away sort of consciousness. She cannot, for example, hear or sense your presence in any way. I don't know how to reach her, and I frankly don't know what's causing it. I've only seen something similar once in my career…."

"What was that?" Harry asked. "Did the person survive?"

"That was the Thomas Walker case," Hlr. Huxley responded. "I can't discuss details because the patient - a Muggle - is probably still alive."

"You … treat Muggles, too?" Harry asked incredulously. "But I thought…."

"Only extremely rarely, at the express request of the Department of Magical Catastrophes when they suspect a case of magical possession or something similar. In this case they were right. Young Mister Walker, who had pre-existing mental problems since infancy, had become possessed by a magical artifact that had somehow found its way into the Muggle world. Parts of his brainwave patterns were repressed in a way that resembled Miss Granger's - except hers is much more profound…. Affecting all of her faculties, rather than just some."

"Did … did you cure him?" Harry asked, wondering about Hermione's prognosis.

"Yes, but not of what you might think," Hlr. Huxley continued.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked out loud.

"I presented my tentative diagnosis to the mother and step-father," the Healer reported. "They had their suspicions, and before anybody in our world could caution them against it, they attempted to destroy what they - correctly - viewed as the source of the possession. The resultant magical discharge caught the poor boy right in the chest. The prior problem was cured, after a fashion, but he acquired some rather powerful wild magical capabilities from the artifact … before we were able to catch up to him with a Magical Reversal Squad, that is. In the interim, he caused quite a sensation, because the Muggles didn't know quite what to make of him. Anyway, eventually the Squad and several Obliviators sorted everything out, and the artifact in question was retrieved, repaired, and moved to its current location at … at … Hogwarts…."

Hlr. Huxley paused, as if deep in thought.

"Umm…. Healer, what is it?" Harry asked after an awkward silence.

"Miss Granger hasn't had any untoward incidents involving the Mirror of Erised recently, has she?" he asked.

"Not to my knowledge," Harry replied. "That's the kind of thing I'd expect her to tell me, but … I haven't exactly been about for her very much lately…."

His voice trailed off into thought. "…I don't even know where it is," he added.

After a pause, Hlr. Huxley went on, "All right, that's one aspect of your friend's condition…. But there's another that I understand even less." The Healer was on the move again, this time to a large transparent crystal hovering in mid-air, to which a quill was attached. The quill just brushed up against a roll of parchment. Like the unamplified Muggle oscilloscope, the quill was tracing a flat horizontal line.

The Healer explained, "This device records Miss Granger's magical activity. As you can see, it is completely flat - indicating no magical capacity at all."

Harry's stomach dropped, feeling like a lead weight in his abdomen. "Has she … lost … lost her…."

"I do not believe she has lost her magic, Harry," the Healer answered before Harry finished asking. "That just doesn't happen … until death, that is - and in several ways, not even then. These readings are simply inexplicable."

"Why?" the boy asked.

"If I knew why, then they wouldn't be inexplicable," Hlr. Huxley replied, with just a touch of irritation at his own cluelessness. "But I do know - from hard-won experience - that the flat line you are seeing is incompatible with either a classic coma or with lost magic. Let me show you. Accio Murgatroyd's."

A rather large tome, inscribed Manfred Murgatroyd's Principles of Internal Magic, departed its place on a nearby bookshelf and zoomed into Hlr. Huxley's outstretched arms.

"Oof," the Healer exhaled involuntarily as the heavy book found its mark. With his wand he flipped its pages to a chapter entitled "Magically Induced Insensibility." As soon as the pages stilled, Hlr. Huxley pointed authoritatively to a graph. "There's a classic example of a magicoencephalogram of a wizard cursed into a permanent vegetative state. As you can see, it is punctuated by various stray magical discharges. That's what happens when magic is left uncontrolled by any level of consciousness. The quill should flick and rock randomly … not do nothing at all…."

A beeping noise interrupted the conversation. Hlr. Huxley stopped his exposition and promptly produced the pocket mirror. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey? Nothing…? Nothing at all on any assay…? I see - that was not unexpected. Thank you for your help."

The Healer turned back to Harry. "Those were the test results for Farmer's reducer. No trace of it or any metabolite."

"What do you think it means?" Harry asked.

"That she has never ingested the stuff," Hlr. Huxley replied confidently.

"Sorry, I meant her lack of magical response … as measured by the quill," Harry corrected.

The Healer's confidence disappeared. He kneaded his bearded chin vigorously, as he pondered his answer. "It's impossible to say for sure, given all the confounding factors, but I do not believe that her magic is gone. Rather, it's being repressed somehow…. Intentional repression is the only thing I've ever seen or heard of that could produce a pattern like that in a living witch - and she is undeniably alive."

"But.… But … intentional? You just said she's quite unconscious," Harry asked, not even bothering to try concealing his confusion.

"I know," Hlr. Huxley sighed with undisguised frustration. "She is, but she isn't…. It doesn't make any sense. None of it makes sense…. That's why it's so … maddening."

The Healer's obvious bafflement somewhat unnerved Harry, who was pinning his hopes, maybe even his life, on Hlr. Huxley's success. "What happens when you magnify it like the other one?"

"Doesn't bloody work that way," the Healer replied tersely. He fired off another Summoning Charm and a long piece of parchment shot to him. Hlr. Huxley handed it to Harry. It was reminiscent of one of his own ink-sodden parchment rolls back in Second Year, just after being embarrassed to the point of tears by a singing dwarf.

"You see, I tried," he said, more softly. "The quill isn't capable of such magnification."

"That's a mess," Harry observed.

"Too right," Hlr. Huxley replied. "The Muggles have us bested here. Our equipment isn't sensitive enough to detect magic at the same minimal level that the Muggle equipment can measure nerve impulses. All I got when I tried…."

"Was a blot," Harry helpfully added.

"…A bloody blot," Hlr. Huxley agreed. He sighed again and continued. "So, anyway, as I said before, her magical condition is simply inexplicable. I have no idea what's repressing it. I can't make a differential diagnosis worth a damn because of all the confounding variables…."

"Er … I'm sorry. You've lost me," Harry remarked.

"I'm the one who should be sorry, Harry," the Healer gently replied. "I lapsed into jargon. I'll try again. What I meant is, I can't come to any conclusions about her magical problem because Miss Granger had so many extraordinary magical things happen to her in the hours before her injury - and immediately thereafter…."

"Such as?" Harry prompted.

"Such as everything," Hlr. Huxley answered with a frown. "First, less than 48 hours previous, she undergoes a set of spells that haven't been attempted in many decades, and that have only been described in the literature two or three times in all wizard Healing history. What little we know is that this set of spells is accompanied by serious mental risks. That's one complete unknown.

"Then, there's her injury…. She was exposed to whatever it was you did. Dumbledore thinks it involved the Fifth Element, and I defer to him … but we know nothing at all about the consequences of such a thing because it's a criminal offense even to study it…. That's the second complete unknown."

"To top it off, Dumbledore saved her life with the Sacrifice of the Phoenix. He merged Miss Granger's very being with that of a powerful non-human magical creature - a phoenix. I assume you recognized the phoenix song she emitted whilst she healed - that's another manifestation of what Dumbledore did…."

"Yeah, I figured out that the phoenix song came from her," Harry answered. "But that hasn't been happening since she was moved to the Hospital Wing."

"It shouldn't," Hlr. Huxley responded. "When it stopped, that meant her physical healing was complete. In fact, that told us she could safely be moved."

"One thing I can stop fretting over, at least," Harry responded with some relief. In his ignorance, he had been afraid that the phoenix song's cessation was an adverse development.

"Anyway, back to the original point," Hlr. Huxley persisted, "that … occurrence - I don't even know if the Sacrifice of the Phoenix is properly considered a `spell.' It hasn't been reported in some 250 years. I have no idea what the systemic magical sequelae of such a thing might be. So we have three remarkable, essentially unprecedented, magical shocks to her system in a very short period … after which she's in this bizarre coma, for lack of a better word to describe it. I frankly don't know what to do…."

"But you've got to do something!" Harry responded, growing agitated. "You can't just let her…."

"Calm down, Harry - remember your Occlumency," the Healer responded softly, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder once again. "I don't intend to sit idly by. I promised Dumbledore, and I'll promise you, I'll leave no stone unturned, no incantation untried. I'm consulting with magical specialists from all over the world. I'll do everything I can, but…." His voice trailed off.

"But what…?" Harry asked the obvious question that was hanging in the air.

"It's just a gut feeling, really," Hlr. Huxley answered. Another pause followed. "Frankly, I don't think she'll come out of it until she's good and ready. Whatever her inner block is … I don't know. I think that hope in this case lies with her, not with me."

* * * *

The rest of the week sped past with Harry in something of an emotionless daze. It was not that nothing happened; only that the events were - from Harry's perspective - so far beneath his interest that he failed to respond to them as he ordinarily would have. That … and he knew he was becoming ever more mentally, and magically, exhausted.

The overall reason was Occlumency, and the immediate reason was an incident on Monday. He had finished his first Herbology lesson and exchanged the course materials for his morning and afternoon classes. Rushing, Harry intended a quick lunch so he could spend the remaining half-hour or so of the free period studying with Hermione - or at least in her presence. To save being bothered in the hallways, he wore his Invisibility Cloak as he made for the Fat Lady. He was only a metre away when the portrait opened from the other side….

"…Did you see her yet? I did," came Romilda Vane's distinctive voice. Harry flattened himself against the wall to avoid the pack of Fourth-Year Gryffindor girls.

"Can we do that?" asked Jessica Carmichael, another Fourth-Year Harry knew only by sight. "I mean, they said she was so horribly burned and all…."

"Oh, that's all better - believe me," Romilda replied cattily. "They've fixed that all up, just as pretty as you please."

Harry froze. They were gossiping about Hermione.

"Oh really," another girl Harry did not know at all said as she stopped to dry her cloak with her wand. It had rained all morning, and they were probably returning from Magical Creatures. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that she looks like she bloody near killed herself in the course of an extreme makeover," Romilda continued jealously. "It's Granger all right, but not like you've ever seen her. Her skin … it's damn near flawless. And her hair…? You know how it used to frizz out all over? I'd - I'd kill for how it looks now."

They were moving away now, in the direction of the girls' staircase.

"That nice, huh?"

"I'll say…. And what a waste. She makes such a perfect corpse…."

A pungent odour inside his cloak made Harry look down. His Charms book was smouldering and sparks were visibly flying between his hands. With a start, he bore down with a strong dose of Occlumency.

It was easy enough to repair the damage to his books, but from that moment forward, Harry decided he had to use Occlumency for his every waking moment - except time spent with Hermione. Repressing his emotions effectively for hours at a time took a great deal out of him … and out of his emotions.

Also on Monday, a group of Healers from the West African Healing Convention came all the way from Timbuktu - all to no avail. Their spells, chants, and magical herbs seemed to have no effect on Hermione's condition.

* * * *

The next day, Tuesday, started out unexceptionally. Harry had a long morning study session in the Hospital Wing, and his Muggle Studies seminar. He was finishing up a quick lunch in the Great Hall with Neville, Colin, and Ginny (Ron and Cho were not in evidence) when the announcement was made.

Harry's head was turned when he heard Neville gulp, "Oh, my - will you look at that…."

Fleur Delacour approached the podium, only this time she was not wearing her attaché's uniform. Rather, she was dressed in sky blue Beauxbatons formal robes that made her look radiant - as always seemed to be the case with Fleur. Her wistful smile complemented the look perfectly.

She cleared her throat twice, obviously a novice at public speaking. "As some of you know alreazzy, I am `ere to facilitate zee relations amicale between `Ogwarts and zee Academie Beauxbatons, as we are allies in zee war contre Voldemort."

Barely audible gasps accompanied Fleur's use of the Dark wizard's name, which would have annoyed Harry had he paid attention. He was, however, was scrutinising the speaker - and she seemed to look directly at him as she continued.

"Apropos of zees mission, I am pleased to announce zat our respective `eadmasters `ave agreed zat we should `ave an exchange of events. Zere will be un bal masqué - a masked ball - at `Ogwarts on `Alloween night. A portal weell be established and zee students of Beauxbatons weell attend. For zose who so desire, zere will be a signup sheet for zee … er … rencontres à l'aveugle…."

Fleur stopped. She bent in whispered conversation with Professor Flitwick, her mentor, who sat to her right.

"…er, zee blind dates…. Zee second event will be at zee Palais de Beauxbatons on zee vernal equinox. Zee format `as not been decided, and we are open to les suggestions…."

At the mention of a formal masked Hogwarts ball, the audience of students, particularly but not exclusively the girls, began to twitter. More than a few eyes turned towards the Gryffindor table, and to the newly revealed heir to the Black fortune.

They were disappointed. Harry was no longer visible. Once the matter of dates arose, he slipped his Invisibility Cloak out of his back pocket (his handy Auror belt destroyed when he was kidnapped), and vanished under it.

More observant sets of eyes may have noticed Neville Longbottom passing a number of food items to his left where they similarly vanished.

Harry left the Great Hall as quickly as he could.

Even in N.E.W.T.-level double sessions, Defence against the Dark Arts was a relatively easy class for Harry, given the summer's Auror training. At the end of class, Professor Shacklebolt (not "Shak") allowed him to announce that the first D.A. session of the year was scheduled for Friday evening - in the "usual place." This caused some confusion, because this year's signees included a number of students who did not participate in the prior year's underground organisation. Afterwards, Harry mirrored Colin and Dennis to ask them to send a more usable announcement to everyone who had signed up.

Potions was another matter. Ron constantly distracted him, whispering under his breath about this or that amazing thing he found in handwritten scribbles in his Potions book. He called the writer the "Half-Blood Prince," after an alias written in the front cover.

"Harry, look at this…," Ron hissed, "did you know you can make that love potion from last week even better - just add some Muggle thing called oxy … toxin to it, and a couple of other - ouch, powdered ruby, that's dear…. But it lasts longer and its almost undetectable … loses that effect on smell. You can even personalise it."

"Yeah, right, Ron," Harry hissed back, trying to pay attention to the lecture, "something else I have to look out for, I reckon."

Whether the Prince was right or wrong, Harry hoped never to find out. But something about Potions was certainly working right for Ron. He took fifteen points for Gryffindor - he had never raised his hand in this class before - and he produced an effective Auditory Enhancement Draught in half the time as the rest of the class using a shortcut mentioned in the Prince's annotations.

Class was almost over. Harry was finishing up his potion - it looked rather darker green than Ron's, and Slughorn had praised that - when he heard a knock on the door.

It was Fleur again…. She was asking for him again.

"Proffesseur…. I am so sorry, but may I borrow `Arry again, s'il vous plait?"

Professor Slughorn looked disappointed to lose Harry again, even though the class was for all intents and purposes done. "Umm, certainly," he grumped. Waddling over to Harry's chair, he spoke in conspiratorial tones, "Harry, please take this," and handed over an envelope tied with a green string. "Hope to see you there…. Oh, and you, Ronald…. One for you too. You earned it today." Ron received an identical envelope - except that Harry's had his name nicely printed on it, whilst Ron's was blank, except for an opaque piece of Spellotape that blended in rather well with the parchment.

Harry gathered up his things and trudged up the stairs towards Fleur, whilst opening the envelope. It was an invitation to a party, of all things. He was in no mood to party whilst … well, by himself anyway. He binned the letter at the first opportunity.

Fleur swept along determinedly, and Harry soon realised he had to concentrate on where he was going just to keep up. Walking with Fleur, though, was better than walking alone. The stares of passers-by at least this once were not directed at him. And passers-by there were, as afternoon classes let out whilst they were in transit.

After quite a walk, they reached Fleur's cubbyhole of an office, between Professor Flitwick's rather more palatial digs and the Charms classroom. She bade Harry sit down in a chair opposite her desk. Instead of taking her own accustomed seat, she perched on the front of her desk. She was still wearing the blue robes he had seen at lunch.

Harry was surprised they even stopped there. He had assumed that Dumbledore or somebody else had summoned him again. It was quite presumptuous of Fleur - a lowly intern - to pull a student out of Slughorn's class of her own volition.

"'Arry, I `ave one request, and one question - which may lead to anuzzer request," Fleur began. The way she sat on her desk led Harry to realise that her robes were slit up the sides….

Before he could say anything, Fleur exclaimed, "Oh, `Arry, you look flushed. Deed I walk too fast? Some pumpkin juice peut être?" She said a spell in French and a carafe of pumpkin juice and a tray of sandwiches appeared.

Harry took the pumpkin juice gratefully. He did feel rather warm. He was also relieved she had not offered him anything stronger. He might have repulsed it explosively again, and that would have been embarrassing. He tried to make small talk,

"Er … how have you been, Fleur?"

Bad question. The woman's blue eyes glinted with tears, but she held them. "I am bezzer now, `Arry, zank you. I have kept beezzy. Zee Muggles, zey want a new Marianne eemage for zer timbres … er … les postage stamps. I have been seetting for zee portrait."

Harry did not know what this last bit was about, except some French Muggles evidently wanted her likeness for something akin to a Chocolate Frog card. "Er … what do you want?" He felt very warm again.

"Now, zee reason I sought you out zees afternoon ees I would like, very much, to be allowed to participate een zees Deefence Association zat you are starting. Unfortunatement zee deefence course at Beauxbatons, eet was razzer … preemative … compared to what you learn `ere at `Ogwarts. Zat was one of the raisons zat I sought zees posting. Zey … zey killed my papa and ruined my maman, `Arry." Fleur was almost in tears, "and I need to know `ow to fight zem…. Weel you `elp teach me, `Arry?"

Making this request, Fleur leaned forward and took Harry's hand gently. "Please? Everyone … zey say you are so excellent een zee deefence. I would be `onoured to be your student."

Harry almost fell out of his chair in shock. Fleur was two years ahead of him in school - and a Triwizard champion, meaning the best at her school. "Why … why, of course, you can attend the D.A. classes. The first one's this Friday in the Room of Requirement."

"Zee … zee room of what?" Fleur asked.

"It's … it's a special room - at Hogwarts," Harry explained. "It's on the seventh floor, next to a rather ugly tapestry with trolls in tutus…."

"Trolls een zee tutus?" Fleur giggled. "Quele c'est drôle…."

"Er … don't ask," Harry added.

"Zank you, `Arry!" Fleur gushed. Harry felt even warmer. "And now, for my question. Zee ball I announced aujour … today. I really need to practise my Eengleesh…. Who are you planning to go avec…? I know whom you would like to take, but she eez, unfortunatement, not een any condition…."

"To tell the truth, I wasn't really planning on going, unless … things change," Harry mumbled.

It was Fleur's turn to show shock and almost fall off of the desk. Her robes hiked further up her legs in the process. "But you must, `Arry. Eet ees for zee alliance … and for zee morale! Zey weell want you - and your friends - to open zee ball! And my compatriots at Beauxbatons, zey will want to pay zeir respects."

All Harry's unpleasant memories of the Fourth Year Yule Ball began flooding back. He was not going to another ball unless he could go with Hermione. He was not about to have the same miserable time he had suffered through back then….

"Why do I have to go at all?" he asked skeptically. "I'm not a bloody Hogwarts Champion anymore. Why does anyone want me to open anything?"

"Zut alors!" Fleur exclaimed. "You mean nobuzzy `as told you?"

For a moment, Harry's face purpled, before he slammed the gates of Occlumency shut even tighter. "Nobody has told me what?" he asked evenly. Harry hated being left in the dark.

"I learned through zee deeplomatic channels," Fleur said apologetically, "zat you are to receive your Order of zee Merlin zat day - `ere at `Ogwarts - so I petitioned to `ave zee ball zat eevening … in your `onour … and zat of your friends," she added as a rather obvious afterthought.

Harry felt even warmer than before. He took another swig of pumpkin juice from the cup, which seemed charmed to stay full, and a big bite from one of the sandwiches. He said nothing.

"I am so sorry, `Arry," Fleur said in a softer voice. "I zought you would know alreazzy."

"Well, thanks for telling me, anyway," Harry mumbled with his mouth full. He was afraid they would ask him to accept her award as well, and he did not think he could manage that. Everyone would be there.

`Arry, let me `elp you, zen," Fleur offered. "I can see zees ees something of a shock."

"How can you help?" Harry asked sadly. "How can anybody help?"

"I can `elp you best by attending zee ball with you," Fleur declared. "I can teach you zee dance like you teach me zee deefense. I can make all zee eentroductions…."

Harry felt extremely hot around the collar now. Fleur had just asked him to attend the ball - as her date. He would be the envy of everyone at Hogwarts….

"And zen we can see `ow compatible we are - togezzer, zat ees," Fleur continued. "Peut être een zees room of yours…."

Harry mumbled, "That's … that's…."

Everything seemed so warm, fuzzy, and exciting. This was all so unexpected - and remarkable. It seemed as if…. Suddenly Harry realised something.

He dialed up his Occlumency another notch. The warmth retreated.

Fleur regarded Harry very intently. The warmth advanced once again.

Harry focussed even harder.

So did Fleur. Neither of them said a word, until….

ZZZZAAAPPPP! FWOOSH!

Pink light flared hotly and was gone. A rush of wind set all of the papers in Fleur's small office in motion. Harry toppled over one way in his chair; Fleur did the same in the opposite direction. The last he saw of Fleur were her impossibly long legs propelled backwards across the desk on their way to the floor somewhere on the other side.

"Urgh," Harry groaned. He could hear similar moans from the far side of the room. "Fleur?" he called out. "Are you all right?"

"Comme ci, comme ça," a voice mumbled back. "…I've been better, but I'll survive."

Harry scrambled to his feet and looked across the desk. He saw Fleur's soft blue - blue and tearful - eyes staring back at him as she, too, began to rise. Quite disheveled, she was still stunningly beautiful, even though rather worse for wear.

"Why, Fleur?" Harry asked softly. "Why the Veela attack?"

"No attack … non … never. But I am sorry, `Arry," Fleur rasped. "I suppose, I see you as my eenstrument of revenge for zee death of zee only men zat `ave ever meant anyzzing to me. You are zee best `Arry…. Zee best zere ees left…."

"I'm not nearly as good as Dumbledore," Harry countered in a resigned voice.

"Zee `Eadmaster ees an old man, `Arry," Fleur corrected. "Eef you have not surpassed `eem alreazzy, you weel soon…. Zat ees why … zee monster … `ee attacks you, not `eem. Let me `elp you, `Arry. You have needs … all men do…."

"I'm … I'm … not ready for that kind of help," Harry gently refused. "You could die, you know…. I'm…. There's…. I'm … just not interested in anybody else that way."

"I can tell," Fleur answered. "I should `ave known better. You - you only `ave eyes for `er?"

"I'm sorry, too, Fleur," Harry said in his own low voice. "But as for that, I stand convicted. It wouldn't be right. I've been down that road before, and it's a dead end - a very dead end."

"I … I weesh you zee best zen," Fleur said with a slight pout, coming as close to accepting defeat as she ever could in this arena. "Zere are powers zat can be unleashed … by zee … by zee act of love…. Great power…. I `ope one day she can show you … eef I cannot."

"I hope so, too," Harry answered sadly. "But, no, you cannot."

"Zen, so be eet," Fleur frowned. "I see I am wasting my time at zee moment - but eef you ever change your mind, you know where I am."

Harry gulped at the not-so-subtle invitation and quickly took his leave of the young lady's office. "Good bye, Fleur."

"Good bye, `Arry," she called after him. "I `ope she knows `ow truly lucky she ees."

That evening, a consortium of Koori, Murri, and other Indigenous Australian shaman visited Hogwarts. Like all those who had gone before them, they left defeated. Hermione's condition remained unchanged.

* * * *

Harry had as many classes on Wednesday as any, which meant less time to spend studying in Hermione's sickroom. But even Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration and Charms paled in comparison to what came after.

Wednesday was Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts - called and organised by the new captain, Katie Bell. It seemed like at least half the House was trying out, including a number of students (especially girls) from the lower years whom Harry had never known to harbour any pretensions of playing before.

The last class had barely ended when Harry and Ron fell in together, heading for the Gryffindor clubhouse, and then the pitch. As returning team members, they both had their uniforms distributed in advance - cleaned and pressed immaculately by the Hogwarts house-elves. Earlier, Dobby had proudly presented Harry with his uniform in the Hospital Wing, after the boy had failed to return to the common room.

"Bloody Hell," Ron grumbled. "This could take all afternoon. And even after Denmark, I've got three blokes trying for my spot - and two of those blokes are … girls … can you believe it? A girl Keeper….?"

Both boys jumped as a familiar voice piped up behind them

"I can believe it - and you should too, Ronald," his younger sister declared scornfully. "We girls are tougher than we look. Harry's got competition too - but you don't see him complaining about girls playing Quidditch."

"Yeah, but Seeker's different," Ron went on.

Ginny's declaration commanded Harry's attention. One of the many mundane things he had been ignoring was the Quidditch sign up sheet. "Oh, really?" he asked, feigning nonchalance. "And who might that be?"

"Some Third-Year I don't know at all," Ginny replied. "Word from her year is that she's rather strange…."

"A midget Luna Lovegood," Ron laughed, "just what we need at Seeker."

"…and intense - really intense," Ginny continued, not deigning to acknowledge Ron's interruption, but dropping her wand into her hand. Harry heard her mumble something as she kept it pointed towards the ground in front of her. "Unlike many of the others who've signed up, I believe she's a serious flier, though."

"What's with all these sign-ups anyway?" Harry complained. "Ron says we'll be lucky to get done before dark."

"You just don't get it do you, Harry?" Ginny said, her voice exuding frustration. "They're attracted by you, of course. You're everybody's hero now, what with the Ministry and the Order of Merlin, and…. You've even made the cover of Teen Witches Weekly. You're just about the most fanciable thing there is right now."

That brought a protest from Ron. "Hey! I was at the Ministry too - and I've got one of those Order of Merlins coming to me, too! So you shouldn't say it's all…? YAAAHH!"

Ginny jerked her wand down firmly as Ron continued to butt in. Ron stumbled over his feet and turfed himself spectacularly.

"You really should tie your shoes better than that, Ronald," Ginny advised sarcastically. She resolutely kept walking, and Harry followed, as Ron fumbled with his shoelaces on the wet grass - cursing that somehow they had managed to get entangled together.

"…And, as I was going to say, to top it off, now it's suddenly revealed that you're also quite likely to be amongst the richest wizards in England," Ginny continued. "It's no wonder they're practically falling out of the woodwork to see The Chosen One in action. And maybe get a little action themselves … if they're lucky."

Harry's head started to spin as it did when Dumbledore told him much the same thing many weeks before. "But … but, I'm dangerous. People get killed … or worse," he protested. "You should know, you nearly died yourself."

"Oh, Harry, danger is just part of your mystique," Ginny explained. "A lot of us, we're excited by an aura of danger. In fact, right now it's undoubtedly contributing to this - since the danger thing, it's … it's…. Well, it's the main reason that these girls have reason to hope that you might be - available - right now."

Harry stopped walking. At that moment, he truly wished he could Disapparate on the Hogwarts grounds.

Then Ron caught up to them, huffing and puffing. His shoelaces looked like they had been fused together by an inexpertly performed Melting Charm.

Ron's reappearance allowed Harry a temporary escape. He called out, "race you to the locker room!" and took off running full tilt - away from Ginny and her tales of gold-digging witches.

Ron gave a whoop and sprinted after Harry - his longer legs eating up the distance between them.

"Boys," Ginny muttered disgustedly.

The Gryffindor locker room was crowded, even the changing areas. Ron was not exaggerating in saying that half the House had turned out. Even with only a few of the hopefuls lugging brooms about, conditions were cheek and jowl - particularly for Harry, who as Ginny had foretold was the focus of a great deal of ill-concealed attention.

At long last Captain Bell called the tryout to order. The ten Firebolts provided by the James Potter Memorial Quidditch Trust were woefully inadequate to accommodate everyone, so Katie started with some rudimentary drills. In groups of ten, the Quidditch wannabes had to fly once around the pitch at the highest speed they could comfortably manage. When they returned to their starting point (the west goalposts), they were to reverse directions using an ascending turn and roll and complete another lap. During this second circumnavigation, at the higher altitude, the applicants were to perform not less than two barrel rolls.

As a culling device, it worked well enough. Less than one third of the first flight successfully completed even this rather basic set of manœuvres. Katie wisely took the precaution of stationing the returning starters (and D.A. members) - herself, Harry, Ron, and Ginny - at regular intervals around the pitch to rescue those who fell off their brooms. With the great majority unused to handling high-powered Firebolts, the rescue crew down under found their skill tested more often than they would have liked.

Harry was rather vexed to have to rescue Romilda Vane during the second flight. He rather thought the saucy girl jumped, rather than fell, off of the Firebolt she was flying. He was even more unnerved when Lavender Brown did something similar during the third flight. She had not fastened her robes securely, and as Harry levitated her down, her revealing Muggle clothing beneath became all too obvious.

Even more bizarrely, one-third of the tryout hopefuls were not even Gryffindors. As these imposters were found out - almost all being Third through Fifth Year Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw girls - the stands filled with onlookers. Harry duly noted Cho's presence in the stands almost from the beginning, cheering Ron on. Neville turned up a little later, stationing himself wherever he could be closest to Ginny. Almost all the other spectators seemed to be shadowing Harry.

Whilst most of the applicants were dreadful fliers and were soon cut, a few stood out. One of the few survivors of the first flight was a dark-haired, olive-skinned slip of a girl who flew like she was possessed. Even though at times she seemed on the verge of losing control of her Firebolt, she always managed to recover in the nick of time - as if operating on pure willpower.

Cormac McLaggen was, as expected, another of the successful fliers. He completed his circuit with ease and without mistake, landed his Firebolt gracefully, and sauntered over to Harry.

"Not bad, eh," he favorably critiqued his own performance. "I'm trying out for both Keeper and Beater…. Can't put all the old eggs in one hamper, you know."

"That's wise," Harry responded noncommittally, having difficulty getting beyond the Seventh Year's unappreciated "boomwin" comment from his first night back. "Ron's supposed to be really good."

"So I hear," McLaggen replied evenly. "But enough of him, what I really want to know is when will you show up at one of old Sluggy's get togethers. He's been complaining about it, you know. Hell, even Weasley made the one last night."

"Sorry, but I've got better things to do than attend a bunch of meet and greets," Harry replied cautiously.

"No you don't," McLaggen disagreed. "You never know who you might meet there who could do you some good. Last night I met Alvin Farnsworth and Nicola Belby - both of whom are N.E.W.T. practical examiners, by the way."

Before Harry could respond to that, a whistle sounded. McLaggen said, "Gotta go, Harry. It looks like it's Keepers and Chasers first. Good luck." He gave Harry a pat on the back (rather harder than necessary for a purely friendly gesture) and sped off.

McLaggen was right. Katie opted to begin the head-to-head tryouts with teams of rival Chasers and Keepers. She told Harry to "grab a Snitch, go topside and loosen up."

Harry obeyed and was soon perched some fifty metres in the air, desultorily catching and releasing a rather overused practice Snitch with a bent wing. He spent more time watching the head-to-head below him and rooting for Ron than he did preparing for his own tryout.

Harry caught the lopsided Snitch for the third or fourth time.

Ron was doing rather well, Harry thought. Both girls trying out for Keeper had been awful. No real competition there.

But McLaggen put up rather more of a fight. Through the first five shots on goal, Ron had blocked them all - and only one of them had even looked like a difficult save. Still, McLaggen was right there with him. Harry had never seen this guy play before, but he was visibly skilled. He wondered why McLaggen had never tried out previously.

Ron was better, though. At least three of McLaggen's blocks had been of the desperation variety. Unlike Ron, he seemed rather more lucky than good.

Then they switched teams with the Seekers. Play had barely resumed when Ginny got a quick score on McLaggen. On the next run, she executed an amazing behind-the-back pass to a teammate for another successful shot on ring. He hears spectators in the stands rooting for her - calling her something that sounded like "Magic." Having never heard it before, Harry had no idea what that nickname represented.

What was obvious was that, as much as her brother sometimes infuriated her, Ginny had been taking it easy whilst her team had been opposing Ron. Like Ron, though, she had really taken her Quidditch to another level over the summer. McLaggen had no chance now.

Oops, there was that Snitch again. Harry did a barrel roll and went after it. It would be his turn soon.

Whoosh.

Something shot by him from above and behind, at almost twice his less-than-all-out speed. Harry pulled up to avoid a collision as the blur cut him off. He, or she, exploded into that poor Snitch, capturing it roughly with a triumphant cry of "Yi-yi-yi-yi…."

The voice gave the mystery flier away as female. The rider slowed, banked a little uncertainly on the powerful broom, and turned back towards him - a manic grin splitting her very young, rather dark-skinned face. Harry recognised her as the breakneck rider whose barely controlled flying had attracted his attention during that first flight of Gryffindor hopefuls.

"Hi, I'm Harry," he said, introducing himself. "That was some flying. Who are you…?"

"I know who you are, everybody does," the girl said rather pointedly. Her sleek, dark hair fell easily back into place as she came to a stop. She flipped the Snitch - now with both wings bent - back at him. "These are actually your brooms, I gather…. Good choice." She started to fly away.

Harry flew after her, "Wait a minute, you never told me your name," he protested.

"Oh, you can call me Jazzy," she called out over her shoulder. "Everybody else does - when they're making nice, that is."

Harry caught up to her, and using some of the Auror-level flying techniques he had been taught over the summer, he brought her gradually to a halt. "I don't want to call you what everybody else does. I want to call you what you want me to. I've been called a lot of things I don't like either…."

She was visibly aggravated by being outmanœuvred in flight, "All right, then don't call me anything at all." She started to fly off again, but Harry put a silent Restraining Charm on her Firebolt and it stopped moving. "Fine," she huffed, "you can call me `Jazzy Habbi,' or better than that, `Your Worst Nightmare' if you dare."

"I rather doubt that," Harry replied, beginning to get impatient with her repeated impertinence.

"How so," she replied curtly. "You've seen how well I can fly…."

"I've had some really awful nightmares," Harry replied. "I don't think you'd come close to living up to that name."

"I rather think I could match you nightmare, for nightmare," she growled her answer. "At least people care what happens to you…."

Harry was almost at a loss for words when he heard a whistle blow and Katie Bell's magically amplified voice booming across the pitch. "Seeker candidates, kindly take your positions, if you're ready to stop sharing tea and sympathy."

He looked uncertainly at the girl. "You? You're trying for Seeker?"

"You got that right," she said firmly. "Expecting you'd have it handed to you again, I suppose?" She roared off to the other end of the pitch at her customarily excessive rate of speed.

Katie released a match-quality Snitch.

It was Harry and two Beaters against Jazzy whatshername and another pair. He had that great oaf McLaggen and a Third-Year named Jimmy Peakes handling the Bludgers on his "team," whilst the girl was backed (if one could call it that) by last year's returnee Andrew Kirke and a Fourth-Year Harry recognised as Richie Cooke. The other "veteran" Beater from last term, that berk Jack Sloper, had botched the inverted turn on the final flight, lost control, and fallen off his Firebolt. Katie had not expected returnees to have any difficulty with that initial test, so no guards had been stationed. Sloper had hit the ground hard and broken his shoulder.

This girl was a maniac.

She seemed to have only two speeds - fast and faster. She never smiled, and she had this grimly determined glint in her eye that positively unnerved him. On the other hand, it was glaringly obvious that she had never handled any broom approaching a Firebolt's quality. Inexperience caused her to miss turns regularly. Harry thought he could exploit that….

After a few minutes searching, Harry caught his first glimpse of the Snitch - off to one side, level with him, trying to hide in the glare of the sun now low in the western sky. He pelted off after it. Just as he was closing in, that crazy girl careened in from his left and cut off his approach. Simultaneously, a Bludger shot in from the other direction, and both fliers had to take evasive action.

"Sorry about that, mate," McLaggen's voice boomed out as he flew by. Under his breath, Harry heard him mutter, "Bloody Golliwog…." The burly Seventh Year (perfect Beater's build) started shouting instructions to Peakes - and it seemed to the opposing Beaters as well - "Look sharper, this time…! You take her high and I'll take her low…!"

And so it went for what seemed like an eternity. Even though he was much better protected from Bludgers by his Beaters, Harry could not seem to get to the Snitch and end the ruddy competition. Every time he got close, that Jazzy girl would do something dangerous and turn him away. She flew fast and furious - and, Harry had to admit, rather well. She had raw talent … talent the likes of which he had not seen at Hogwarts since … well … himself, when he first started.

But this was just wasting time. Harry knew the Seeker's position was his, no matter what happened, and that Katie was just holding this tryout for show. This stubborn hellion of a girl was keeping him from visiting Hermione.

After he was blocked - it probably would have been a Skinning foul in a real match - for what must have been the tenth time, a frustrated Harry decided to end the charade. Surely, this raw recruit had never seen what he had in mind.

He soared back up, looking madly around for the Snitch. After he caught sight of it, high and to his left, he located her more or less behind him. Deliberately, he put his Firebolt into a power dive - straight ahead. He squinted into the orange rays of the setting sun as he descended. Predictably, she followed, no doubt thinking he was chasing the Snitch again.

Only this time, Harry was feinting - the Wronski feint performed straight into the setting sun so she would not be able to tell that the Snitch was not there - but rather was above and to one side.

To complete the deception, Harry extended his hand as the turf rose to meet them both. Sure enough, she went for it, practically Blatching him. At the absolute last instant, he veered up and away from her and took off to where the Snitch really was - a perfectly executed feint.

Only it was too perfectly executed. Harry was pointed upwards with the Snitch in his sights when he heard a high pitched scream cut off abruptly by the sound of a broom-snapping, bone-shattering crash. He broke off his pursuit just in time to see the girl bouncing crazily along the Pitch, her arms and legs flopping like a rag doll's.

She came to rest face down in the grass with one arm beneath her at an odd angle. Within a few seconds, a panting Harry Potter had hopped off his broom next to her bloodied and battered figure. Kneeling down, he heard a faint moan. He was on the verge of turning her over when….

"No, Harry, leave her be!" Captain Katie commanded.

Harry stopped and turned. "What?! She's hurt."

"Damn right … and anything you do would probably make it worse," Katie shot back. "Get out of the way, I'm pre-Healer. Petrificus totalus. Wingardium leviosa."

The girl's rigidly immobilised form rose from the pitch. "I know you want to save her. You always do. But after a crash like that, there's no telling what might be broken, and moving her the wrong way could just cause more problems. Now out of my way whilst I get her to the Hospital Wing. Oh, and congratulations, Harry, you're obviously the starting Seeker. I'll sort the Beaters out later."

Katie left, taking the injured girl with her. Ron and the rest of the rest of those who had successfully made the team, either as starters or reserves, surrounded Harry, patting him on the back and praising his effort.

"…and a great feint there, at the end, too," Ron chirped happily. "Executed to perfection…."

"…I can't believe the way she was fouling you, too," Ginny added, nudging Harry in the direction of the Gryffindor locker room. "She was trying to make up in cheek what she lacked in skill."

"…Still, I thought it was mean to use the Wronski thing like that," came the contrary voice of Demelza Robbins, a Fifth-Year who had probably made the team for the first time as the third Chaser. "Half the time she was barely in control of that…."

"Oh, nonsense!" McLaggen broke in. "Harry was well within his rights, with that bloody wog bint jostling him like that…."

"Cormac, watch your mouth," Ginny chided. "If Parvati heard that, she'd hex you."

"Let her try…."

"Oh, shove off, McLaggen, or I'll sic Cho on you," Ron threatened. He sympathetically put an arm around Harry and guided him into the boy's side of the locker room. "Obscurus. Still, she who lives by the sword, dies by the sword, eh mate? She did have it coming…."

Harry only grunted. He tended to agree more with Demelza than anyone else. He had allowed that girl to get to him - to wind him up. He had overreacted and used a World-Cup-level manœuvre on a ruddy Third-Year who had never been on a Firebolt before. Now somebody else was sharing the Hospital Wing with Hermione.

A very subdued Harry Potter showered and changed quickly. Giving Ron a business card for Blackie Howe, he asked the redhead to send an owl. Gryffindor would need a replacement Firebolt - and he wanted to know how his solicitor was coming along with his special request item….

He asked them all to tell Dobby, if they saw him first, that he wanted to take supper in the Hospital Wing rather than in the Great Hall.

When Harry arrived at the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey was still working on Jazzy, assisted by Katie and another of the upper form pre-Healers. The Charge Nurse pointedly ignored Harry - although she made sure he overheard her ostensibly private mutterings. "…insanity. Giving these children such overpowered brooms, and calling it sport. I wonder how many more I'll get like this…."

After Harry stayed with Hermione for several hours, a gaggle of Chinese Healers trooped in, all in magnificent yellow robes with red designs and green trim. They built an elaborate tent-like structure over Hermione, and for most of the rest of the night tried one spell after another. Harry could understand very little of what they said, but he caught a few phrases he had learned from Lao Kung. Chinese Legilimency was one thing these wizards were attempting.

Eventually, the Chinese Healers rested. They had to regroup from a rather alarming moment when one of their number almost became lost inside Hermione's mind. For several tense minutes, the situation was touch and go. The woman who went in was only barely retrieved - thanks to some sort of reddish magical twine. Harry used the pause to ask one of them, "Sir, do you know anything about a wizard named Kung Meng-tse? He was my Sefu before he got hurt and…."

"Ah, Lao Kung," the wizard answered with a knowing smile. "And you are Hahli Potter, no doubt, the Master's prize student?"

"I am?" Harry answered, unaware how highly the Sefu had thought of him. "Er … I am," he stated more affirmatively in response to the Chinese Healer's quizzical look.

"Lao Kung is recovering," the Healer answered. "He will have some … permanent injuries … but his magic is intact. When we return to Shandong, I shall tell him that you asked for him."

"Is he likely to come back?" Harry asked.

"You mean to England?" the wizard replied. "Not likely. You see, he is at home. His opportunity to instruct you over the summer has ended, and you are back in the hands of your Dumbadoh. Lao Kung believes you are in better hands than his own."

"That's too bad," Harry sighed. "I liked learning what he had to teach … a lot."

"I shall tell him that," the Healer replied. "He will be pleased."

Unfortunately, for all their efforts, the Chinese Healers were no more successful than their predecessors were. Thursday morning dawned with Hermione's condition unchanged.

* * * *

Classes were relatively light for Harry on Thursdays. After staying up late urging on the Chinese Healers, he slept in. Padding down to the common room, he and everyone else present were treated to Cormac McLaggen's rant about the injustice of the Gryffindor Quidditch team's postings. The gist of it was that he had not been named a starter - not for Keeper, which even he expected was out of reach - but not as Beater either, as Captain Katie had "gone with those kids." Katie was absent, something probably best for the both of them.

Harry did run into Katie whilst exchanging books after the Arithmancy N.E.W.T. seminar that Hermione had convinced him to take. The captain was interested in his opinion.

"Harry," Katie said, whilst grabbing him by the arm and steering him to a vacant corner of the common room. "Since you're the senior member of the team by experience, I wanted to make sure that you're all right with my picks."

"Actually, I haven't bothered to look," Harry confessed. "But from the way McLaggen reacted, I think I know who you tipped to start as Beaters."

"Actually, I would just as soon have been shot of the lot of them," Katie replied. "But we have to have Beaters, so I went with the ones I thought were the most redeemable. You don't suppose you could prevail on Fred and George to return to school do you?"

"Not on your life," Harry replied. "From what I can tell they're raking in the Galleons. What's got you so cross with the Beaters?"

"Oh, Harry, didn't you notice?" Katie groaned. "They weren't working together with their Seeker. I think McLaggen co-opted them to let his shots through. I'm amazed that your competition lasted as long as she did, having to dodge so many Bludgers. Anyway, I decided not to stand for that, so ringleader McLaggen's the reserve, even though he was probably the best of the lot. I hope you're okay with that."

Harry was thoughtful. "I think you did right. McLaggen didn't like that Jazzy girl."

Katie thought more than that was going on. "And he was trying to suck up to you, Harry. I think that new Potions master's a bad influence - worse than Snape in some ways."

"I dunno," Harry said noncommittally. "When you consider Snape's a Death Eater, it's hard to get much worse."

Katie went back to her original subject, "Anyway, even though he's a reserve at two positions, I'm not all that inclined to play McLaggen unless somebody gets hurt."

"I wouldn't tell him that, though," Harry responded.

"I'm captain," Katie huffed, "I'll tell him anything I damn well please."

"You don't want anybody to get hurt, though," Harry observed coolly.

"What…?" Katie replied. "You don't think…."

"I just wouldn't want to chance it," Harry advised. "I'm not sure he should be on the team at all - talk about bad influences."

"Then maybe I'm making a mistake," Katie said worriedly, "but he can sub at two positions. That's important, because it frees up a slot for a reserve Seeker."

Harry's eyebrows rose as he eyed Katie questioningly. "You don't mean…," he started.

"Yes," Katie confirmed. "I think Jazzy earned that spot with a rather gutsy performance against you yesterday. Do you think you can train her?"

Harry thought things over, "I'll sure try, but I think she hates me. She's got the biggest chip on her shoulder I've ever seen."

"From what I've heard, she seems to hate everybody - especially guys," Katie observed. "If you'd rather not…. Well, that's why I wanted to run this by you. We are short a broom now."

"No, that wouldn't be right," Harry countered, "and I'm having the broom replaced. She has a lot of talent."

"She reminds me of you, Harry," Katie said.

"You know?" he agreed, "I've had the same thought. If I can only reach her…."

The Hospital Wing now held two girls whom Harry needed to reach. He was going to start the easier job right after DADA, when Shak held him back, telling him that he needed to see Professor McGonagall, and that she was waiting for him in her office. It was unusual for his Head of House to wait around for anyone, let alone a student, so Harry was rather concerned as he knocked on her door.

"Come in, Potter," came her clipped voice.

He opened the door as noiselessly as possible and slipped in. Seeing Professor McGonagall sitting rather formally behind her desk, Harry deposited himself in the empty chair facing her. Before he had a chance to say anything, she addressed him again, whilst looking at something long and black on her desk.

"Potter, I have received something intended for you. The Headmaster is not here at the moment, so the presentation falls to me." Harry recognised the object in her hand as a very fancy ebonywood wand box. Its top bore a mother-of-pearl inlaid pattern he could not quite make out.

"The work was delayed whilst you were being held," she said, "and there was a Death Eater raid of some sort on Mister Ollivander's premises that caused him to go into hiding. But once you were retrieved, he was determined to finish this. It arrived at Hogwarts yesterday - through Order channels."

She handed Harry the box. As he took it, he saw that the mother-of-pearl mosaic made out six letters, reading vertically, from top to bottom:

J

P

S

B

H

P

Inside Harry found a handwritten note from Mr. Ollivander:

Mr. Potter

I am enclosing the wand you commissioned, for which payment in full has been received. I apologise for not meeting the originally promised date, but your circumstances changed. In your absence, there was some question as to the wisdom of completing such an object. My unwanted visitors further disrupted matters.

I hope you will be as pleased with the result as I am. In your hands, the combination should be quite powerful, even if this wand lacks some of the notable characteristics of your first. This one has unique attributes of its own, as it is imbued with residual magic of its prior owners - and the power of what they felt for you.

Please remember that all wands act as a channel, using the magic they contain to focus the magic flowing through them.

Octavian Ollivander

When he finished reading, Harry looked up at Professor McGonagall with tears shining in his eyes.

"Yes, you may use it, Potter," she affirmed. "But please be gentle with it. Professor Flitwick tells me you made quite a mess of his assistant's office. I don't fancy a similar cleanup."

Harry grasped the wand reverently. He could practically feel it hum with power. He decided to practise with a simple Summoning Charm. He thought about summoning the Marauder's Map, because of its links to both his father and Sirius - but in McGonagall's presence, he thought better of it. "Accio photo book," he said instead.

Instead of taking its time flying through the halls of Hogwarts, the book instantly appeared.

"My, my, Potter," Professor McGonagall commented. "That was no ordinary Summoning Charm."

"The note … it said that the wand's still connected to both my dad and Sirius in some way," explained Harry. "This book - it contains pictures of them both."

Professor McGonagall smiled. "Very good, Potter, you never know when something special like that might come in handy. For that reason, Headmaster Dumbledore thought you might also need this." She handed Harry what looked like a half-metre long piece of shimmering cloth.

Upon examination it turned out to be new wrist holster, just like the one that had disappeared during his kidnapping - except it was double-barreled.

Whilst Harry strapped it on, Professor McGonagall offered an explanation. "When the Headmaster gave Mister Ollivander the go-ahead to complete this, he realised it would be more than the usual reserve wand. So he asked Kingsley to obtain a dual holster. A number of Aurors, including Alastor, have relied upon more than one wand at various times. Think of it as an additional resource."

"I'll have to thank them both," Harry said, as he inserted both wands in the holster. "When will Headmaster Dumbledore be back?"

"When he has completed what he is doing. That is all I know," Professor McGonagall replied.

With that, it appeared that the interview was over. Harry stood to leave.

"Oh, and Potter…?"

Hearing Professor McGonagall's voice, Harry turned back to face her.

"As you may know I was opposed to what Miss Granger did … until Albus told me about … well, your fate. I finally acquiesced when she was our only hope of finding you, and I must say that Miss Granger was extraordinarily resourceful in bringing that about."

Harry did not know what to say. He clamped down further on his emotions with Occlumency. "Umm … that's what I've been told. She found me just in time. Sometimes I wish she hadn't."

"It's the Egyptians tonight, you know," continued Professor McGonagall, "the oldest magic in the world. If that doesn't work, tomorrow the Yanks are coming - with their big talk and big machines. After that … I don't know…."

Harry had never known Professor McGonagall to wander from one thought to another like she seemed to be doing. "Dumbledore lets me watch," he commented.

Professor McGonagall switched subjects again as she uncharacteristically struggled with not only her composure, but what she wanted to say. "Potter … all I know is that I, personally, have no answers. I just hope that if you ever … find yourself in … in the same position she did. I hope you will prove to be equally resourceful."

He just stared at his Head of House.

She dismissed him. "That is all Potter. You may go."

Harry was lost in thought as he made his way to the Hospital Wing. What had Professor McGonagall meant by her rambling? Was she trying to tell him to defy Dumbledore's edict to leave Healing to the Healers? How could he ever be as resourceful as Hermione? That was one of the many things he depended on her for.

Reaching his destination, he saw that wild girl in one of the beds, still unconscious - but thankfully stable. Harry now knew enough about reading magical monitoring talismans to see that. Giving in to temptation, he took a look at her chart. "Eew - quadrilateral deboning and reboning - requiring two full bottles of Skele-Gro."

Harry had suffered through the reboning of one arm, which was bad enough. Now he had to find some way to reach this girl - who had disliked him, or worse, even before he had done this to her.

After several hours of studying and completing a Potions essay in Hermione's presence, Harry was ready for dinner. After that the Egyptian Healers would try to work their magic.

As he was leaving, Harry noticed that Jazzy was awake. She stared at him with an unreadable expression. He went to her bedside.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have done that…. You weren't experienced enough … and it was your first time on a Fireb…."

"Spare me your sympathy, Potter," Jazzy said, sounding weak but resentful. Her eyes, however, did not reflect the harshness of her words. "You beat me straight up - I can't complain. In the end, it was just you and me … none of your Beater friends. But I'll be back next year."

"No, Jazeera," Harry corrected, "you'll be back this year. You're the reserve…."

Her eyes widened. "What did you just call me?"

"Your real name, Jazeera al-Habiba," Harry replied. "I read it off your chart. I know it's unusual, but I like it. I don't know why you don't."

"Come over here," she beckoned to him in a low voice, as if she were conserving her strength.

But as he leaned down to hear what she had to say, she brought a hand to her mouth. Then in an instant, before Harry had a chance to react, one of her hands darted out, catching his collar in a death-grip. The other - the hand that went to her mouth - was poised at his throat, a magically glowing and extremely sharp blade just touching his skin.

The intense look in her dark brown eyes was back - the look that had so unnerved Harry the day before. But the young witch, as stealthy as she was, had never seen the sort of magic Harry Potter was capable of.

There was a buzzing sound, a jolt, and a flash. He called upon the same force that had shocked Cousin Dudley during the Summer holiday, and Uncle Vernon the year before. This time it was considerably stronger. The girl flew away from him, and down, slamming into her sickbed and bouncing off it more than a metre into the air. Before she had even reached the apex of that bounce, Harry had his wand out. Using the multiple-spell technique the Aurors had taught him, he combined Petrificus totalus and Wingardium leviosa so that the maniac girl was both paralysed and floating in midair.

He thanked Katie Bell for that combination.

Harry noted the telltale odour of ozone and looked around. He half expected to contend with a furious Madam Pomfrey storming towards him, but she must have been taking her own supper in the Great Hall. There was nobody else around - except Hermione behind her screens, and she was insensate.

He allowed himself to relax just a bit. This girl's reaction had been so extreme it was difficult for him to comprehend. Even now, she was still clutching a piece of his collar that she had ripped clean off his shirt when he reflexively repulsed her. What had he done that was so horrible?

Even after what had just happened, Harry wanted to find out - only he would be more cautious this time.

He lowered her back to her bed. Then to prevent a recurrence, before he ended the other spell, he applied a Sticking Charm instead - but at least she could speak. Almost as soon as he had done it, though, Harry regretted his choice of spells. The girl squirmed frantically trying to get loose, and that caused her loose-fitting hospital gown to hike up altogether too high. Harry moved quickly to restore her modesty.

"Do it, and I swear I'll kill you," she hissed through gritted teeth. "I don't care who you are."

"Do what?" Harry instinctively responded. Then he realised where his hand had been reaching. Blushing fiercely he pulled it back and, with a short, sweeping movement accomplished the same result with wandless magic.

"Oh, no. I would never…," a shocked and embarrassed Harry stuttered.

"You wouldn't be the first," she spat, "but I promise you you'll be the last. You damn men aren't all that much different…."

"You…? You mean…? You have…?" Harry fumbled, dumbstruck.

"I told you yesterday, I could match you nightmare for nightmare," she answered abruptly. "You didn't believe me."

"I'm so sorry," he apologised. "If I let you go, will you promise at least not to attack me again?"

"As long as you promise not to call me by that bloody name again … yes, you'll be safe - from me that is," she agreed grudgingly. "But if you ever - and I mean ever - use it again, I swear you'll be grinning from ear to ear. I've got more blades where that one came from."

That was good enough for Harry. As a precaution, however, he drew his wand and trained it on her, then he incanted, "Finite."

As soon as she could move, Jazzy pulled the bedclothes over herself and glared at him. "You can go now," she directed.

"What…? But…? I don't … understand." Harry protested rather inarticulately. "There's nothing wrong with your name."

"Don't play dumb with me," Jazzy warned. "You know bloody well what that name means. It means I'm a goddamn Paki, Arabushit, a burkha bitch, a wog, a kabt, and all the other lovely things your friend McLaggen called me yesterday!"

"I … I hardly know McLaggen. That tosser's not my friend," Harry insisted. "I don't like people like that - they're the type who would call Hermione a Mudblood."

"I'm not stupid, Potter," she replied, disgustedly tossing at him the bit of his shirt collar she had torn off earlier. "I saw the two of you joking together before we started. Then he gets my Beaters to let all the Bludgers through."

"Please … Jazzy … will you let me explain before you go jumping to conclusions like that," Harry pleaded, not even sure why he cared.

Somewhat to his surprise, she did. Harry quickly explained to the glowering girl that he had never associated with and did not like McLaggen. He told her that his only real friends at Hogwarts were the five who had gone to the Ministry with him the previous June. This McLaggen oaf had insulted him and his friends as "Boomwins." Finally, he let slip that McLaggen was only on the Gryffindor team because it opened a spot for her.

"…And if you'll let me, I'll try to teach you everything I know about being a Seeker. I think you fly amazingly well. You're better than anyone I've seen at Hogwarts, except … maybe … well, maybe … me."

By the end of his monologue, Jazzy's fierce expression had softened to the point that there might have been just the barest hint of a smile in it. "All right…. Perhaps I have judged you too harshly. It's just that - well you're the Chosen One, and I'm … I'm just a Paki bint that nobody can figure out how I got into Hogwarts."

"So does that mean that you're a … Muslim?"

She looked at him like he had grown a second head. When she finally realised he was serious, she answered, "My family is Sufi, actually, but I suppose that's close enough."

"It's just … just that I've never really met one before," Harry tried to explain. "From what I've seen, I thought - I thought you had to wear that scarf thing on your head."

That nasty look returned to Jazzy's eyes as she scowled at what Harry said. Before she spoke, she made a visible effort to calm herself. "Not me, I'm from … from Universal Sufi," she replied. "My mother taught me that the hijab is a symbol of women being … well, second-class - inferior…. It's one reason my family left Kashmir when I was a baby. The struggle there created too much intolerance. But here in England, the problems turn out to be is almost as bad."

"Are your parents magical?" Harry asked.

Jazzy looked down, and said softly, "They were…."

"I'm sorry," Harry apologised. "I'm an orphan, too."

"Everyone knows your story," she replied pointedly. "But it doesn't compare to mine. Most of your kind think I'm just as much a bloody camel-driver as the rest of them, after coming here we had to live some Muslim ghetto. Thinking I was one of them, the English wouldn't have anything to do with me. At the same time the Muslims treated me like some kind of immodest tart because I wouldn't wear that rag on my head…. That's why I learned to carry this."

She reached under her pillow and pulled out another nasty looking thin steel blade. It was identical to the one she had threatened him with not long before.

Harry had let his wand drop down during the conversation. When he saw the blade he instantly trained it on her again.

"Don't worry, you're safe," she told him. "I need to be, too." Without a word she opened her mouth and deftly slipped the razor sharp blade under her tongue.

Again, Harry was shocked. "But … why?"

Jazzy's eyes became harder as she regarded him. Finally she decided to answer. "The first spontaneous magic I ever did was to summon one of these. Because of it nobody will ever take advantage of me again. I might die first, but I swear - anyone who tries…," she made a slashing motion, "… he'll never do that to anybody again."

Harry would have liked to continue the conversation, but after that Jazzy began to cough. Coincidentally, Madam Pomfrey returned from wherever she had gone to shoo him away.

Later that evening the Egyptians came. Their invocation of pyramid power was in vain. Hermione's condition remained unchanged.

* * * *

Overall, Harry considered his Occlumency to be a great success. It was a physical drain, but it kept him calm. Feeling a bit like a robot was an acceptable price to pay for preventing further incidents of spontaneous magic, and thus keeping the school and everyone in it, safe.

But Harry's emotions - his guilt over what had happened to Hermione - were only repressed, not absent. They were only waiting for a moment of weakness to burst forth.

He was back at Privet Drive, standing on his relatives' front garden in the dark - confronting a goodly number of witches and wizards. Suddenly, a red flash of spellfire. He rolled to his right and came up cursing. It was a mismatch, and he quickly took out his four maroon-robed attackers.

Now it was truly dark, far darker than was normal. The only light was the glow on his wand. He felt powerful. He heard Hermione's voice asking him to be careful. She was right - she was always right. He let his attackers go.

He tried to explain himself to Hermione…. How he had been misled. How he had never wanted to lie to her. What the Death Eaters had been planning to do to her. How he tried to stop them, but they had simply been too numerous and too powerful.

Did she believe him? He had no idea.

Suddenly Bill was there too. The scene replayed itself, as Harry offered the same apologies, in the same words, to his murdered guardian. Bill was angry with him - threatening to ground him.

Harry became riled in response. Nobody seemed to believe him. He needed them to believe him. He needed her to believe him most of all.

Dumbledore stepped forward and tried to calm him. But Dumbledore had been part of the problem. He had restrained him - kept him from telling her the truth. The Headmaster had used him as a tool, to keep the goblins happy and to pursue the damned prophecy.

He screamed at Dumbledore, overpowering Hermione's pleading voice.

Harry was beginning to spark. He felt powerful - like he was connecting with something much larger, and much Darker, than he was. His wandtip, far from fading out, was growing steadily brighter.

Snape appeared. That bastard had the nerve to address him after going over to Voldemort. Harry wanted to curse Snape - curse him into ashes for assisting that monster - the monster from whom he had tried and so spectacularly failed to protect Hermione. He raised his wand at his sneering enemy.

But Hermione was there. She tried to stop him. She ran at him screaming, "HARRY, DON'T BE A…."

She yelled this as she knocked him down. A blinding flash of blue-white light pierced the darkness, and an explosion louder than anything he had ever heard drowned out all other sound.

From flat on his back Harry watched a tremendous bolt of lightning strike her in the back. For an instant she glowed, then a fierce orange flame enveloped her, and she was gone.

Unable to move or do anything else, he screamed her name over and over again,, "HERMIONE!!! HERMIONE!!! HERMIONE!!! HERMIONE!!!

In the far distance, he heard a response, "Harry! Harry! Harry…!"

"Harry!"

"Harry!"

"Harry wake up, will you! You're having another nightmare!"

SMACK! SPLASH!

The combination of Ron's slap and Neville's well-placed pitcher of freezing cold water brought Harry out of it. Panting like he had just run the hundred-metre dash, he looked up into the concerned eyes of everyone in the dormitory - Ron, Neville, Dean, and Seamus.

"You…. You were glowing…," Neville declared haltingly, his voice choked with concern.

"He's right. You were lighting up like a Christmas tree," Seamus agreed.

"I'm - I'm sorry," Harry rasped.

"Is…? Is that … normal - well, for you that is?" Ron asked.

"Er … yeah," Harry lied, knowing full well that what had just happened was anything but normal. "I just forgot to take my potion, that's all." He reached for the bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion Dumbledore had provided him with earlier. He took a generous swallow directly from the bottle.

The following morning, whilst his dormitory mates were at breakfast, Harry took what he considered to be necessary precautions against any recurrence of the previous night's situation. He knew that what had happened was dangerous, and that he could not always count on the providential intervention of others. The next time…. Well, he better not have a next time.

Relying upon his summer training, he combined a spell that detected magical energy with a garden variety Pluvius Charm. For the energy level he used the power calculation that was recorded on his Auror intake boiler test, because that had hurt nobody. Anything more, and he would get the kind of drenching his mates had just given them - but without the necessity of waking them up. Finally, he cast a Silencing Charm on the bed curtains, so that he would neither embarrass himself nor annoy the other Sixth Years.

* * * *

Friday also meant a double period of Potions. Even though Snape was gone, it was still Harry's least favorite subject. He did not know which was worse: an instructor who wanted him to fail or an instructor who wanted him to succeed - and was determined to open all the "right doors" for him on the way to that success (whatever it was).

Still, nobody at Hogwarts knew more about chemicals than a Potions master, except maybe Dumbledore, and he was not around. That professor knew what Harry needed to know at the moment. Thus, after class had ended, and with a long afternoon ahead of him, Harry bit the bullet.

"Er … Professor Slughorn," he said as he approached. "I have a question about a Potion … well about an ingredient anyway."

"Call me `Slug,' Harry. All my friends do," the professor replied jovially. "Come to think of it, I have a question for you as well…."

Neither of them spoke for a long moment after that, until Harry broke the silence. "Er … you can go first, sir. You're the instructor."

Oh, very well," Slughorn responded. "Always the polite one, you are. I want to know when you will attend one of my little get togethers with the `Slug Club.' With your multiple talents - and now all those Galleons - you're going to go far, I know it. At my soirées you'll meet people who can assist you in getting where you want to go. And who knows? Maybe you'll meet somebody whom you could help out as well."

"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry answered, "but I'm just not in the mood to attend parties just yet. I've been through a lot recently, and I'm still learning to cope. It just wouldn't feel right. I'd be out of place."

"Harry, Harry, Harry…. I'm never going to force you to do anything," Slughorn responded. "But I really do think you need to get out of that shell a little bit - in the right company, of course. Tell you what.… If I'm able to help you with your inquiry, will you come? And if there's anyone you'd like to see on the guest list, just let me know."

"Oh, all right - yeah." Wearily, Harry agreed. If Slughorn could help him learn what he really needed to know, he would gladly suffer one of his parties. The trouble was, Harry increasingly felt that what he needed was a miracle. But he had no faith in the supernatural. Nor did he really expect an opportunity to chat up God at the Slug Club.

"That's excellent, Harry - truly excellent," Slughorn responded, a big grin creasing his face. "Now what can I help you with?"

From his robes Harry pulled out a bit of parchment, on which he had copied the mystery set of characters from Hermione's living will. "I need to know about this," he said, handing the scrap to Slughorn. "I've heard it called `Farmer's reducer' and `potassium ferricyanide,' if that helps."

"Now this is truly unusual," the Potions master said, staring at the symbols. "If you'd come in here asking about aconite, or Abyssinian shrivelfig, or even leeches, I'd be able to tell you a great deal that you could use. There's just not much to know about Farmer's reducer."

"Please, sir," Harry prompted. "It's important. I'm not sure how, but it is."

"Very well," Slughorn said. "It's used as a colouring agent in Egad's Blood Imitating Potion, but not as an active ingredient. It's used for the same purpose in Bard's Bile for Boils, a minor Healing Potion, because it is effective at counteracting some effects of black bile. It's also been used to sterilise Hinkypunks. It works, but don't ask me why."

The professor raised his wand and gave it a lazy flick. A large book whizzed across the room to Slughorn's desk. "Let's see if Paracelsus' Pantheon of Potions can shed any light on the subject."

For the next half-hour Harry and Slughorn reviewed all the Potions reference books in the professor's not inconsiderable library. They found a number of other magical uses for the chemical - all of them obscure and none of them conceivably relevant to Hermione's current situation.

"…That's everything that I have, Harry - at least on magical uses. Farmer's reducer also has a number of Muggle uses. We can start on those if you like, but I really don't know very much about more than a couple of those. It did come in handy once, in the first war against You Know Who."

"How could that be?" asked Harry, only mildly interested. He was afraid that he was only wasting his time. "How could something Muggle help fight Voldemort?"

"Please, Harry, I'd rather if you not use that name around me," Slughorn requested edgily. "You see, we used it to pass secret messages. The Dark Lord's forces seemed to know, and be able to break, every magical code that there was. So we had to resort to Muggle means, which the Death Eaters did not deign bothering to learn. We used invisible ink, and potassium ferricyanide activates a couple of those agents. Let me see…. Wait here a bit."

As Slughorn waddled through a door into a back room, Harry could barely contain his excitement. Finally, something made some sense! Hermione knew the only way he would ever read her living will was if he lived and something went terribly wrong for her. In that circumstance, she would surely want to leave a message - a private message - explaining herself to him.

`Please, Hermione,' he silently pleaded. `I need a clue. I need to do something, but I don't know what.'

* * * *

Author notes: K3[Fe(CN)₆] is the chemical formula for potassium ferricyanide a/k/a Farmers reducer. All of the Muggle attributes given to it are accurate

Statim, "stat" for short, is a medical term for "immediately"

"Completely unreceptive" is part of a continuing subplot (minor cross-over) with the Hlr. Huxley character

"Eyes react to light" is another part of the part of the subplot

The definition of "heroic measures" is accurate

Percussive maintenance is a joke term referring to striking a malfunctioning machine to fix it

A transducer is a medical device. It functions as described

I accurately describe an EEG

Thomas Walker is another part of the subplot

Sensation is another part of the subplot

The Mirror of Erised is another part of the subplot

Murgatroyd's is similar to Harrison's in the real world

"Flick and rock" is another part of the subplot

"Differential diagnosis" is a fancy medical term for the process of elimination

"Inner block" and "hope lies with her" are the final parts of the subplot

Oxytoccin is a hormone implicated in, among other things, human sexual response

Fleur's mention of the power of love is foreshadowing (my other fic has developed this)

I changed the source of the "fanciable" line from HBP

Lavender Brown's action parallels the Witches Weekly story described in Ch. 7

I track the phrase, "I'd rather be lucky than good"

As mentioned earlier, Ginny's nickname is the same as Magic Johnson's

All of the insults are actual UK ethnic slurs, except for Arabushit, which is Hebrew/Israeli

Skinning is deliberately flying to collide

Blatching is basically the same as skinning

J P S B H P - the initials of James Potter, Sirius Black, and Harry Potter

"Quadrilateral" in this sense means all four limbs

Jazeera is Arabic for truth; Habiba is a Sufi saint

I once dated a girl who knew how to conceal a razor blade under her tongue

I thought the story could use a Muslim character, especially since there's a substantial Muslim minority in Britain

Sufi is an offshoot of Islam, sort of like Mormonism is an offshoot of Christianity

Universal Sufi is a real sect

Jazzy has Lorena Bobbit ideas

Biting the bullet is how wounded soldiers before anesthesia went through amputations

Bingo! Farmer's reducer activates invisible ink, but that was revealed almost a full chapter ago

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