More Equal than you Know

The Obsidian Warlock

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 14/08/2007
Last Updated: 09/01/2008
Status: in_progress

AU. OVERHAUL IN PROGRESS: Please see A/N in Chapter 1. On October 31st, 1981, Voldemort left behind a piece of his power and insanity. A look at the life of Harry Potter with the abilities of a young Tom Riddle, and the hidden war between the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix.

Chapters

1. Prologue

2. Teachers, Timetables, and Trolls

3. For Christmas, there will be a Test

4. A League of their Own

5. Home and Castle, Part 1

6. Playing Chess with the Devil

7. Home and Castle, Part 2

8. Year of the Serpent -- Autumn

9. Year of the Serpent -- Winter

10. Year of the Serpent -- Black Christmas

11. Year of the Serpent -- Spring

1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: There’s a reason behind the sluggishness of the recent updates to MEtyK: It’s time to clean the story up a bit.

Or a lot.

When I started this story, my first ever, I knew that the first few chapters would be choppy and inconsistent compared to the later ones. Boy was I right. I am committed to this story, and I want to put out the highest possible quality. This began as a writing exercise, and I’m continuing to learn as I go, so it’s only fair to go back and correct my work, just like any other self-respecting writer would do to a manuscript.

I present to you a completely overhauled version of More Equal than you Know, one chapter at a time; much of it is the same, but I’ve spaced things out a bit more, and adjusted situations to conform more directly to the reality I have created. This isn’t just a run-through to correct typos and grammar; I’ve removed, added, and changed entire sections of story to increase readability, as well as the reader’s immersion into the story and the world.

WARNING: There will be some obvious minor inconsistencies as I go though adjusting chapters, so bear with me. When in doubt, the overhauled chapters are correct, and the later chapters will change to reflect this.

I’ve maintained parts of the first person, but I’ve come to realize the inferiority of the tense that I’m writing in. There is far less to work with when the writer is trapped behind the eyes of the protagonist, so I’ve found what I thought was a very creative method to overcome that.

In the end, it’s much the same story that you’ve all enjoyed. I hope you continue to do so.

I hope to God that I’ve taken care of all the bookkeeping issues, but as always, let me know if you find any.

Onwards!

~TOW

--MORE EQUAL THAN YOU KNOW--

PROLOGUE

She walked slowly towards the house, anticipation and fear building. Despite her experiences, it was rare for her to be alone, even for a short while. Her scalp ached, reminding her how tightly she had braided her hair – not one of her brown curls were free today, looped and twisted tightly against her head. She ignored the pain as best she could; it served as a practical reminder to be cautious. Her wand twitched in her hand, as though it expected combat.

It was a small, insignificant white speck in the middle of the prairie field, nothing but grass and the occasional tree for miles around, the sun and a spattering of clouds the only objects in the blue sky. There was no road or driveway. There was no need for a fence. Despite its brand-new appearance, there was a feeling of ancient timelessness to the place.

He wouldn’t be here.

It was at once her greatest fear, hope and pride that she knew him so well. Despite the effort it took to find this place, the small clues he had left, he would not be here to meet her. Not in this place, so different from the reality they both knew; from the darkness that threatened them and their loved ones.

The front door was unlocked and opened silently and easily to her touch. It exposed a modest interior, opening directly into the living room with only a modest space for shoes and a side-closet to hang coats. The inside walls were as white as the outside, and sunlight poured through the windows, giving the room an almost ethereal brightness.

The kitchen was only a doorway away, but her instincts led her up the stairs to her left, to the second floor. A small bathroom greeted her at the top of the stairs, just beside the door to the master bedroom. Two smaller rooms further down the hall caught her attention briefly, but her focus returned to the bedroom now in front of her.

She entered quietly, feeling like a dark stain on this otherwise perfect house. Her discomfort fled immediately as she spied a small tome on the bed, its weight creating a small dent in the covers. A small smile played at the corner of her mouth as she spied the title on the cover, one word spelled out in small golden letters.

‘Hermione.’

She picked up the book with reverence, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. Elation and despair warred within her; as she had suspected, he was not here. He had left this book for her, the familiar feel of his conjurations and enchantments playing across the cover. Unable to restrain herself longer than the few seconds it took to erect a perimeter alarm, she opened the cover and began to read.

--//--//--

Dearest Hermione,

It's hard to be optimistic when the world uses you as a crutch.

That sounds a bit over the top, I guess, but I'm one of the few people in the world that can say it and not be lying. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to meet you directly, but the timing of everything to come is so bloody specific that I really don’t have more than about five minutes of leeway at any point in time. You knew that, I’m sure, but I’ll ask you to forgive me all the same.

This book is more than just a letter for you: It’s also a container for the most important memories of my life. I’m leaving this to you, as a gift, a reminder of all we’ve shared, as well as my legacy should I fail later today. Show this to anyone you trust, so that they know what they’re up against, and what we’ve accomplished so far. Use this to build your allies and pick up where I’ve left off.

On the other hand, if I’m still alive by the end of this, we can use it to tell our story like some insipid muggle home video. I’m rooting for this option, naturally.

Once you turn the page, the show starts: Seven years of Hogwarts, Voldemort, doom, and gloom that I'm sure you're just dying to relive. I’d suggest you take the time to go through it now, before you leave. Nothing can bother you in this place; I’ve made sure of it.

In case of the worst, I want you to remember the two most important things I could ever tell you: I love you, and I’m proud of you.

With love,

Harry.

--//--//--

Seizing her courage, she turned the page, and fell immediately into a kaleidoscopic tunnel. Several hours passed, before the book released her to reality. Her mind whirling, she grabbed the book and turned on the spot, the crack of her disapparition causing the bed sheets to flutter. So many others needed to see this; she had so much to do.

Several hours later, a select group of witches, wizards and muggles stood around the book, the last testament of Harry Potter. After only a moment’s hesitation, one of the people reached forward and carefully turned the page, before crying out and vanishing, only to reappear in the hallway of a muggle household, standing beside the pale illusion of a smirking Harry Potter.

--//--//--

Did you enjoy your trip? It’s quite the rush, I know. Take your time, all of you. Get comfortable. I’m sure Hermione’s told you all about where you are, so I’m not going to bore you with explanations of Pensieves and their derivative magics. You’ll be able to hear my general train of thought, too, so be careful not to block it.

For now, the part that you all need to know is that Voldemort attacked me and tried to kill me on October 31, 1981. He failed, and the Avada Kedavra curse backfired on him as pure magical force, destroying his body. In the process, it was believed that some of Voldemort's power was absorbed into me, granting me power and giving me the lightning-bolt scar on my forehead. In fact, it was supposed to mark me as his “equal,” as I would find out later.

It did not. There is no part of Voldemort inside me. In fact, any part of him in contact with me at that point would have been destroyed; due to my mother's sacrifice, we were now as opposite as the north and south poles. The curse changed me, however, because it acted as a conduit along which Voldemort's magic and my own collided. Voldemort's power rammed right into my tiny little one-year-old magic core, overwhelming it and forcing it to adjust or perish in the onslaught.

I survived, so I guess I adjusted.

Everyone should already know a bit about my early childhood. Dumbledore, in a mix of desperation and hope, placed me in the care of my mother's muggle relatives, the Dursleys. That’s whose house you’re standing in, by the way.

The good news was that I was completely safe from Voldemort's remaining forces while I grew up, and the wizarding world was not aware that there was a child whose magical power was astronomical for his age; the bad news was that the Dursleys hated magic and everyone associated with it, including my mother. They took that hatred out on me as often as they could, especially when one of my frequent bouts of accidental magic occurred.

My torment lasted until just after my seventh birthday. My accidental magic had done nothing but increase, and everything came to a head that summer. Let’s look, shall we?

--//--//--

“C’mere, Harry!” Dudley called. “I’ve got sumthin’ to show ya!”

Harry bolted as fast as he could across the house, several times faster than his fat, lumbering cousin could follow. This was nothing new; Dudley had a new toy construction vehicle, a gift given to him just two days ago, on Harry’s birthday. The injustice of that wasn’t on Harry’s mind, however. His more pressing concern was that the new toy had sharp edges, which Dudley would gladly hit Harry with repeatedly. So, Harry ran.

Harry slammed the kitchen door shut, flipping the small lock. Dudley knew better than to damage the door or house, so Harry was safe for the moment. It was a short moment, though, as the front door opened, and Uncle Vernon waddled in, his thick moustache twitching from a long day at work. His beady eyes flicked between the locked kitchen door and Harry, and he turned his large frame to his nephew.

‘What did you do, boy?’ he asked threateningly.

There was a sudden pounding on the door. ‘Dad!’ screamed Dudley. ‘Help me! Harry’s done something to me! Help!’

Vernon moved faster than his rolls of flab should allow, rushing to the kitchen door and unlocking it. Dudley shoved past him, intent on attacking Harry. Not willing to take a beating from both his uncle and his cousin, Harry vaulted over the back of the sofa with practiced ease, quickly putting the coffee table between him and his cousin as well. Dudley ambled around the couch, and started to move around the coffee table, Vernon coming around the other side. Harry chose the lesser of two evils, and dashed for Dudley, shoving the round boy with every ounce of strength his thin arms could muster. Dudley fell away with a surprised yelp, and Harry moved on.

Less than two strides away, a thunderous crash echoed through the room, and Harry turned to stare at the sight of his cousin’s flying form tearing through the wall more than ten feet away, landing on the kitchen table, which screeched across the floor.

That was impossible.

So entranced with the unbelievable sight, Harry put up no resistance when Uncle Vernon grabbed him. ‘Get in there!’ he shouted, moving Harry towards the cupboard where they kept him. With a forceful shove, Harry fell inside, and the door slammed shut behind him, the lock clicking into place. His shoulder ached slightly from Uncle Vernon’s grip, but it didn’t keep his mind away from what had happened, as well as the possible implications. Dudley had flown across the living room and through the kitchen wall, and Harry had done it to him.

‘Cool,’ he muttered.

An ambulance rushed Dudley to the hospital, both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia beside themselves with worry. Harry stayed in his cupboard, temporarily forgotten until either this uncle or aunt decided it was time to punish him. That wouldn’t happen this time, he vowed. He had thrown Dudley through the wall; how hard would it be to knock the cupboard door off? Harry pushed with everything he had, but no matter how hard he tried, the door wouldn’t budge.

Again and again, he tried to break it, sweat dripping down his skinny body. His black hair, normally wild and uncontrollable, stuck to his face and neck with uncomfortable wetness. He was desperate now. He knew his aunt and uncle would be home soon; he was never wrong about such things. If they returned and he hadn’t escaped, they would beat him to within an inch of his life. Panic clouded his mind, and he banged furiously against the cupboard door.

A familiar sensation of animalistic fear overtook him when he heard the front door lock click open. The cupboard door flew across the hall, slamming against the wall.

Harry scrambled out the opening, turning to look at the shocked faces of his aunt and uncle. Vernon recovered quickly, his face reddening in anger. Harry rushed towards his uncle, his panic focusing into an all-encompassing rage. As his uncle bent forwards to grab Harry by the shoulders, Harry grabbed the fat man around the knees and threw sideways as hard as he could, nearly growling in satisfaction as his uncle’s hands disappeared. He turned to watch a second unbelievable flight, as Vernon sailed up and over the couch, slamming into the electric fireplace mantle, and falling heavily to the ground. Despite his poor vision, Harry could see blood on the mantle.

A moan of fear turned his attention back to his Aunt Petunia, who shrank away from him like the Devil. She didn’t seem surprised, though, just scared. Maybe she knew something about this already. Harry moved towards her, and she shrank back, cowering in the corner of the stairs. ‘D-Don’t hurt me,’ she pleaded, her voice barely a whisper.

‘Okay,’ growled Harry. ‘I won’t hurt you. Tell me what I want to know.’

--//--//--

It was a night for many questions and many answers that my Aunt Petunia did not want to give.

Yes, witches and wizards are real; yes, I am a wizard -- a freak, in her words; yes, my parents were wizards, and some evil wizard killed them, then some old man left me here with a letter, explaining that I would be safe if Aunt Petunia took me. The answers were short and to the point, and left my 7-year-old head spinning. I was a wizard. Damn! It was easy to believe since I always performed little displays of “magic” as far back as I could remember, but now “magic” was Magic: a very real thing. It was hard getting to sleep that night.

My aunt left me with a small box that contained a golden signet ring with a flawless ruby and what I assumed was my family crest on it, two wands which I figured were my mother's and father's, and a key for vault 687 in Gringotts Wizarding Bank. There were a few photos of my parents as well, and I was amazed that the photos were moving. I spent many a day looking at those pictures, and wishing that my parents were still alive.

The Dursleys still tried to be mean to me, but they didn't cross any significant lines after that incident. I had to fight Dudley’s entire gang once after this, but that was also painfully one-sided and nowhere near as satisfying as throwing my Uncle Vernon across the room. I suppose that I was a bit vindictive with at times, but I didn't go out of my way to harm them, and I felt it was more than fair, as they certainly didn't go out of their way to feed me. If, by any chance, the Dursleys are looking at this, I have a message for them:

Fuck you.

--//--//--

Harry scribbled across his schoolbook, thoroughly bored. Math was such an annoying class, and the teacher was brand-new, which meant there was no fun allowed. He was too new to know to check a quiet student’s work, though, so Harry spent his time doodling, the actual assignment long since completed.

Since his night of triumph against the Dursleys over the summer, Harry’s life had changed. The Dursleys were anything but nice, but he had his own room now, with brand new furniture, new clothes, proper glasses, and anything else Harry wanted to keep him and his magic away from them. A small part of him wondered if he was just bullying the Dursleys the way they bullied him, but he rationalized it the best he could: Yes, he was, and yes, they deserved it.

It had gotten easier and easier to use magic since the summer. Not only could he make himself stronger, but faster, too. Dudley and his gang had ambushed him, and they bent a shovel on his head before Harry took it from them and beat them senseless. A shovel across his head, and it didn’t hurt.

School had gotten easier, too. Ever since the summer, whenever he wanted to remember something, he only had to think about it and touch his magic and poof! There it was. Tests and assignments had never been so easy. Some of his classmates actually spoke with him now, since Dudley couldn’t terrorize them any more, and teachers were quick to place students with him, since Harry was now top of the class.

Top of the class, best football player for his age group, top reader notorious for finishing at least two books a day, and remembering every single detail, and popular for both helping other students and keeping Dudley on a leash, Harry’s life should have been perfect.

It was boring, though. So utterly, depressingly boring. No matter how advanced the books were, no matter how much praise the teachers heaped on, there was no challenge to anything he was doing. What was the point of magic if it made your life pointless?

Deciding to follow his rebellious instincts, Harry excused himself to the loo, and promptly left the school. There was a mall nearby; maybe he could find something fun to do there.

--//--//--

There’s no point showing you memories of my trips to the mall. All you’ll see is my listening intently to street kids talking, stealing the odd candy bar when I was hungry, and escaping several near-beatings by outrunning my would-be attackers. I even had the chance to watch a prostitute at work, wondering with a horrified expression on my face if adults actually did those things to each other.

Looking back, that memory’s actually funny, but no, you can’t see it.

I eased my boredom by living on the street as much as I could. I still returned to the Dursleys to sleep, but I stayed away from them other than that. Every now and then, I visited the local library, and devoured books for hours on end. I had honed my memory to the point where I just flipped pages continuously, book after book. The librarian thought I was crazy, but I was quiet, so she never bothered me.

When I wanted money, I worked. Since I had no lack of strength or stamina, I was the community’s best yard labor. I treated the house like a hotel: I ate and slept there, but otherwise I was at the library, the park, the local mall, the school... anywhere but home. The Dursleys were all too thrilled to let me do as I pleased. I cooked my own meals, did my own laundry, and earned my own money doing work for the community. I paid for most of my own new clothes, a new prescription set of glasses, my own groceries, and any other incidental things I needed like haircuts. In any other community other than Little Whinging, I probably would have starved. This was a community of lazy middle-class people though, so I scraped by until my eleventh birthday.

--//--//--

‘Happy Birthday, Harry,’ he mumbled to himself. It was a decent birthday, with a few small tokens from the teachers and other students. There were no parties, though, and he certainly hadn’t made any friends he’d trust to bring home to the Dursleys. His classmates were happy with him at school, but still too fearful of Dudley to see him after class. The “friends” he made on the street were hardly the type he wanted to know his address. He hardly cared for the false sweetness of his aunt and anything she might do for him, so he celebrated his birthday by himself, lighting a small candle in his room after his customary countdown to midnight, and enjoying the glint of the firelight off the new watch he bought himself.

There was a tremendous pounding on the back of the house, startling Harry and eliciting shouts of surprise from his aunt and uncle. A visitor? At midnight? Intrigued, Harry crept out of his room and down the stairs, after the lumbering footsteps of his relatives. He stopped at the base of the stairs as a shouting match ensued. Whomever they were arguing with had a loud, rumbling voice that carried right across the house.

There was a moment of silence, and then his uncle stepped out of the kitchen. ‘Boy,’ he called, seeing Harry at the stairs, ‘you have a visitor. Talk with them and then make them go away.’

Wondering which of his friends could possibly think to bother his at home, or even find him Harry stepped outside and froze in shock. Towering above him, resting his arm easily on the edge of the house’s roofing, was a man. A giant of a man.

‘Happy Birthday, Harry!’ the man boomed. ‘I see ye’re doin’ well for yerself. Name’s Reubeus Hagrid; yes’ call me Hagrid, everybody does.’

‘Um… hi, Hagrid,’ Harry mumbled. ‘Err… how did you know it was my birthday? I’m sure I’d remember you if we’d met.’

‘Dunno ‘bout that. Last Time I saw yeh, ye were barely more’n a year old.’

‘A year…’ Harry suddenly lit up. ‘Does that mean that you knew my parents?’ Hagrid nodded, and Harry nearly jumped in excitement. ‘Could you tell me about them? Please?’

Hagrid’s laughter boomed down the street, and he sat down on the ground still seeming to be miles above Harry. Harry likewise sat, and listened in rapture as Hagrid began to tell his stories.

--//--//--

Reubeus Hagrid, a man who I am proud to say became my first friend. Hagrid had come to wish me a happy birthday and introduce me to the magical world to which I belonged. After eating his homemade cake and reminiscing about my parents until morning broke, the two of us were on our way, looking over the supply list of my Hogwarts Letter.

Hagrid rambled on about the wizarding world as he took me through London to the Leaky Cauldron, a wizarding pub that served as the doorway to Diagon Alley, a small wizarding community built around the street from which it took its name. When the bartender, Tom, recognized me and exclaimed loudly, the entire place went quiet, then exploded in cheers. About three hundred handshakes and backslaps later, Hagrid tapped the wall, which shuffled its bricks into an archway to Diagon Alley.

--//--//--

Gringotts was their first stop, where Hagrid gave Harry a copy of his bank key left with Professor Dumbledore ‘Jest in case those muggles held out on yeh.’ A wild ride down to the vaults showed him that his parents left him a vault loaded with gold. The Potter family account was large and out of his hands until he reached majority, which wizarding society defined as having satisfactorily completed the OWL exams after five years of schooling. Harry’s trust fund held 10,000 galleons worth of coin, but Hogwarts tuition came directly from the main Potter vault. That meant that aside from school supplies every year, he was free to spend it as he wished. Smiling at the thought of finally having money to spend, Harry counted out a thousand galleons into a bag, and chatted with Hagrid about what shops he should visit.

On our way out, Hagrid made a stop at another vault, 713. Harry wondered at what item Hagrid had removed from the vault, but he was quite tight-lipped about it. Not wanting to strain his new friendship, he let it go. On the way out, Harry converted 10 Galleons into roughly £500 to use for new muggle clothes and such later. There would be no more yard work, especially with such steep conversion rate. Hagrid needed to disappear for a while to unload whatever item he had just taken, and Harry assured him several times that he was perfectly fine on his own. They agreed to meet back at the Leaky Cauldron later in the afternoon.

After hours of questioning shopkeepers and standing in line, Harry finally had what he needed: A wand, a trunk that could shrink itself, a seemingly bottomless book bag to take to classes, the best model telescope available and a model of the stars and planets that defied muggle physics. He picked up the entire seven years’ worth of Hogwarts texts so he could read ahead, and every Potions apparatus and reagent available to students. All of these things he tossed into his trunk, along with rolls of parchment, quills, and ink. After seeing the selection available, he bought his school and casual robes in the finest silk available, charmed to be resistant to damage and to adjust for a few inches of growth.

Harry was disappointed to find out that glasses were still as good as the wizarding world could do for eyesight, but he picked up a pair of glasses with a very thin gold wireframe to match his signet ring, which he wore constantly on his right middle finger. He was used to the style of circular lenses, so he kept that shape, but wizards could thankfully keep the glass as thin as the frame and still hold to any prescription. The store owner convinced him to spend a little extra -- and another hour in the store -- for a couple of minor but permanent charms to keep the glasses durable, scratch free, substance-resistant and just about impossible to remove from his face if he wasn't the one doing it.

All told, 945 Galleons and change, four hours, and the use of Madam Malkin’s changing room, and Harry finally looked like a wizard, with 45 Galleons left to spend through the school year. Satisfied that he had everything he wanted to have, Harry walked back to the Leaky Cauldron, where Hagrid surprised him with a birthday present, a beautiful snowy owl.

‘Hedwig,’ Harry decided when Hagrid asked him to name his pet. ‘I’ll call her Hedwig.’

--//--//--

Did you enjoy that trip? Wasn’t it fun to trail after an excited and inquisitive eleven-year-old? I learned a lot about wizarding society on that shopping trip. I also learned that Ollivander is a creepy man who knows too much, self-shrinking trunks are bloody expensive, and wizards really needed to research contact lenses.

Hagrid took me home shortly after I met him at the Cauldron and I spent the better part of a week pouring over my schoolbooks. I finished most of them, but magic being just as much a physical exercise as a mental one, I couldn’t do much with my newfound knowledge. Besides, I won’t be so egotistical as to imply that I understood everything I could recall. Remembering something and knowing how to use it are two drastically different things, especially with magic.

By August 5, I resolved to return to Diagon Alley, intent on answering the questions that plagued me.

--//--//--

Harry sat quietly in the back of the taxi, trying to ignore the driver’s horrible voice as he sang to the radio.

Magic was interesting to read about; he needed a wand to do anything remotely useful aside from his usual tricks, but underage wand magic was traceable. Since he lived in an isolated muggle community, practicing was impossible. Wizards of sufficient skill could cast spells silently, relying only on their wand, but they sacrificed some of the spell's power in doing that. Wizards that were very powerful could cast spells that would fail for weaker wizards; they could even manage to force spells to work even without the wand, but their control would be crude at best. There wasn’t any useful information on why this was the case, though, which confused him.

Harry supposed that enough skill and power, and you could do away with wands and words entirely as long as what you were doing was very simple and well below your power limits. The books said nothing about it, though.

‘There a convention somewhere near here?’ the taxi driver asked, eyeing Harry’s clothing.

‘No,’ Harry said, fighting a blush. ‘It does kind of look like that, though, doesn’t it?’ The cabbie nodded, and returned to his off-tune singing. Harry played with the hem of his shirt self-consciously. While robes looked great on wizards, they made him feel like a Star Wars fanatic in the muggle world. Still there, were perks to wearing robes that no pair of jeans could match, such as not needing underwear. He idly wondered if witches wore any underwear. Since tradition stated the outer robes stayed closed, wouldn’t jeans and a T-shirt be okay to wear, instead of the belted tunic and trousers? He’d probably have to wear the boots, though; sneakers were decidedly non-wizarding wear.

Those questions faded to the back of his mind as the taxi stopped in front of the Leaky Cauldron. Paying the man for his time, Harry pushed the door to the pub open, and walked towards the alley entrance.

Today’s trip was a fact-finding mission about Hogwarts and learning magic in general, so Harry decided that the first place to look and ask questions was the book store. He entered the store quietly, and walked to where he had found his textbooks.

‘Excuse me,’ he heard from behind him, ‘are you going to Hogwarts this year?’ Harry turned to see a short girl with an immense mop of bushy hair. She smiled tentatively, revealing a slight overbite. Her sweater and jeans identified her as muggleborn; Harry thought darkly that her clothing might be the reason that she would be asking another student for information instead of adults.

‘Yeah,’ he said, holding out his had. ‘Harry Potter.’

‘Hermione Granger,’ she replied, shaking his hand lightly.

‘I don’t mean to start in the deep end, but have any of the adults given you problems so far?’

Hermione looked down a bit and nodded meekly.

‘Tell you what,’ he said, sending an annoyed look towards the shopkeeper, ‘why don’t you get your parents and come with me. We’ll get your school robes first, and a casual set that you can put on in the shop. Once you’re dressed like a witch, no one can single you out, and this gets a lot easier.’

‘I’m here alone,’ she said. ‘My parents have been quite busy with their work. They’re dentists, you see. A dentist is-’

‘I know all about it,’ Harry interrupted. ‘I was raised by muggles, so I’m new to this all, as well. I think I can answer your questions, though. Let’s walk.’

‘Do you know anything about our classes?’ she asked, once they were outside.

‘A bit,’ Harry replied. ‘There seemed to be four major classes: Charms, Defense against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Transfiguration. They’re the practical stuff. The other courses seem to be the theory behind those other four. Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures are useful for Potions and Defense, you see. If you know what exists in the world around you, so you’re more prepared to deal with it and use it.’

‘Okay; do they all work like that?’

Harry nodded. ‘I think so. Arithmancy and Ancient Runes are like that for Charms and Transfiguration. Ancient Runes isn’t just runes, but the studies of Old Magic. A thousand years ago, wands didn't exist. Wizards carved runes of power into large staves, and used them in grand rituals involving circles, inscriptions, chants, candles, incense, mystical symbols, and the like. You can tell it’s where all the muggle ideas of wizards come from.’ Hermione giggled a little, and Harry continued. ‘According to our textbooks, wands are a refined form of staff, with a magical core that can channel our magic and replace the whole ritual with elaborate wand movements. The simple “swish-and-flick” we’re going to learn about would be useless without a wand. There’s a lot of Old Magic still around, though, so they keep the class around. It’s what New Magic’s based on, too, so it’s probably a great help to know about.

‘Arithmancy is kind of like wizard-math. If you ever want to make a spell of your own, this is what you take. Everything to do with how and why wands work is covered in Arithmancy.’

‘That sounds like a wonderful class,’ Hermione said as they walked down the street.

‘Sounds it. Astronomy’s there, too. I’ve read into it a bit, and it’s pretty much the same stuff for wizards. It’s important to magic in general. If you believe the books, “planetary movements, as well as those of the Sun and Moon, affect the creation of potions as well as the power and effectiveness of magic in general.”’

‘Our books say that?’

Harry nodded, chuckling. ‘It sounds high and mighty, but there some cool stuff in there. I can’t stand math, but I love what I’ve read about magic. You need to do math to do magic, so…’

‘I guess you’re stuck, then.’

‘Yup.’

The conversation paused as Hermione was fitted for robes. Harry noticed that she picked up only two sets of regular school robes, and was reluctant to pick up the casual ones.

‘If you need a Galleon or two, I can cover,’ he whispered to her. ‘I found some good deals on stuff when I did my run, so I have some spare change.’

‘It’s all right, I…’ Hermione looked once more to the robes she was getting, and the price. ‘Okay,’ she sighed. ‘Thanks, Harry.’

‘No problem.’ He passed her a handful of Galleons, more than enough to cover any purchases she might have made.

Soon, they were clear of the store, and attracted significantly less attention from the crowds in the Alley. Hermione shook her head. ‘That’s so unfair,’ she muttered. ‘It’s not like I chose to be muggleborn or anything.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Harry soothed. ‘If you care about it, just say your family’s French, so of course no one here’s heard of your last name. You were raised here, though, so you’re going to Hogwarts.’

Hermione’s eyebrows rose. ‘Wow, you make lying sound easy.’

‘One of my many ways of surviving the day,’ Harry said with a shrug. ‘Anyways, did you want me to finish rambling about Hogwarts?’ Seeing her nod, Harry picked up where he left off.

‘There are also ‘background’ classes; that’s what I’d call them, anyways: Divination, History of Magic, and Muggle Studies. Divination’s mostly theory on the different types of divination. Some wizards are actually supposed to be able to see the future, but I haven’t met any yet. You’re supposed to be able to use divination tools accurately, though, so there might be something to it.

‘There’s Muggle Studies, which is a joke. They’re pretty good on the basics, but ask a wizard to plug in a toaster…’ he trailed off as Hermione erupted into a fit of laughter. ‘Seriously, they make everyone take the course for the first couple of years, but it’s worthless to anyone who’s been anywhere near muggles.

‘History of Magic is basically the flip-side of Muggle Studies: Who wizards are, where we came from, society, politics, and other boring junk. That pretty much covers the first five years of classes.’

‘Do we take all twelve classes each year?’ asked Hermione, looking a little lost.

‘Nope,’ Harry shook his head, ‘there are seven that we have to take for the first two years. Charms, Defense, Potion, Transfiguration, History, Muggle Studies, and Astronomy. The other five are from third year up, and we get to choose what we take. I think Hogwarts demands that you take at least six classes to fifth year.’

‘Oh, well that’s not a bother,’ she said, relief apparent in her voice. ‘Do you know anything about scholarships or anything like that?’

Harry shook his head. ‘Sorry, but no. You might get some more information about the school though, now that you’re a French Pureblood and all.’

‘Stop that!’ she said, giggling. ‘I never said I’d use your lie.’

‘You never said you wouldn’t.’

Their banter continued until they reached the books store again, Hermione collecting her year’s supplies as they went, with Harry urging her to spend the Galleons he gave her on higher-quality items. Eventually the sky darkened to evening and Hermione sighed, looking at her watch. ‘I have to go. Is there a way I can get in touch with you?’

‘Now that I’ve met you, yes,’ said Harry. ‘I have a Mail Owl named Hedwig. If I write a letter and put your name on it, she can find you. I’ll tell her to wait around so that you can write replies.’

‘That would be wonderful! I’ve wondered a bit about how they use owls to send letters. Isn’t it dreadfully slow?’

‘Nope! Hagrid said they can Apparate from one place to another, usually within a block of their destination.’ Harry took in Hermione’s blank look. ‘Teleport,’ he corrected. ‘Apparate means teleport; you’ll read about it right away. Mail Owls are trained to Apparate between locations, and home in on people that their handlers are familiar with.’

‘That’s wonderful!’ she exclaimed. ‘Alright then, I’ll leave a window open, and I’ll hear from you soon! Bye, Harry!’

‘Bye!’ He watched her disappear into the Cauldron. Harry stayed in the pub, ordering dinner for himself before hailing a cab to return home.

--//--//--

Hermione was a very diligent writer, Harry found.

He wrote to her that very night, only to have a lengthy reply arrive within the hour. Hermione was full of questions about magic and the wizarding world in general, and Harry answered as best he could. She was very smart, the kind of person that teachers thought Harry was. She hadn’t been using magic to cheat in her classes, though, so Harry thought she might be a real genius. School textbooks could only answer so much, and he very quickly planned another excursion to Diagon Alley. Hermione wasn’t able to come, but he promised her he’d write her as soon as he got back.

This was true freedom, he thought, sitting again in the back of a taxi. Money was a real powerhouse; it enabled him to travel where he wanted, to eat when he felt like it, and it gave him access to information he wouldn’t otherwise have. At the rate that he could read and Hermione could ask questions, he wondered if he should save time and just buy every book in the store.

This would the last trip to the Alley, he decided. Already his pile of Galleons had dropped to 28, though much of that was a loan to Hermione. He also had accrued a massive collection of Knuts and Sickles; he held on to those, though, as they were useful for buying food and sweets. Still, there was no reason that muggle restaurants wouldn’t do to sate his hunger at a slightly cheaper cost.

After perusing the bookstore for the fifth time in two weeks, Harry left with the last two books he felt were worthwhile. One of the books, an Atlas that showed a world map, was one he would have to mail to Hermione. The continental landmasses depicted in the Atlas were much larger, and more islands existed than muggles had accounted for. Complex wards obscured wizarding communities from sight, squeezing those areas so that for all muggle could see and understand they didn't actually exist.

The other book was a thin manuscript called Magical Responses to Muggle Technology. All modern weaponry from handguns to nuclear bombs had been accounted for; the average shield spell would stop any number of bullets easier than it would stop most hexes, and the wards that shielded the magical world from muggles took into account such things as nuclear radiation and sudden blasts of heat and force. The more he read, the more he fell in love with the magical world, the ultimate escape from the life he detested.

As he left the store, he ran into a blond-haired boy who looked as though he was shopping for school supplies. ‘You Hogwarts?’ the boy asked, looking Harry up and down thoughtfully. Seeing Harry’s nod, the boy stuck out his hand. ‘Draco Malfoy.’

‘Harry Potter.’ Harry shook his hand, and watched as Draco’s eyes flicked to his scar.

‘Harry Potter,’ echoed Draco, his grasp on Harry’s hand tightening a little. ‘Imagine meeting you right in the middle of Diagon Alley. Rumor has it that you’re kept locked away with muggles.’

‘That’s true enough,’ Harry conceded as he retrieved his hand. ‘They’re not the most charming people around, but I’ve learned a thing or two, and some not-so-accidental magic keeps them from being too annoying.’

‘Really? You’ve got to tell!’ Just as Harry opened his mouth to speak, Draco shouted ‘Mother! Father! Look who I’ve found!’ His father rewarded Draco with a sharp rap from his cane, while his mother looked Harry over with a critical eye. The three Malfoys looked remarkably alike; Draco’s father was a tall, slender man, with long blond hair and the steel-grey eyes that Harry had come to expect from pureblooded families. Mrs. Malfoy was similar, her hair braided in a complex bun and curls, her features just different enough from Mr. Malfoys to indicate that they came from different families, her grey eyes perhaps a shade darker. Draco was the perfect blend of his mother and father, with his father’s hair, mother’s face, and his eyes a shade between both. Harry was certain that all three wore evergreen robes that likely cost as much as Harry had paid for his entire wardrobe.

‘It’s not nice to interrupt people, Draco,’ his father chided him. ‘It’s also not polite to shout across the Alley. I apologize on behalf of my son, young mister… Potter?’ Mr. Malfoy’s eyes were riveted to the scar on Harry’s forehead, and his eyes. Green eyes seemed to be rather uncommon to wizards, he noticed. For the first time, Harry wondered just how well known he was.

Seeing Draco’s embarrassment and feeling the need to exude politeness in the face of the elder Malfoys, Harry held out his hand. ‘That’s right. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy.’

‘The pleasure’s ours,’ Mr. Malfoy replied, shaking Harry’s hand firmly.

‘I’m surprised that you’re in the Alley alone,’ Mrs. Malfoy commented, looking around. ‘Aren’t you minded by muggles?’ Harry could hear the distaste oozing from her mouth. This family, obviously, was not one he would introduce Hermione to. Not without careful preparation, at least.

‘I’ve been fending for myself for quite a while, Mrs. Malfoy. The muggles are a horrible lot, so I stay away as much as I can. Diagon Alley’s as good a place as any.’

‘He was about to tell me how he used magic on them!’ Draco exclaimed, earning himself another rap from his father.

‘He has a name, Draco. Can’t we take you anywhere?’

‘Why don’t we retire for lunch, dearest?’ suggested Mrs. Malfoy. ‘I’m sure that young Mr. Potter would enjoy seeing a proper wizard’s home for the first time. Is that agreeable to you, Mr. Potter?’

‘Err, that’s great, Mrs. Malfoy, I’d love to.’

‘Wonderful! In that case-’

‘Draco!’ The call cut across their conversation; Harry and the Malfoys turned to see a small family approach them, a young girl with her parents. Unlike other young witches Harry had seen, this one had her black hair cropped short, bobbing around her ears. Her father shared her black hair and dark eyes, while her mother sported long, auburn hair, her eyes a lighter shade of brown. Their robes were similar to the Malfoys’, though with noticeably less embroidery.

‘I wondered if I’d see you today,’ the girl continued. ‘The Alley’s got great stuff this year. I’ve already -- who’s this?’ she turned to Harry for the first time. ‘Is this a friend of yours, Draco? Pansy Parkinson,’ she said, giving her most charming smile.

‘Harry Potter,’ he replied, keeping an eye on Pansy and her parents to gauge their reactions; he wasn’t disappointed. Pansy’s eyes widened a bit, and her smile, if anything, was larger. Her parents also brightened at the mention of his name.

‘We were discussing lunch at our place,’ Mr. Malfoy said, gaining everyone’s attention. ‘If that’s suitable to you as well, Marius, Livia, perhaps you might join us?’

‘Oh, yes!’ Pansy chirped, before turning to her parents, ‘Mum, Dad, please?’

‘Of course, darling,’ her mother said. ‘Shall we?’

Pansy reached forward and grabbed both Draco and Harry by the arms, chatting gaily away about what she had bought earlier, while both sets of parents talked in hushed tones behind them. Draco tried to tune Pansy out, focusing on the shops around him. Harry felt obliged to continue the conversation, so he nodded and asked questions in the right places to show he was paying attention. Pansy was delighted that he responded at all, and soon had both arms on Harry’s, while Draco put as many feet between him and Pansy as he could get away with. Harry swore he heard the adults chuckling behind him.

Lunch was thankfully bereft of the formal table manners that Harry was dreading. A round table magically enlarged to have just enough seats for the seven of them appeared in the front dining room of the Malfoys’ expansive manor house, and the adults talked amiably as Harry, Draco and Pansy traded stories. A much-bedraggled House Elf saw to the preparation and serving of the food, but his ears perked up a bit when Harry whispered his thanks to him as he took his plate.

Pansy proved to be great fun. She had the ability to lace her words with sarcasm but keep the conversation just light enough that her parents couldn't scold her. She was definitely a girl: She enjoyed fashion, makeup, professional Quidditch players and money. She was on the edge of pureblood customs, though; she kept her dark hair cropped to just below ear-length as opposed to letting it grow like most other witches, and her past-times included such un-ladylike things as Quidditch and hexing household items. She laughed uproariously at Harry’ stories of using magic against the Dursleys, and he promised to show her how he’d done it once they were at school.

Draco was far more reserved, trying valiantly to act every bit the man that his father admonished him to be. As a result, his stories were censored and dull until his parents were out of earshot. Once he was free, Draco reverted to the excited if slightly arrogant boy that Harry had first met. Draco tolerated Pansy as a necessary evil, while Pansy must have been playing up to Draco. Harry gathered, much to his chagrin, that Pansy had shifted targets.

The meal ended with promises to see each other on the train to Hogwarts, and Mr. Malfoy brought Harry back to the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry assured him he could conduct himself home. A couple of potential friends, and some interesting answers for Hermione, he thought, waving down a taxi. Not too bad.

--//--//--

I’m sure that if I’d known who I was dealing with, I’d have refused lunch. For Pansy’s sake, though, this was worth it.

I kept up my letters to Hermione, studying my textbooks as thoroughly as I could. Magic wasn’t like your average article or chapter in a book; memorization alone wasn’t always enough, so I literally fought with the information sometimes. Still, once it was in my head, I could remember it perfectly, and internalized as many of my books as I could, one year at a time.

Hermione seemed determined to be top student in our classes, so I didn’t tell her about my ability to memorize things. In hindsight, this was a bad idea that came back to bite me later, but things worked out well enough.

Faster than I could imagine, September 1 came around. I sent Hedwig on to Hogwarts directly, and took a taxi to King's Cross. Seeing other students messing around with huge trunks and carts, I felt very good about myself walking towards the platforms with only my book bag out and my trunk comfortably in my pocket, the size of a six-sided die. While most families probably couldn’t afford the luxury of a 300 Galleon trunk that shrunk itself and reduced its weight, it certainly made life easier. Without any information in the letter about it, I wondered how the hell a Platform 9 3/4 could even exist; a question I had never thought to ask. Sheer luck saved me when I ran into the Weasleys; Mrs. Weasley showed me how to get onto the platform, and after a round of introductions in which everyone seemed shocked, I ended up sitting with Ron Weasley, the Anti-Draco, while we waited for my friends.

I’m being serious; whatever Draco was, Ron was the opposite. Draco had most people’s respect but struggled to prove himself to his father; Ron had his father’s respect but struggled to prove himself to everyone else. Draco was loud and arrogant, but quick to forget; Ron was quiet and self-depreciating, but carried grudges. Draco had money, but his parents spent very little time with him aside from necessary outings; Ron’s family was poor, but they stuck together and cared for each other.

Watching Ron and Draco eye each other in the compartment was priceless. It was an interesting lesson in wizarding politics: Malfoys and Weasleys do not get along.

Hermione was using my French Pureblood lie, so she was well- greeted by everyone. Pansy seemed to vie with her for my attention, and Draco and Ron were far too interested in glaring at each other to participate in much conversation.

Ron seemed very self-conscious about his patched and worn robes, which were greyer than they were black. Hermione and Pansy had standard black robes of reasonable quality, and mine and Draco’s were pitch-black silk that cost your average Ministry worker's monthly salary. Hermione had the same reaction to my robes as Pansy: Ooh’ing, ahh’ing, and feeling the fabric. Ron tried to ignore his robes, but he was flushed red with embarrassment, and stayed that way until we got off the train. I tried to stay polite and keep the conversation going for his sake, but I wondered if this was going to cause problems. I certainly didn't feel like tiptoeing around Ron, but he seemed like he'd be a good friend if I gutted it out. I figured that our first year in school would tell me how that would go.

--//--//--

Hagrid helped them carefully into a boat. ‘No funny stuff,’ he warned, ‘these boats take four at a time; they’ll take five, but stay still.’

‘Thanks!’ I called to him as he turned to leave. Hagrid waved back, and turned to deal with the other first-years.

Hermione found a neutral topic. ‘Have you all thought about what House you’ll be sorted in?’ she asked everyone.

‘Not really,’ Harry said, shaking his head. ‘My parents were in Gryffindor, so I might end up there. I really haven't decided, though; all the houses have good point. You seem like a good student, so I think you'd like Ravenclaw the best. I hear that they're supposed to be the brains of the school.’

Hermione giggled and nodded. ‘That's what I was thinking,’ she said. ‘Ravenclaw or Gryffindor would be good. I don't think I'd work out in the other houses.’

‘Slytherin for sure,’ Draco said. ‘It's been a family thing for ages, and I really don't want to disappoint my father. Most of the kids I know will be in Slytherin, too.’

‘Same for me,’ Pansy said with a small sigh. ‘Not only does my family want me to be in Slytherin, but I don't think that the other houses are really interesting.’

‘Gryffindor for me,’ Ron said. ‘All my brothers are in Gryffindor, and it would suck to not be in the same house as my brothers.’

‘Well this is great,’ said Harry with a smirk. ‘All my friends are going to be in different houses. I guess I should go for Hufflepuff then?’ The sounds of everyone’s protests were loud enough that Hagrid bellowed at them to shut up.

--//--//--

Hogwarts Castle was so enchanted as to nearly be alive. Stairs moved; suits of armor walked around on patrol; ghosts fluttered around renewing the pale white lighting charms in the hallways. Harry felt as though he had stepped a thousand years into the past. Harry could taste the history of this place, its power and its status. Even the patched old Sorting Hat seemed to belong here, radiating an aura of knowledge and experience.

Hermione's sorting took some time, as she seemed to be debating over something with the Hat. Finally, the Hat opened its tear and cried ‘RAVENCLAW!’ Hermione was ecstatic as she tore the hat off her head and bolted over to the Ravenclaw table to a polite applause. The school's ambient magic charmed the edges of her outer robe and blouse a deep blue.

Draco's sorting was the quickest; the Hat screamed ‘SLYTHERIN!’ before it even hit Malfoy's head. Malfoy's robes were charmed a deep forest green around the edges, and he went over to his seat amongst more robust applause. Judging by the mass of redheads at the House table, Harry knew that Ron would get a similar treatment from the Hat and end up in Gryffindor.

Pansy's sorting was a bit longer, but the Hat announced ‘SLYTHERIN!’ in a loud and certain voice, and Pansy happily walked over to her house table and sat near to Draco as her robes changed, too.

A thousand whispers began when Professor McGonagall called Harry’s name. Everyone knows who I am, he realized. He walked towards the Hat like a convicted man waiting to hear his sentencing. Despite his best intentions, he would probably hurt someone’s feelings today. The animosity between Draco and Ron that both Slytherin and Gryffindor were poor choices. While Pansy would likely be more accepting, the way that Slytherins and Gryffindors eyed each other from across the Hall made him think that a Gryffindor/Slytherin friendship would be strongly discouraged by both houses.

Hermione would be the most open and accepting person, no matter what House he was in. It was comforting to know that at least one person was going to be his friend by the time tomorrow morning came along. A large part of him thought that Ravenclaw would be a nice House to belong to, while his more rebellious side urged him towards the Hufflepuffs, just to stand out a little.

Ah, yes, Potter... the Hat said to him as it felt through his mind. It pushed his memories around as if it was rummaging around an old trunk, looking for something. Well, you're an interesting soul. Powerful, yes... Very headstrong, independent but willing to give… good mind... Oh my, this will be difficult.

I really don't like this Sorting thing at all, he thought, hoping that the Hat could hear him. It's going to cost me friends.

Perhaps, the Hat replied, and Harry could hear the disembodied sound of someone chuckling. Well, it seems as though the choice is yours after all. The only real difference is in outlook... and who you want your friends to be.

What will it be, then? Will you bring change from without, or work from within?

Harry wasn't sure about what the Hat was talking about, but he had the faces of Draco, Ron, Hermione and Pansy firmly in my mind as he argued with myself, trying to decide who he wanted to stay with more... or if he would given in to his radical side and choose Hufflepuff. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Harry made his choice, and the Hat opened to speak.

--//--//--

The book had calmed; no one was fighting it now. Hermione smiled and walked away quietly, certain now of her success. Harry’s instructions had been very specific and she only had a few hours to work with. It was time to begin.

--//--//--

A/N: Reviews are welcome! Hope you enjoyed the new style.

~TOW

2. Teachers, Timetables, and Trolls

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: Second overhauled chapter, up and ready to go. My spell incantations are relevant Greek and Latin word parts thrown together; they may seem a little more random than Rowling’s choices, but I’d like to think that a spell as strange as turning a match into a needle has a strange incantation to go along with it.

I’ve also answered an ages-old question that I’ve been pondering since I first wrote this chapter. If Draco wasn’t an enemy, there wouldn’t have been the discovery of Fluffy. If Ron hadn’t insulted Hermione, there’d have been no need for the Troll. I’ve created a story where Draco is not an enemy, and thus any antagonistic situations with him would feel contrived at best. I am aware at what that implies for future chapters, but you’ll see when I get there.

For this chapter, I have a workaround that fits the bill nicely, in my opinion. Harry still gets his moment to save Hermione, and my plotline is unaffected overall.

~TOW

--MORE EQUAL THAN YOU KNOW--

TEACHERS, TIMETABLES & TROLLS

The pieces snapped together with a satisfying “click” before the entire construct vanished. She smiled, brushing her short, black hair away from her face. Her smile only widened as she heard a loud crash, followed by a string of expletives and manic laughter. Those two were always good for a few laughs, even if it was at each other’s expense.

The humor helped to pass the time while Harry was away.

Maybe Hermione had seen him? No, that wasn’t his style; it would break his momentum, and he couldn’t allow that. Still, Hermione had the easier job by far. She didn’t have to put her life on the line.

‘No matter,’ she said to herself as she Vanished the leftover parts around her. The last of her items was fully enchanted; all that remained were for the other two to finish theirs, and then… sit and wait. Sighing in frustration, she rose and followed the sounds of the argument that had begun; it was time to refocus her boys.

--//--//--

If you're sure... The Hat spoke ominously, before shouting ‘RAVENCLAW!’ to the audience.

As the Ravenclaw table erupted in cheers, and Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Slytherin applauded politely. Draco and Pansy were all smiles, and Hermione was ecstatic. Ron looked quite disappointed, but he was clapping all the same, and managed a grin when Harry looked at him. He felt his robes rustle a little, and saw that they now sported a blue trim, similar to Hermione’s. Walking through a gauntlet of back-slaps and handshakes, Harry made his way over to the bouncing girl, and took a seat beside her.

‘I'm so happy that you're in Ravenclaw!’ she gushed. ‘I was worried that I'd be alone in the house and I knew that we were all different but naturally Draco and Pansy were in Slytherin and Ron was going to be Gryffindor and you didn't seem like you'd be here a-and that meant that I wouldn't have any friends in my house yet and now you're here a-a-and I -I'm just so glad you're here.’ Her voice trailed off near the end as her embarrassment caught up with her train of thought.

‘Its okay, Hermione,’ he replied. ‘I'm glad that I have a friend in my house, too.’ Hermione’s face erupted into a huge grin. Their conversation was interrupted by students calling out introductions; Prefects, older students offering tutoring, and a few that just wanted to meet Harry Potter came over to talk to him. Harry felt as though he was the saint of patience as he spoke with everyone, and enjoyed watching Hermione glow with pleasure every time he introduced her as his friend.

Eventually the well-wishers trailed back to their seats, and Albus Dumbledore rose from the Head Table, resplendent in his purple robes. ‘Welcome to Hogwarts!’ he called. He looked across the tables at the students, and stopped at Harry. His white moustache and long beard twitched upwards as he smiled and winked, bringing a grin to Harry’s face.

--//--//--

I was more relieved that I could possibly say: I was in Hermione's House, I avoided the worst of the politics of the school, and I didn't seem to make any enemies out of it. The professors seemed fairly neutral. Professor Dumbledore, looking like God Himself at the head table, was smiling at me, obviously pleased. Mission accomplished, I thought.

Hogwarts brought home the immense differences between the muggle world and the magical. No plumbing, no electricity, no modern conveniences like toilet paper, no heaters, no insulation, no cell phones, no television, no video games, and on and on and on. You’d think that the magical world could benefit from all of this, right?

Contrast that with food that can't go bad, wash basins where the water stays perfectly pure even if you wash shit off your hands in it, chamber pots that not only immediately destroy your waste but clean you completely as you stand up, and shower “pools” about a foot deep that surround you in a vortex of water, ripping any and all dirt off your body and make any massage setting on a shower head seem pointless.

Compare radios to a wizarding wireless system that could relay information from its broadcasting center directly to the local units without actually broadcasting all over the place, old family albums to pictures and portraits that moved –and sometimes talked, and post to the ridiculously fast and accurate owl mail system.

Sigh in envy at beds and robes that always maintain whatever your body considers a comfortable temperature and the fact that a first-year’s charm would instantly banish sweat and nullify body odor and bad breath; for that matter, a second-year’s charm could immediately clean your clothing, making washing machines pointless.

Despite the lack of focus on personal entertainment, we wizards are a pampered lot; I’ll never complain.

I wasn’t really exposed to it in my first year, but I’ve since come to understand why purebloods associate muggles with the word “filthy.” Compared to wizarding society, muggle society is dirty and unsanitary. If you stop and consider exactly how much effort that the muggles put into being sanitary, that's really saying a lot. Even the most sterile hospital room can't compare to how clean the wizarding world is. No matter how fast the Internet gets, it’s not worth the headache of dealing with computers when I can reach anyone, anywhere, with Hedwig in about five minutes tops. The communication mirrors I possess make cell phones look outdated, and I’ll take Pensieves over video cameras any day.

As I quickly realized looking around Hogwarts in awe, it wasn’t the wizards that need to catch up with muggles; it was the muggles who need to catch up with wizards. They've been doing nothing but catching up all along.

--//--//--

Harry flopped onto his bed, giving into the urge to roll in the covers and laugh. It was his bed, in his room, and he couldn’t be happier. The four post bed sat in one corner, facing the door. Beside the bed, just under a fair-sized window was a desk with a very comfy chair. After poking around, Harry discovered a charm on the desk that created a tiny ball of light, which floated above the desk like a table lamp. Beside the desk stood a full-sized dresser, where Harry quickly unpacked and hung his robes. There was a polished wooden door to a small washroom opposite to the bed, and after figuring out how everything worked, Harry decided that the washrooms alone were worth being a wizard.

His one regret was that he couldn’t invite Hermione into his room; he would never see her room, either. According to the Prefects, a student's room will only ever admit that student; no one else could come in, ever. It was only a small disappointment, though.

Prodded on by Hermione’s intent to master the entire year’s work in a week, Harry began to practice his first-year spells that very evening.

‘Wingardium Leviosa,’ Hermione intoned, smiling as the quill rose obediently off the table. ‘Finally,’ she muttered, ‘I can’t believe how annoying that was.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Harry replied innocently, directing his airborne quill to fly in small loops and spirals.

‘Full of ourselves today, aren’t we?’ came her sarcastic reply. ‘Hey!’ she cried, as Harry abandoned his quill, and, whispering the incantation again, took control of Hermione’s. ‘How did you do that?’

‘I didn’t know I could. I just wanted to try, and it worked.’

Hermione huffed in annoyance, before turning to open the first year Transfiguration text. ‘Why don’t we work on transfiguring the quills into needles?’ she suggested. ‘It’s what we’ll be starting on tomorrow, and I’d like to see if we can earn some House points.’

‘Okay, what’re the particulars, besides focusing on the needle?’ Harry let both quills fall back to the table in front of them

Hermione’s head disappeared behind the pages of the large book, and she flipped several pages. ‘The incantation’s “Fyterraphus,” she read, ‘and it looks like one tap, followed by a half-circle with a twist.’ Hermione mimicked the motions, and Harry nodded.

‘Well, here goes,’ he said. ‘Fyterraphus.’ Harry’s quill turned a silver color and shrunk, but otherwise remained very much a quill. ‘Fyterraphus,’ he said in a stronger voice, pushing his magic towards his wand like it was a muscle. He felt a small rush as his magic reached the wand, and the quill vanished with a small “pop,” leaving a perfectly formed needle in its place.

Hermione looked up from her own attempts to stare incredulously at Harry’s needle. ‘What the…? How did you do that?’

‘I pushed.’

‘What do you mean, “pushed?”’

‘Exactly that,’ he said, confused. ‘I pushed my magic towards my wand, and focused on the needle I wanted, and it happened. I feel a little tired from doing it, though.’

Hermione frowned, and resumed practicing, while Harry looked up the reversal to the transfiguration. Several minutes later Hermione smiled at her fully formed pin; Harry stifled a yawn, having forced his quill into a pin and back several times.’

‘Are you okay?’ asked Hermione, her precise wand movements turning her pin back to a quill.

Harry nodded, rubbing his eyes. ‘Yeah, I’m fine, just a bit tired from doing all that.’

‘Maybe you’re not supposed to “push,”’ she said. ‘I haven’t been, and I don’t feel tired at all, yet.’

Harry rolled his shoulders in an attempt to shake off his fatigue. ‘I’ve been pushing my magic all my life,’ he said with a half-shrug. ‘If I push it into my muscles, I get stronger and faster. If I push it towards my skin, I don’t get hurt as easily.’ I’d better not say what happens when I push it around my head, he thought. I’ll save that for later. ‘So, I just pushed it towards my wand, and it helped the spell along.’

‘Let me see,’ she instructed, leaning closer to his wand. Harry complied, muttering the incantation again, forcing his quill into a needle. ‘Your wand movements are terrible, Harry! The half-circle is supposed to be horizontal, just above the quill, and a lot smaller; you twist your wrist clockwise until it’s facing up while you’re doing the half-circle; and it’s Feye-ter-Ah-fuss.’

‘Yes, professor,’ he grumbled, forcing the pin to revert. Taking a deep, calming breath, Harry tried again, mindful of Hermione’s steps. Once again the pin appeared, and Harry felt a lot less of his magic pulled away from him. ‘That was a bit easier,’ he conceded. ‘Seems like the better you are with a wand, the less you have to try.’

‘See? I was right.’

Harry narrowed his eyes playfully at Hermione’s smug expression, and turned his wand to her book bag. ‘Colloportus!’ It took a great deal out of him, but Hermione’s bag obediently snapped shut, the belt-lock clicking into place.

‘Harry!’ she cried, tugging at the strap. ‘What did you do? Open this right now!’

‘Can’t,’ he said with a mighty yawn. ‘Don’t know what the charm is to unlock things. You can show me tomorrow when you figure it out. Me, I’m off to bed.’

‘Harry Potter, don’t you dare leave!’

‘G’night, H’rmi’ne,’ Harry slurred as he stumbled up the steps. That last charm had drained him completely, but the look on Hermione’s face was priceless.

‘HARRY!’

His door shut with a small click, and Harry fell onto his bed, not bothering to undress. Before he could properly reach the pillows, he was sound asleep.

Despite his exhaustion the previous night, Harry woke excited for his first day of classes. He hastily stepped into the shower pool, barely allowing the water enough time to spin up to his head before jumping out, the pool’s charms drying him completely. Choosing a different set of school robes, Harry dressed quickly and headed down the stairs, his shoulders tingling as the new robes changed to sport Ravenclaw colors.

‘I’m so mad at you!’ Hermione’s voice greeted him as he reached the common room. ‘It took me an hour to get that lock to open! An hour! You’re so lucky that I had my Charms book out already…’

‘Good morning, Hermione.’

‘Don’t you smirk like that!’ she said archly. ‘It wasn’t funny!’

‘If you say so,’ he agreed, grinning. ‘Let’s get to breakfast!’ Nudging Hermione in the shoulder, Harry headed for the portrait exit, Hermione grumbling and fuming close behind him.

--//--//--

With that, my first year at Hogwarts had begun. We were handed our schedules, and like all students – except Hermione – we complained. We complained that every course showed up twice a week; we complained that all the practical courses had interminably long double periods once a week; we complained that one of the Astronomy periods was at midnight on a Friday.

Like all complaining students, the professors ignored us.

Classes were a mixed bag for me. Some, like Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense, were painfully easy. Since I could force my spells to work through sheer power, the professors always gave me top marks and House Points for my achievements. Hermione was singularly unimpressed with this, but she earned more than enough points on her own.

I had read so far ahead in Muggle Studies, History of Magic, and Astronomy that the classes were pointless; two seconds of magic and I had the answers I needed. Astronomy did require some math work, but I was perfectly capable of it – even if I didn’t like doing it. Ravenclaw was paired with Slytherin for Muggle Studies and Astronomy, so Draco, Pansy and I spent most of those classes chatting quietly once I’d helped her finish her work. Professors Babbling and Sinistra quickly learned that our assignments were always done early and done right, so they never got after us. History of Magic, on the other hand, I slept through; Professor Binns, a ghost, hardly remembered what year it was, let alone who was in his class, so this came to nothing.

The one class where I was always on my toes was Potions.

--//--//--

‘Most of you will find Potions exceedingly boring,’ said Professor Snape in a quiet but commanding voice. ‘Those same people will assuredly have the lowest marks. This class requires rare talent and attention to detail…’ Harry tuned out Snape’s comments as he finished setting up his small cauldron. Snape had made it clear that he wasn’t a nice person, and Harry hardly wanted to get on his bad side from the very first day.

‘Potter, what are you doing?’ Harry looked up to see Snape staring down at him with a dangerous look in his eye.

‘Setting up my cauldron, Professor.’

‘And what are you going to be brewing for us, Potter, on your first day of classes?’ Harry felt his cheeks heat up, but tried his best to hold the professor’s gaze.

‘There are instructions for a potion to cure boils on the board, sir. I assumed that it was going to be our assignment.’

‘You assumed,’ echoed Snape, arching an eyebrow. ‘Why did you “assume,” Potter? Have you somehow read my mind, and know for certain that the potion on the board is your assignment?’

‘It’s the first potion mentioned in our year’s textbooks,’ Harry retorted. ‘It’s the best guess I could have made.’

‘And you know all about what’s in the textbook, right Potter?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Harry said defiantly.

‘And you consider yourself rather knowledgeable, do you?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Harry, quickly bringing his potions books to the forefront of his mind. Hermione gasped quietly beside him, a look of horror on her face.

Snape grinned evilly. ‘Well then, let's see if those books have actually taught you anything. There are enough ingredients in this room for a Calming Draught. I want a batch made to produce at least five doses, all double-potency. Get to work.’

Harry ducked his head and walked over to the shelves of ingredients. The Calming Draught was out of the second-year textbook, but he could recall it well enough. Altering a potion to be more potent, however, was something that was covered in fourth year. Harry seethed internally as Snape began to explain the cure for boils to the rest of the class. It was hardly fair that Harry had been set up with an impossible task while the others got off easy. He could do this, though; he had the knowledge. Hopefully, the experience he had with cooking would help him prepare the potion.

Snape watched him with a critical eye as he gathered what he needed and returned to his desk. Hermione looked mournfully at him, but he shrugged away her concern; he could do this. He began to carefully prepare each ingredient while the water in his cauldron heated. He fell into a rhythm as he worked, mentally cross-referencing his textbooks to be sure of what he was doing. Adding ingredients methodically, he smiled as he stirred the potion, satisfied that it was going well.

He heard Snape as he stalked around the class, barking out corrections to the students as he passed the various worktables. The Ravenclaws seemed engrossed in their work, subconsciously responding to Snape’s orders without actually looking up. The Hufflepuffs paid less attention to their potions, and more attention to Snape, cringing whenever he came near one of their tables. Snape seemed to enjoy their fear, and spent far more time near the Hufflepuffs.

‘How are you doing?’ asked Hermione in a quiet voice.

Harry shrugged, not willing to remove his attention. ‘It’s working,’ he said. ‘It should be done in a half-hour or so.’

‘None of this was in the book. How do you know all this?’

Harry pondered his answer for a moment, before deciding that being truthful wouldn’t hurt. ‘The Calming Draught is in next year’s book,’ he replied. ‘The guidelines to alter potions are in the fourth-year book.’

‘Fourth-year!’ she hissed. ‘Why are you doing a fourth year potion?’

‘Do you have something to share, Miss Granger?’ asked Snape, stalking over.

‘Um… err… w-why is Harry doing fourth-year work, professor?’ The question was loud enough for the other students to hear, and several whispered conversations broke out.

Hermione squirmed uncomfortably as Snape glared at her. He glanced at Harry’s potion, then to Harry, before returning his gaze to Hermione. ‘Because he obviously can,’ he said. ‘Are you looking for more work then? I can certainly accommodate that.’ Hermione began to shake her head, but Snape had already stepped over to her cauldron.

‘Let’s give you a taste of what Potter’s doing. You’re going to alter this potion to a stronger dosage. Take three more rosebuds and add them. Don’t worry about preparing them, just throw them in. Stir three times counterclockwise... be exact, Granger; this isn't breakfast you’re cooking ... add the wormwood chips now; use three more than the recipe says – just do it! ... You don't have time in this period to let this version of the potion simmer, tilt your cauldron and whip the potion like you’re beating eggs. Keep your head out of the smoke – I said DON'T BREATHE THE FUMES! Faster; Faster! Now we have a five-minute window. Prepare a half-ounce of powdered mandrake root, quickly! ... Good, now add it slowly – too fast and you'll wake up in the Hospital Wing. That’s right. Now stir clockwise for five minutes, adding a counterclockwise stir every ten stirs or so. Once the potion is dull green, dip your finger and taste it; it should be very bitter. Bottle as much as you can using the size 4 vials from the counter.’

Hermione was a nervous wreck by the time she was finished bottling her potion. Harry finished his five minutes later, carefully ladling five doses into mug-sized containers. Snape inspected them carefully, looking for the slightest error. After a full three minutes of inspection, sniffing and a quick taste, he nodded. ‘These are acceptable, Potter. If Madam Pomfrey agrees, then you will have 10 points for your work, and the school nurse may have other assignments to provide you. Are you completely comfortable with the course material?’

‘Err... yes, sir.’

‘Good.’ With that, Snape turned his attention to the other students’ potions, dismissing Harry with a wave. Taking his dismissal literally, Harry packed his equipment into his book bag and walked to the door, with Hermione following right behind.

‘I don't like him very much,’ Hermione said softly to Harry once they were in the hallway.

‘Me neither,’ he agreed. ‘It’s just like regular school, I guess. There’s always one teacher that makes your life miserable. At least this time, it isn’t math.’

‘So… how did you know what’s in the fourth year books?’

Harry smiled. ‘I had the money, so I bought the textbooks for all seven years. I’ve read most of them already, and I have a good memory.’ Hermione gave him a look of surprise that quickly turned envious. ‘Yes,’ he answered as Hermione opened her mouth to speak, ‘you can borrow them and read ahead.’

Hermione smiled brilliantly, and grabbed Harry by the elbow, hurrying them back to the common room.

--//--//--

Snape’s classes were unforgettable. Free lessons in humility and blind obedience, and you just might learn a thing or two about potions.

Those were our classes in a nutshell. Hermione and I held straight Outstandings in all our courses. Hermione accomplished this through hard work and diligence; I accomplished this because I was inherently powerful and had the textbooks floating in my head, so every test was open-book. With Hermione being fiercely competitive when it came to grades, it was natural that we would eventually come to blows over this.

It started in the library, two weeks into term…

--//--//--

‘So, how’d everyone do on their transfiguration essay?’ asked Draco. Harry smiled; it was a sure sign that Draco had done well, that he would ask to compare grades. Sure enough, a tiny “E+” stood out on the sheet, written in red ink.

Hermione happily produced her essay for Draco to read. ‘I got an Outstanding! Professor McGonagall had some very nice things to say about it.’ Draco’s smile faded a bit, but he took Hermione’s essay to look at.

‘I got an Exceeds,’ Pansy said without looking at Draco. ‘I missed a couple steps that I didn’t care about.’

‘I got Exceeds too. Now, I wonder what Weasley got?’ Draco reached over and grabbed Ron’s essay right out of his hands, ignoring Ron’s cry of indignation. ‘Let’s see, an Acceptable and a half-scroll of red ink. What’d you write to get McGonagall angry, Weasley?’

‘Nothing,’ replied Ron, his expression stony.

‘Be nice, the both of you,’ Hermione chastised. ‘If we’re too loud, Madam Pince will make us leave.’

‘Oh, Heaven forbid that we’d be kicked out of the library,’ mocked Pansy. ‘Are you in love with books, Granger? Does it put a smile on your face to take the Standard Book of Spells to bed with you?’

‘What’s wrong with liking books?’ asked Hermione, stung by Pansy’s sarcasm.

‘Pansy,’ Harry warned.

‘Fine, whatever. There’s nothing wrong with books, Granger. Develop a sense of humor, please.’

Hermione huffed, clearly put out. Pansy reached over and inked a large silly face on Hermione’s essay, which Hermione quickly snatched away. Despite Hermione’s protests at the defacement of her work, Hermione met Pansy’s grin with a small smile of her own.

‘You never said what you got, Harry.’

Harry turned back to Draco, rummaging through his bag. ‘Just a second,’ he mumbled. ‘There!’ Harry handed a slightly wrinkled paper to Draco, the small red “O” apparent to everyone.

‘Hmm, two Outstandings, two Ravenclaws,’ Ron mused. ‘Who’d have guessed?’

‘How’d you get an Outstanding?’ asked Hermione. ‘Your essay was less than half of what I wrote.’

‘Still answered the question,’ Harry replied with a shrug. ‘I didn’t leave anything out, so they can’t mark me wrong.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Pansy said. ‘The professors know that boys can’t write, so they mark them easier.’ Ron and Draco chuckled at Pansy’s attempt at humor. Harry smiled, but noted that Hermione looked less than pleased.

Draco glanced between Harry and Hermione, and quickly changed the topic to their upcoming flying lessons. Harry shot Draco a grateful smile, and began to consider what he would say when Hermione confronted him again. Maybe it’ll pass, he thought. It’s just one essay, after all; our other essays will probably look more alike.

But such wasn’t the case; as the week progressed and assignments were given back, Harry noticed that his essays were all much shorter than Hermione’s, but he still managed “O’s” on all of them.

‘It’s not fair,’ she grumbled as she compared their work in the common room. ‘What are you doing that’s so different?’

‘Not much,’ Harry said. ‘I just answer the questions, and cite my sources.’

‘But… there’s no work involved,’ she insisted, waving his transfiguration paper. ‘Every one of your papers says “It’s like this because,” and that’s it. You don’t reason through the solution.’

‘Why would I?’ asked Harry, a little bewildered. ‘The assignment didn’t say “prove that the textbook’s telling the truth.” It said “discuss why the spell won’t work on a living creature.”’

‘Right, “Discuss!” The assignment said “discuss!” You aren’t doing that! You’re just quoting from higher-year books! It took me five sheets to explain why Fyterraphus couldn’t be used on a mole! I cited seven different books! You did nothing!’

Harry sighed in exasperation. ‘Look, it’s one of the core rules of the Universal Transfigurations. A living creature is unaffected by the nonliving-to-nonliving Universal Transfiguration, full stop. It’s also true that all the lesser transfigurations we’re learning are derived from the Universals, so that we can learn how the changes work bit by bit. So, it’s not a big deal to say that since all our spells are derived from the Universals, they follow the same rules; in fact, there’s a direct quote that says exactly that. Since that’s true, then you can’t use Fyterraphus on living creatures. It’s short, it’s simple, and it’s absolutely right.’

‘But you’re using fifth year books!’ Hermione raged. ‘It’s not fair that you’re writing your assignments with them!’

‘Why? You know that there are copies in the library, right? For all it matters, I could have just read up on it in the library and then done my paper. It’s not some big deal that I bought the books.’

Hermione screamed in frustration, causing more than a few students to look their way. Harry leaned back a bit, but Hermione was silent, her head down. A tear worked its way down Hermione’s face, dropping from her cheek and hitting Harry’s transfiguration paper with a small tap.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. He wasn’t sure why he was apologizing, but he was confused that Hermione was crying. Had he done something wrong?

‘It’s not you,’ she sniffed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. ‘I-I just … I don’t understand!’

Harry frowned, looking at Hermione’s assignment, then his own. ‘I think that what Professor McGonagall really wanted was for everyone to understand that you can’t affect both living and non-living things with the same Transfiguration spell. Even Ron managed to say that much in the whole four inches he wrote, but that was worth an “A.” I gave the exact reason why, so I got an “O.” You went out of your way to prove that it’s true, and that got you an “O.” Pansy and Draco did it like you, just not as well, so they got an “E” and “E+.”’

‘I hate this school,’ she said suddenly, picking up her books and throwing them angrily into her bag.

‘Why?’

‘Because every time I feel like I’ve done something right, it’s not special at all! I work hard to get my spells right, but you just “push” and do it right away, and the teachers love you! I study for ages to write my papers, and you just jot down a few lines, and get the same mark!

‘And it’s not just you!’ she added, seeing Harry open his mouth to retort. ‘It would be so much better if it was, but Pansy can push like you can for some spells, and… and… I feel useless! I hate this place!’

The common room was silent, every other student caught up in Hermione’s shouting. Harry looked at her, stricken by her outburst. For the first time, he felt guilty for his abilities; he had never intended to hurt Hermione. ‘I just want to go home,’ she mumbled, and Harry’s heart dropped. She cradled her face in her hands, beginning to cry. Most of the other students had begun to head to their dormitories, and one of the older Prefects was slowly walking over.

‘I’m sorry I’ve hurt you,’ Harry whispered, fighting his own tears as he stacked Hermione’s papers neatly in a pile. ‘I’m sorry I’ve made you hate school. But I don’t hate you, and I’d really like you to stay.’ Not knowing what else to do, he stood to leave. As he brushed Hermione’s head, her arms shout out, grabbing him around the legs.

‘Don’t leave.’

‘Alright,’ he said, maneuvering her arms so that he could sit down beside her. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.’ Hermione loosened her grip enough to let Harry sit, and then tightened her arms again, clinging to his side.

‘I’m going to find Professor Flitwick,’ the Prefect said. ‘He’s always good for cheering people up.’

‘Thanks,’ Harry called over his shoulder as she walked away.

Professor Flitwick, as it turned out, was immensely funny. He was very short, hardly taller than Harry was, but he had such mastery of magic. Harry looked on in awe as entire children’s stories were brought to life, acted out by illusions on the table. Hermione laughed and clapped in delight, her tears long forgotten, as Flitwick masterfully conducted his illusions. Dozens and dozens of individual spells were woven together in an intricate manner, and Flitwick was more than able to maintain a witty banter as he narrated his story.

‘You should never feel like you’re alone,’ the tiny professor said as his illusions all bowed and walked through a door, which closed and disappeared. ‘If you feel overwhelmed or concerned with anything, I will always be available.’

‘Thank you professor,’ she said, and Flitwick gave her a small bow.

‘You take care of the young lady, now, Mr. Potter.’

‘I will, sir.’

‘Good. You’re both excellent students, but you should take time to relax.’ With that, Flitwick bid them goodnight and hopped out the portrait hole, humming a tune as he walked to his office.

Hermione smiled at the closing portrait, her legs still kicking excitedly. ‘He’s a nice man,’ she enthused. ‘I like him.’

Harry’s gaze drifted back to the table. ‘That was absolutely amazing.’

‘I’m sorry about before,’ she said, looking down. ‘I just… lost it, I guess.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Harry dismissed. ‘Why don’t we work on our assignments together from now on? If I know a shorter way to do it, I’ll tell you, and you won’t have to spend forever on each one.’

‘Thanks, Harry. I’d like that.’

The two chatted idly about Flitwick’s remarkable display for a few minutes, before saying goodnight. As Harry climbed into bed, he hoped that it would be the last of his issues with Hermione. Flitwick would not always be there to help him.

--//--//--

Everything went spectacularly for the next couple of weeks. Hermione was very into her studies, so we spent most afternoons and some evenings in the library. She was driven to know absolutely everything there was to know about magic and the magical world in general, and it seemed like she wanted to read every single book in existence. I also ended up reading a lot of the books, which is what eventually got me into trouble with Hermione again.

Our friends studied with us, since group efforts usually fared better. Ron was laid back and content to pull “A’s” on his work. He spent his free time reading about Quidditch or playing chess, where he proved to be an unbeatable opponent, frustrating all of us repeatedly. He had reached a relative truce with Draco, but they still took their shots at each other whenever possible.

Draco was a more reasonable student, never content with less than an “E-,” but not particularly concerned with getting top marks. He spent most of his time establishing his preferred social circle, based on who knew who, and whose parents did what. He was surprisingly interested in Hermione’s lineage, since the name “Granger” was new to him. Hermione and I spent a long time establishing a false tree of relatives in France based off of what books we had available. Hermione was uncomfortable talking about her parents, and avoided the topic skillfully. More than once I wondered if something was amiss there, but I wasn’t about to bring it up.

Pansy was either a great student or a horrible one. If she enjoyed the class, she was brilliant. If she was bored, other students suffered for her entertainment. Since the only classes she enjoyed were the practical classes – Charms, Defense, Potions and Transfiguration – she spent a great deal of time tormenting Gryffindors for the amusement of the other Slytherins. She never let her work slip below an “A,” but the “E’s” and “O’s” were reserved for the practical courses.

After-school flying lessons were great fun. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were practicing together, and the house Quidditch teams were there to give pointers and show off a bit. As the class progressed, I was tailing Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff Seeker. The two of us were having a great time, and I was matching him on everything he did: Corkscrew dives, hairpin turns, a very watered-down Wronski Feint... Finally, after four weeks of school, I had the ultimate form of fun in my hands.

It caught the notice of the Ravenclaw team as well. Their captain, Roger Davies, asked me to show up to practices. I did, and over the month of October I went from newbie-with-potential to reserve Seeker to reserve Seeker and Chaser to starting line Chaser and Reserve Seeker. The other two Chasers – a solid third-year named Bradley and Davies himself – worked with me until we had seamless plays. Chambers, who I'd replaced as a Chaser, made a great Keeper, and we worked him out mercilessly.

Cho Chang was the resident Seeker and was a decent flyer. I have to be honest: I was faster than she was and could make tighter turns, so I would certainly be the better Seeker. Chang herself said as much to Davies, but Roger had a devious plan: I was a great Chaser, so I'd help the team get well ahead in points first. If Cho was completely outclassed by the rival Seeker, or we were behind and needed the Snitch to win, we'd switch. Otherwise, Cho was more than a match for the current Hogwarts Seekers, and the Chaser line could use me more.

Professor Flitwick celebrated my acceptance to the team by getting me a brand-new Nimbus 2000, the best non-professional broom in existence at the time. In addition to my studies with Hermione, I now spent at least one hour a day flying, trying out Seeker and Chaser moves, and just plain enjoying myself. The workout of trying to make a high-quality broom do what you want at near-to-top speeds was also doing wonders for my physique. I was about your average skinny 11-year-old at this point: Adequately fed and watered, ran around at primary school and did a bunch of yard work. I'd never really had to exercise until now.

The muscle pains in the mornings were exquisite, but I just couldn't stay off the broom.

I did manage to shorten Hermione’s assignments quite a bit, and it solved her problems for most of October. The problem, as I mentioned before, was my reading. Once I’ve read a book, I never need to look at it again. Since the same books were used over and over for our assignments, my preparation time kept getting shorter and shorter. As October came to a close, it was a normal occurrence for me to show up to our study sessions with the assignment mostly done. None of the others cared, but Hermione was beginning to show signs of frustration again, and I was far too naïve to understand what I was doing wrong. It wasn’t until Halloween that she cornered me.

--//--//--

Hermione was following him.

Harry sighed, recognizing the look on her face. He hadn’t seen it in nearly a month; Hermione had been content and their classes had gone well. Now, she once again looked like the axis of the world had broken, and it was his fault.

He hunched his shoulders and sighed unhappily, resolving to get it over with as quickly as possible. He turned a corner and walked down a seldom-used second floor hallway, where he was certain that they wouldn’t be overheard. ‘What’d I do to you now?’ he asked, turning to look at her.

Hermione blinked, and her facial features softened. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘You’re not doing anything, but… you kind of are.’

‘Um… okay?’

Hermione took a deep breath, and pulled out her latest Potions essay. ‘Remember this assignment?’ Harry nodded. ‘We started this assignment at the same time. It took me about five hours over two days to finish, with your help. I watched you starting yours, and you spent maybe an hour on it – like you just sat down, wrote it, and signed your name. I don’t think you even looked at any books. What’s going on?’

Harry rubbed his face, dreading the potential for conflict. ‘Remember what I told you I can do with my magic? Get stronger, stuff like that?’ Hermione nodded. ‘I can do that with my mind, too. If I’ve read a book or seen something and I want to remember it later, I just push my magic around my head, and it’s right there.’

‘I don’t understand-’

‘Perfectly, Hermione; I can remember everything perfectly.’

‘Oh.’ Hermione held her hand up to her mouth, her eyes flicking from point to point as she thought furiously. ‘So, every book you’ve ever read…’

‘Is in my head,’ Harry finished, nodding. ‘I’ll never have to re-read a book for research, ever.’

Hermione’s face contorted weirdly, as though she trying to feel different emotions at the same time.

‘I’m sorry,’ Harry said, feeling more than a little guilty. ‘I know that school’s important to you, and that you don’t like it when I do things you can’t. But I can’t help what I have.’

‘But it’s not fair,’ Hermione gritted out. ‘You’re in classes you don’t need to be, you’re doing assignments you obviously don’t need to do. When it comes time for exams, you don’t need to study. When the professors ask you questions, you have the answers right there. To top it off, if you can’t do a spell properly, you just push.’ Her eyes threatened tears as her voice broke. ‘You have everything you need to be successful. I have to work for every single mark I get, study for hours, and more than anything else, I have to lie about who I am so that I don’t get picked on.’

‘Hermione-’

‘Don’t! Just, just … leave me alone.’

Harry’s heart constricted at the command, but he stepped back and away. It had been the same on the street, where a friend one day was someone to avoid the next. But this was Hogwarts; this was a better place… Apparently not, he decided. Squaring his shoulders, he turned to leave. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, calling over his shoulder. ‘I never meant to hurt you.’

She’d apologize, he hoped. She was his friend, his housemate; surely this wasn’t something she would hold against him? Try as he might, Harry wasn’t able to quash the fear that he had damaged his friendship with Hermione by not telling her sooner. Would it have mattered? Hermione’s awfully competitive in classes; maybe it’s more important to her.

Harry sat brooding through his Defense class that morning. He stared straight ahead, making no attempt to cover his bad mood. He pushed with all his strength, completing the assignment and spells in record time, so that he could continue to brood. The desk to his right was empty; he had snapped at everyone who tried to sit with him. Even Ron and Draco were sent away with threats and glares. Only Pansy had managed to break through his mood slightly, and she sat to his left.

Soon they were in Transfiguration, and McGonagall shot him worried glances as he sent yet another classmate scurrying to find another seat. He couldn’t see Hermione, but he hadn’t been looking for her, either. She had sent him away, so he would stay away.

A small motion drew his attention to his right; Hermione sat carefully beside him, looking down at her books as she pulled them out of her bag. Harry’s instinct was to take his wand and charm her book open to the correct page, as they always did for each other. His wand was halfway out of his robes, before he stopped, and his shoulders drooped slightly. It was something he would miss, a small part of their daily routine that he shared with none of his other friends. He stuffed his wand away dejectedly and focused on the board ahead.

‘Please,’ Hermione said in a small voice; her book was still unopened on her desk. Harry glanced over to see her looking at him. A small hand reached out and grabbed the edge of his robes, holding on tightly.

‘Page 137,’ he intoned, tapping her book with his wand, and the book obediently opened to the correct page.

‘Thanks.’

‘No problem.’ Hermione still hadn’t let go of his robes, and Harry slowly began to smile, his turbulent thoughts fading into the background. Maybe everything would be alright.

--//--//--

Ah, how ridiculously foolish we all acted when we were young. Had anything really happened? No, probably not. But at eleven, I certainly didn’t feel that way. I clung to my friends with fierce loyalty like the love-starved, damaged youth that I was. My potentially best friend was angry because I had advantages she didn’t, and I was petrified that she wouldn’t want to be my friend because of it. Thankfully, I was very good at saying “I’m sorry,” which Hermione later assured me had made all the difference.

There are some things you can learn about real life in the back closet of a prostitute’s apartment. Apologizing can elicit forgiveness for the most amazing things, the least of which are the white lies of children. Hermione called my ability to apologize “mature.” I called it a sophisticated act of self-preservation.

Still, Hermione appreciated it, and once she had cooled down, everything was indeed “alright.”

Unfortunately, the karma of Halloween reared its ugly head in my direction, and the day got much worse.

--//--//--

‘That’s right!’ Professor Flitwick encouraged, ‘just swish and flick, and Wingardium Leviosa. Keep your mind on the feather! If you’re not focusing, it’s not floating!’

Harry leisurely played with his feather mid air, sending it higher and higher with flicks of his wand. Others in the class were still trying to get their feathers up, though a few were dancing around on desks in a promising fashion. Surprisingly, he hadn’t felt the need to push much, though it did take a little bit to keep the feather aloft.

A couple seats to his left, Hermione was attempting to correct Ron, who was quickly losing his patience and his temper. Harry counted his blessings that he wasn’t sitting beside Ron today; Hermione would take the brunt of it when Ron blew up, but a small, vindictive part of him was content to let that come to pass. Earlier today, Hermione had made him feel miserable, so it was fair turnaround.

‘Mr. Potter, that’s marvelous!’ Harry jerked his attention to Flitwick, only barely managing to retain control of his feather. ‘How many times have you renewed the charm?’

‘I don’t know, sir. I’ve just been playing with it, so I’ve lost count.’

‘Have you been saying the incantation at all?’

Harry frowned, thinking quickly. ‘No, I don’t think so. Just flicked hard at it to make it move around; I did have a solid idea of where I wanted it to go, though.’

‘Excellent! 10 points to Ravenclaw! Mr. Potter is casting the charm silently, something we don’t really expect from students for a few years yet. Well done!’

Harry blushed, smiled at the praise. Compliments had been few and far between in his life, and it felt good to have someone speak well of him. On impulse, he flicked his wand again, sending his feather down to hover over Flitwick’s head, to the tiny professor’s delight. Flitwick responded by waving his wand, conjuring dozens of feathers, which then dove at Harry in an attempt to tickle him. Student and professor dueled with each other, using feathers and levitation charms as weapons, while the rest of the class laughed.

‘Come on, Ron!’ Harry heard Hermione coaxing. ‘Win – GAR – dee – um Le – vee – O – sa, small swish this way, and flick towards the feather.’

‘I’m already doing that!’ he nearly shouted in frustration. ‘It’s still not working!’

‘Maybe you should try picturing the feather differently.’

‘Maybe you should shut up, and stop bothering me!’

‘I’m only-’

‘A loud-mouthed, bossy, good-for-nothing nag, that’s what. Shut UP!’

‘MR. WEASLEY!’ shouted Professor Flitwick, feathers falling to the floor, forgotten. ‘20 points from Gryffindor for such blatant, willful abuse! You will see me tonight after classes! Ms. Granger, you- Ms. Granger! Wait!’

But Hermione was gone, out the door in a flurry of books and sheets, and Harry heard the echo of a sob as she left. He shot to his feet, looking once at his professor, who nodded, before tearing off after her. Hermione was quite a runner; she was down the hall and nearly around the corner by the time Harry had left the classroom. But Harry was a fast runner, and knew how to be even faster.

Calling on his magic, he tore down the hall, passing students that seemed to be moving in slow motion. Hermione came closer and closer; he finally caught up to her halfway up a staircase, which decided that it was now a good time to move.

‘Let me go!’ she shrieked, hitting him with every ounce of strength she had. Harry shook his head, unable to answer, catch his breath, and weather the beating at the same time. The stairs locked into their new formation with a shake that caused them both to let go of each other to balance themselves, and Hermione recovered enough to bolt off again, Harry in pursuit.

‘Why are you chasing me? Leave me alone!’

‘NO!’ he shouted, catching up to her at a doorway. She had just managed to unlock it when he grabbed her around her waist, pinning her arms.

‘Let go!’ she cried. ‘I want to be alone!’ Hermione tried to pound on Harry again, but with a mighty heave, Harry pinned her against the wall just inside the room, trapping her. Hermione struggled and struggled, before finally breaking down, sobbing into Harry’s shoulder.

‘Why don’t people like me?’ she wailed. ‘I was just trying to help!’

‘I like you just fine,’ he soothed. ‘Who cares what Ron thinks? You’re okay.’

‘But you don’t need me!’ she shouted, shaking against him. ‘You’re better than I am!’

‘But I want to be your friend,’ he countered, more than a little hurt. ‘Why doesn’t that mean anything?’

Hermione stopped shaking for a moment, but the sound of immense growling drew Harry’s attention. Towering above them was a massive three-headed dog, easily the size of a double-decker bus. One of the heads huffed out a gout of flame, and six angry eyes glared down at them.

‘Oh, shit,’ he muttered. ‘Hermione, RUN!’

The beast lunged towards them, and Harry knew it would reach them before they reached the door. ‘Protego!’ he shouted, pushing with all his might as he whipped his wand in a messy vertical circle. A large blue shield of energy crackled into life in front of him, draining him to exhaustion. The massive dog slammed bodily into the shield, but the barrier held, and they were outside the room, Harry staggering badly.

‘Shut it!’ he called, and Hermione swung the door closed in the dog’s multiple faces. ‘Colloportus!’ he called, sealing the door. Hermione added her own locking charm, and then ran over to Harry as he collapsed to the ground. The sounds of the angry dog could be heard on the other side of the door.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked, kneeling beside him.

Harry nodded, struggling to his feet. ‘I’m fine; I’m just tired. That shield took everything I had.’

‘Mr. Potter!’ Flitwick appeared at the end of the hallway, Professor McGonagall in tow. ‘Mr. Potter, what happened?’ The short professor stopped near Harry, while McGonagall went to the door, unlocking it and opening it to see-

‘What is this?’ Everyone turned to look at the open door. All three heads of the door were growling, gnawing on Harry’s still-intact shield like a large chew-toy. McGonagall slowly closed the door, locking it again, and silencing it to rid them of the noise. ‘The two of you will explain yourselves, now,’ she commanded.

‘I ran from class, professor,’ Hermione said. ‘I ended up here, and Harry followed me. Someone insulted me, and I wanted to be alone, to, um ... to cry. Harry tried to cheer me up, but I tried to hide in that room.’

‘The dog lunged at us,’ Harry picked up, ‘so I cast the strongest Protego I could and we ran out of the room, locking the door.’ Hermione nodded.

Flitwick walked over to McGonagall, providing the missing details from the classroom. Harry leaned against the wall, and Hermione stepped towards him, hugging him.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I got us into so much trouble.’

‘Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s not every day you can say you’ve seen a three-headed dog the size of a house.’

‘Cerberus,’ Hermione corrected automatically, before blushing and ducking her head while Harry chuckled. Of course Hermione would know what it was.

‘You’re both alright?’ Professor Flitwick asked when he walked back to them. Harry nodded wearily, not letting go of Hermione. ‘You’re quite the loyal friend, Mr. Potter,’ the professor said, chuckling at the pair, ‘and that was an exceptional shield charm; couldn’t have done it much better myself.’

‘That’s a lie, professor,’ Harry said, eliciting quiet laughter from both professors, and Hermione. ‘But thanks.’

‘I think that the two of you have seen enough excitement,’ McGonagall said. ‘Please keep the knowledge of this corridor to yourselves; I don’t wish any other students to endanger themselves unnecessarily. Now off to your common rooms; I will inform your remaining professors that you both have the rest of the afternoon off. If you wish to attend the Halloween Feast, you’re welcome to, but we can arrange for dinner to be sent to you if you do not.’

‘Thank you, professor,’ Hermione said.

‘Professor Flitwick will escort you to your common room. I would like to speak with Mr. Potter for a few moments.’ Harry nodded tiredly, and the two pairs of professor and student parted ways at the end of the hall, Harry following McGonagall to her office.

‘I heard some rather interesting information in our first staff meeting,’ she said, once they were both seated. ‘That shield charm you just cast is ample proof of it. Is it true, then, that you are versed in fourth year material for Potions?’

‘Yes, professor,’ Harry said, his cheeks reddening.

‘And are you as well-read in other areas, as well?’ McGonagall nudged a plate of biscuits toward him, and Harry obligingly took one.

‘Theory-wise, yes,’ Harry agreed between bites. ‘I doubt I could actually do fourth-year transfiguration, since I haven’t tried or practiced, but I’ve read it all, yes.’

McGonagall adopted a shrewd look. ‘If I were to use the First Universal Transfiguration on you, what would happen?’

‘Nothing,’ Harry answered immediately. ‘I answered this in the first assignment you gave us. The First Universal is for non-living matter to non-living matter. Since I’m a living creature, the base spell wouldn’t affect me.’ He grinned, and added ‘If your aim is off, you might hit the chair and get something, though. You’d have to use the Third and Fourth Universals on me.’

‘Very good,’ she said, smiling. ‘If you’re as well-versed in theory as you seem to be, then we’re at something of an impasse as to what to do with you. Giving you standard assignments would seem to be a waste of your talents. How ever did you learn so much?’

Harry shuffled his feet, wondering how he would answer the question without drawing attention to himself. ‘I don’t know,’ he said eventually. ‘I picked up the books for all seven years, and I’ve just read ahead. I remember things really well, so a lot of it sticks.’

‘I see.’ McGonagall raised an eyebrow, looking less than satisfied with his answer. ‘A lot of the theory that you seem to take for granted takes several years to impart for good reason. If it were as simple as having students read ahead before attending Hogwarts, then rest assured we would instruct parents accordingly. Aside from theory, however, you do seem to be remarkably talented with magic.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ Harry demurred. ‘I talked with Hermione about it, and I seem to have a little more um … power, I guess, than most kids. If I’m having a hard time with a spell, I can just push a little more, and it’ll work. Hermione showed me that the more accurate I am with the spell, the less I have to do that, but the first few times, I always push so that it works.’

‘Well, that’s an unexpected twist,’ McGonagall said. ‘I’d expect a seventh year to have such leeway with lesser spells, but a first-year? It’s unheard of.’

‘Sorry,’ Harry mumbled.

‘Nonsense, Mr. Potter. Don’t worry yourself about it. I’ll hardly penalize you for your natural talent. None of us will.’

‘Except Professor Snape,’ Harry corrected. ‘He has me working on advanced potions to give to Madam Pomfrey.’

‘Are you alright with this?’ she asked, leaning forward. ‘Professor Snape is well-known for pushing his students, but he cannot force you to do extracurricular work if you’re unwilling.’

‘No, no, it’s fine. It’s … nice, I guess, to be working at a higher level. I don’t think I could do that in the other practical classes.’

McGonagall rested back, a smile again showing on her face. ‘Very well, then. What do you think of the rest of your courses?’

‘Well, History, Muggle Studies and Astronomy are like Potions,’ Harry said, counting on his fingers. ‘I can do the higher-level work, so I’m not too worried about them. Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense … I can probably write any paper you want, but I’m not sure about the spells.’

‘Well, you’ve told me what I need to know. Off with you now, and get some rest.’

Harry walked back to Ravenclaw tower, collapsing into the couch beside Hermione. They chatted amicably about what might happen to Harry’s classes, and decided that dinner in the common room was far superior to any potential feast. The thought of getting up off the couch, let alone walking to the Great Hall, made Harry’s insides churn.

Shortly after dinner, they were studying Harry’s Defense books, when the portal was thrown open and students piled in.

‘What happened?’ Harry asked loudly, catching the attention of the nearest Prefect.

‘Troll’s loose in the school,’ he said. ‘We’re all supposed to stay in the common rooms until the Professors deal with it.’

Harry looked at Hermione, and the two of them nodded and went back to reading, switching from the second-year Defense books to third. If Trolls and a Cerberus were common things for Hogwarts, shield charms wouldn’t be enough.

--//--//--

‘It’s ready,’ they both chimed, standing back and admiring their work. She looked it over, very pleased with the results.

‘Let him come,’ she said, slipping her arms around each of their waists. ‘He’ll be in for the shock of his life.’

--//--//--

A/N: Review please! Chapter 3 overhaul coming up right away!

3. For Christmas, there will be a Test

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: Coming in at just shy of 10,500 words, this chapter was necessarily long. Only one more to go for first year after this.

Thanks for all the reviews! I hope to keep hearing from you.

Onwards!

~TOW

YEAR 1: For Christmas, there will be a Test

================================

“How the hell was I supposed to know that there’d be a troll in the school?!” That was the most memorable line in my entire argument with Ron the next day. I was pissed off to no end that he’d just about gotten Hermione killed. For any other person it would have been a quick “I’m sorry!” followed by “Is Hermione all right?”

Not for Ron, though; he went straight to his own defense, and never asked once about Hermione’s wellbeing. I didn’t go to the Gryffindor table to start a grudge match, but Ron’s attitude just kept getting me angrier and angrier. I won’t repeat what we said to each other –a lot of hateful stuff, I can assure you that much.

Our shouting match drew the attention of every student and teacher in the Hall. McGonagall and Flitwick were already making their way over, and most of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had stood up to circle around us. Hermione had moved to my side to hold me by the arm, and the Weasley twins had moved to restrain Ron. They were all too late, though; my last comment was “Your mother raised you better than this, you ball-less coward.”

Ron stepped forward, swinging his right fist in an expert hook, while I was standing there with my arms at my sides. I had no time to physically react to the attack, but magic moves at least as fact as nerve impulses.

There was a sickening ‘crack!’ and I was suddenly facing sideways. I could feel the blood beginning to pool in my mouth, and my tongue poked at a couple of loose teeth. Ron could definitely throw a punch and I could feel some magic in there; by all rights I should be on the ground right now. Instead, I was counting in my head: “Three, two, one…”

“AAAARGGGHH!” I turned to see Ron dropping to his knees, cradling his obviously broken hand. His front two knuckles were already turning interesting colors, and the hand itself looked like Ron had slammed it full-power into a brick wall –which, considering my magical strength, was exactly what he just did.

“Did you think I’d let you hurt me?” I said after swallowing my blood. I quickly turned and walked out of the Hall, striding meaningfully down the corridor leading to the Hospital Wing. I had learned early on with Dudley and his gang that making a grand entrance or exit was worth more in intimidation value than any insult or threat that you can say to their face. I wanted to have Madam Pomphrey re-set my teeth and clear up the bruising that was sure to show up on my jaw before anyone could get a good look. With any luck, the notion that you can’t just throw punches at me would prevent a few fights in the future.

Madam Pomphrey accepted my short explanation of “Ron Weasley hit me,” and thanked me for my potions as she undid the damage to my face. It took her about three seconds to finish it all, waving her wand one final time to clear my breath and the taste of blood from my mouth. “Be careful,” she admonished. “Not every injury is so easy to heal, and I’d rather not see you in one of these beds.”

I expected that the professors would have likely docked us each 5 points or so for our public outburst, but the nature of the argument and Ron’s attack on me placed the professors squarely against him. Since fighting was one of the more severe things to be caught for, Ron lost 50 points and ended up with a week of detention. To add injury to insult, his magic-enhanced punch had crushed his knuckles to powder, which meant an overnight stay in the Hospital Wing with a painful dose of Skele-Gro.

No one got after me for the incident; even Hermione didn’t comment on it any further than to say “I’m glad you’re alright.” For those of you who didn’t know the younger Hermione, that’s the coded response for “I’m glad that bastard got his; I was just trying to help him with a charm, for God’s sake! You’d think he’d at least apologize but no, it’s somehow my fault that he insulted me and placed me in the path of that Troll!” An older, more outspoken Hermione would go on with that, too. Even though she didn’t say all that, I understood her meaning well enough. We went to classes as though nothing had occurred, and then went to the library as I promised her.

Hermione and I fell into a habit of studying together almost daily. I would keep her from adding anything to her essays that the assignment didn't specifically ask for, and she would focus on spelling and grammar. She took me through the intricacies of the spells we'd learned, and I taught her how to take hold of her magic and force it into her body or spells. I figured that if magic worked like muscles, the more she pushed, the more there would be to push; I also vowed to follow my own advice. Why not get stronger if I could?

I couldn’t easily explain my memory trick; it was something that I just came across, and I knew absolutely nothing about mind-based magics. Since neither of us had access to the Restricted section of the library, that wasn’t going to change. Hermione was greatly disappointed.

Sometimes Pansy or Draco hung out with us; Ron was still persona-non-grata around the Ravenclaws, and I didn’t expect an apology until Christmas when his mother would likely force it out of him. Draco was very much like Hermione: He had amazingly graceful wand movements and an eye for detail, but he hadn't had to use his magic for anything in his privileged life, so while he was brilliant at what magic he could do, powerful spells were beyond him at the moment.

Pansy wasn't a powerhouse like I was, but her time on a broom and charming objects at home had paid off quite a bit, and she had some power to spare. She was usually the second to get a higher-grade spell, as her excess power allowed to her to "forgive" a few of the details that would catch Draco and Hermione.

Thanks to Hermione’s diligence and a little bit of background from Draco and Pansy, I began to understand why spell pronunciation was so important. It wasn’t the word itself that was critical, but the specific frequency of sound in your voice that carried and formed the power. Draco and Pansy referred to this as “vocalization,” as the concept of “frequency” is a muggle invention. Since everyone’s voice was different, there was no point in creating a standardized rule set for the right way to pronounce spells; you took the word and played with it until you got the maximum effect out of it for your spells. Practice, practice, practice.

My best explanation as a first-year was that the raw spell was formed in your mind and pushed out your mouth through your vocalization. Your wand then fine-tuned the spell into a usable form. This wasn’t exactly correct of course, but my mental picture of mind-to-mouth-to-wand-to-target helped my overall technique immensely.

It also explained silent casting for me as well: Instead of letting the spell flow through your mouth, you let it flow through your wand. Silent casting, however, proved to be one of my greatest weaknesses, since power travels easiest through vocalizations. The wand can channel power through to the overall effect, but not for the creation of the effect.

I normally enjoyed a 50%-75% error margin on wand movements and about a 30%-35% margin on vocalization due to my power. When trying to cast silently, there is no tolerance for error in the wand movements, regardless of how powerful of an effect I’m going for. I was very dependant on my power to perform magic, and it took Draco and Hermione until Christmas to refine my technique to the point that I could occasionally cast a spell other than basic levitation silently.

Speaking of levitation, there was something that I could do with that spell that no one else could: I could put my wand away, forcefully pronounce the spell, and have a quill, scroll, or other light object dance around the room for a bit. It took a great deal of effort to do, and controlling anything with real weight to it was beyond me at the moment, but it was the defining display of my power as far as Draco was concerned.

The November Quidditch match against Hufflepuff was the next disturbing event of the year. The game was going brilliantly and we had a commanding lead. Cedric was giving Cho a run for her money, but the rest of Hufflepuff's team was lackluster and our Chaser line dominated the play.

My greatest asset was a very accurate arm on back- and side-passes, so the most successful of our plays was when we set up Bradley to rush a goal hoop with the Quaffle to draw the Hufflepuff Keeper to the side. Bradley would then telegraph a long pass to me that the Keeper could follow, and I'd drop it behind me to Roger as I made my rush to a side hoop, while Roger would rush the center hoop. The Keeper would already have turned around and be racing in my direction, and couldn't correct fast enough to stop Roger from scoring. We must've used that play five times.

I was in the process of setting Roger up for a shot when by broom bucked violently. I whipped the Quaffle to Davies and grabbed my wand, casting a spell to reveal the broom’s enchantments. I recoiled in horror to see that my broom, which normally had a neutral whitish aura, with a few color spots that correspond to the various layered charms, now had a pulsing, pure black aura that just felt evil.

My lapse in attention nearly cost me my life, as the broom shook and bucked wildly again, throwing me off. I caught the shaft with the fingertips of my hands, and was now hanging precariously nearly eighty feet off the ground with my wand falling to the pitch somewhere below me. I focused on nothing else but getting a two-handed grip on the broom again; just as I secured my hold on the broomstick, I looked ahead and watched helplessly as a Bludger sailed directly at me and slammed into my stomach, tearing me away from my broom.

My magic took the edge off the impact, but Bludgers are 5 pound balls of solid iron that move as fast as eighty miles per hour. Internal bleeding was the least of the possible injuries; I had been lucky I didn’t take that in the ribs. The flying charm on the Bludger died immediately after it hit me, and I began to fall. I could hear screams above the rushing wind, but I was far more concerned with the fast-approaching ground. With my wand on the ground and my broom dancing wildly above me, I had only one trick left. Spreading my arms and legs to increase drag, I pushed on my magic with all my might, shouting “WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!” and praying I could at least slow my skinny arse down a bit.

I nearly blacked out from the drain, but I felt my speed decrease. I was still falling, but I had enough time to put my arms and legs under me and the impact was painful but not truly damaging. It was a good thing too, because the sharp pains in my gut were more than enough distraction.

“Do you wish to continue playing?” a deep, firm voice asked from behind me. I forced myself to stand shakily, and turned to see Professor Dumbledore standing with wand ready, looking at me with concern. I didn’t know how I could possibly continue with no broom, barely any magic left, and a severe injury. Still, my pride forced me to nod.

With a flick of his wand, my renegade broom and wand soared over to where we stood. Another quick wave and my stomach pains stopped completely. Dumbledore then looked at the broom, which was still bucking and dancing a few feet above the ground. He revealed the charms again, and saw the black aura. Dumbledore muttered something and pointed his wand at the broom; with a flash of white light, the broom looked and acted normal again. Then he looked at me, and said “Whenever you’re ready, Harry.”

Ravenclaw’s cheers were thunderous as I remounted my broom and took off. I was completely drained and absolutely useless for the rest of the game, but the damage to Hufflepuff had been done already, and Cho hammered it home by catching the Snitch after only ten more minutes of play.

Hermione launched herself at me after the game hugging me with one hand and pounding on my chest with the other. "HARRY! What were you doing I almost saw you fall, a-and then you got hit with a Bludger and then you fell and I was so scared but you slowed down and you were okay but WHY did you go up again, you could have-have-have..." she trailed off and buried herself in my chest, unabashedly sobbing.

Roger was a good man; he had the team crowd around me so that no one could see Hermione's reaction. If there's one thing that I would always remember Roger for, it's that he knew when something was just too personal to be public.

The last few months had started the rumor mill, but this latest event made very public some of my capabilities. When I first came to Hogwarts, I was extremely good at my classes, and quickly became a top student. That was noteworthy, but it’s not like people like Hermione weren’t up there with me, so it wasn’t an earth-shattering event.

Then, rumors abounded that I had taken out the Troll in order to save Hermione. Out of the four people that were present, none of us could refute the rumor. Snape could have but didn’t, which meant he wanted his involvement to be kept quiet; McGonagall was silent, mirroring Snape’s stance. Hermione wasn’t willing to contradict the idea that I’d saved her, because I did. I, of course, was the focus of the rumors, so anything I said wouldn’t really be considered unless I drew attention to Snape or McGonagall, which they obviously didn’t want.

The Ravenclaw girls considered my rescue a somewhat romantic event, and people treated Hermione and me as a couple in the making. With the romantic version of events keeping the rumors entrenched in girl-talk, and the professors suppressing any mention of the Troll other than to say it was dealt with, this story didn’t make any real public waves either. After all, it was just some girls’ silly fantasy about me, right?

My argument with Ron over Hermione followed by Ron breaking his hand on my face in front of hundreds of witnesses told a different story. Not only might the rumors of my taking on the Troll be true, but there was now undisputed evidence that I was not your average student. The Weasley twins could be heard stating to anyone who would listen how shocked they were, and that no one had ever taken a Weasley in a scrap.

The Quidditch match was the icing on the cake: Hundreds of students and parents watched while I tried to figure out what happened to my broom, get slammed by a high-speed Bludger, wandlessly slow my descent with a levitation spell, and get back up to chat with Professor Dumbledore. That Dumbledore patched me up and cleared my broom didn’t matter; that little show coupled with my successful first game as a Chaser galvanized my public image. The press picked up the story, and the Boy-Who-Lived was no longer a legacy title.

-----

Daily Prophet, Nov. 13th, Front page:

Boy Who Lived Wows Fans!

The Hogwarts Quidditch game held this week had a special treat in store for us. Debuting as a Chaser for Ravenclaw, Harry Potter proved to the world that he had his father's Quidditch skill as he and his teammates dominated the game, producing a lopsided score of 210-40 early on.

Apparently someone took exception to that, as Mr. Potter's broom went wildly out of control, and a Bludger went rogue, impacting him directly and knocking him off his broom and sending his wand flying. For any other student, this would have meant a long stay in the Hospital Wing.

For our Mr. Potter, however, it meant wandlessly casting a levitation charm to slow his descent for a rough but manageable landing, where he then stood up and waited for Professor Dumbledore to approach him, seemingly unaffected by the Bludger's hit.

This hasn't been the first time that Mr. Potter has shrugged off damage this year. An earlier altercation with a Gryffindor student, Ronald Weasley, ended when Mr. Weasley attempted to punch Mr. Potter and broke his hand on Mr. Potter's jaw.

"Mr. Potter's strength with magic is a well-known attribute to the school as a whole," said Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. "While I certainly do not condone the fighting or interference in Quidditch matches, I am relieved that Mr. Potter has been able to keep himself from undue harm." The professors are currently conducting an investigation to determine the culprit who hexed Mr. Potter’s broom and what affected the Bludger.

The Headmaster was unable to confirm rumors that Mr. Potter had personally dispatched a Mountain Troll earlier in the year, but several students confirm Mr. Potter's participation in the fight.

We also cannot forget Mr. Potter's most impressive victory: His defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as a small child. It's apparent that we haven't seen the end of Mr. Potter's accomplishments, not the least of which will be some amazing Quidditch games.

-----

I needed that article like I needed my feet removed. The last thing that I wanted was the public aware of everything I've done, but the press latched on to me like a bloated leech, and I'd never be free of it again. There was a large picture of me getting plowed by the Bludger, then visibly slowing my descent to the ground. The picture kept going until Dumbledore got me back up into the air, and then repeated rather seamlessly.

Hermione's reaction was to purchase a subscription to the Daily Prophet so that she could keep track of the articles. "It's always good to know what they're printing," she told me. "It's something you have to keep on top of."

Draco was very supportive of the articles. "It's exactly the kind of exposure you want!" he said excitedly. "It makes you so much bigger than you actually are, and Father says that's good for you when school finishes and the Ministry's interested in you!" Way to run on a sentence, Draco. Still, I could understand the point even if I didn't have the words at the time: My 'political capital' just went up in a major way, and Mr. Malfoy, who was associated with me, could only benefit from the change.

This manifested as Draco spending more time with me publicly rather than us cloistering ourselves in the library, showing the entire school body --and thus the community by word of mouth-- that the Malfoys and Potters were allied. Draco was a good friend, though. He was initially very opposed to Hermione, but he bent for me. He would still complain about muggles and muggleborn around her, but he phrased it in the form of "Why can't they all be like you?" so that Hermione was implicitly excluded from his tirades.

Pansy was completely unfazed by the articles. Pansy had two personality settings: Interested and Uninterested. I was already considered "interesting" to Pansy, so I bypassed the sarcastic barbs and insults and went straight to the high-energy party girl/tomboy combination that made Pansy unique. Her only reaction to this was to comment endlessly on how complicated it was to mess with brooms and Bludgers, and how no Hufflepuff student could possibly have done it.

Now, if I had been listening at the time...

Hermione, Draco, Pansy and all the Weasleys were going home for Christmas holidays. I certainly didn't want to see the Dursleys, so I chose to stay here; even the boredom of an empty castle was better than my so-called 'home.' Everyone promised to write, and I saw them off at the station before walking back with Hagrid. I stopped at his hut for tea, and passed the rest of the day talking about Hogwarts and my parents. It was a good start to the two weeks.

I really enjoyed hearing stories of my parents. Hagrid had quite a few, but he assured me that Professor Dumbledore was a close friend of my parents, and would know even more. Convinced by Hagrid, I sought out Professor Dumbledore during dinner to ask if he had time to talk.

“Of course I do,” he replied. “What can I help you with, Harry?”

"I’d like to know… if you have time to talk about my parents, Professor. I-I want to know more about them," I said, trying to hold my emotions in check.

“Certainly,” he said, standing up. “Let’s take a walk.” He led me out of the Hall, and we started down a castle corridor.

The silence was tremendous, and then my walls started to crack. “I hate the Dursleys,” I blurted. I was surprised that I said that, but it was as good a place as any to start, so I kept going. “They may be related to me, but they treat me horribly. Did you know that I had to earn my own living for years before I came to Hogwarts? Bought my own food, clothes..."

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice heavy with sadness. "Yes, I know all about your childhood. I know because... Because I was the one who left you with the Dursleys."

What?!

"What?!"

"I took you there with the hope that they were as compassionate and loving as your mother. I left you there because there wasn't any better place to take you. Will you let me explain, Harry?" I could only nod, too stunned that the man in front of me could be responsible for my childhood. “Come, then; let’s go to my office, so we can sit down.” Dumbledore led me to a stone gargoyle statue that promptly jumped aside as the Headmaster approached. We walked up a spiral staircase and into an enormous office with dozens of portraits on the walls. The portraits all said some sort of greeting to Professor Dumbledore, and a few of the nicer ones greeted me, too.

Dumbledore motioned me into a chair in front of his desk, and walked over to a cabinet to produce a glass and a bottle of Firewhiskey, as well as a bottle of Butterbeer. He handed the Butterbeer to me, and poured himself a glass of whiskey, downing it on one gulp. I carefully sipped at the Butterbeer, wondering how bad this conversation could be.

"Ten long years ago," he began, "your parents were murdered by Voldemort. It was a failure on my part, as we had a spy in our midst, and I was too slow in catching him. As Hagrid has told you, he found you in your house and brought you to me. I learned quickly that your mother sacrificed herself for you; she gave her life freely so that you might live on. That sacrifice protected you from Voldemort, and caused his curse to backfire, destroying his body instead. The event marked you with a scar and, I imagine, other things as well."

"My power, right?" I said, rubbing my scar. "That's why I'm so much stronger than everybody else -- wait, Voldemort's not dead?"

"No, Harry, I'm afraid he's not."

"Shit." Oops. "Sorry, Professor," I mumbled, covering my mouth.

"It's alright," he chuckled, waving it off. "When it comes to Voldemort, 'shit' is the lightest word I expect anyone to use.

"As to your power," he continued, "I daresay that most adults have the power that you possess; quite a few are stronger. But you easily have the power level that I would expect from, say, your average forty or fifty-year-old wizard; far more than any child should have."

"Wow."

"Indeed, it was one of the reasons that I chose to place you with the Dursleys. I wanted you out of the wizarding world, where you might grow up without being hassled for your inadvertent defeat of Voldemort, and where people would not quickly notice that it had affected you. I hardly wanted you poked and prodded as some experiment by Ministry researchers, trying to figure out why you were so gifted. You'll notice that the press was quick to jump on your abilities."

"Yeah, I'd noticed. Would they have been like that all my life?" Horrible thoughts were going through my mind about what it would have been like with my face in the papers for ten years.

"If they had gotten wind of your power, certainly. Had you been in the magical community, I guarantee that it would have happened. Worse, the Ministry would likely have had their Unspeakables run an endless series of tests on you. I doubt that any family who would have taken you would have had the nerve or resources to turn away the Ministry, so this, too, would have been unavoidable. Thankfully, the Statute of Secrecy prohibits the muggle-raised from being approached before their eleventh birthday."

"Alright, I can see that that would have sucked. What's stopping them from doing it now?"

"Certain privacy by-laws of being enrolled in a magical school that I helped write and pass ten years ago, and that I intend to enforce now," he replied with a wry smirk. Despite the topic, I couldn't help but grin; I could see that the Weasley twins' pranks and Ron's chess game paled in comparison to the games the man in front of me was capable of playing.

"The other reason was more practical: Voldemort's Death Eaters were still about. While they still existed and fought in their master's name, I could not have you exposed; you would have been targeted for certain. Your mother's sacrifice, however, gave me a method to protect you that neither Voldemort nor his followers could possibly breach. I wove a charm of Old Magic around you, focused on your mother's love and sacrifice. So long as you live where your mother's blood dwells, no harm can befall you that would violate your mother's sacrifice."

"So... Voldemort can't touch me at the Dursleys because of my mother...?"

"That's right, Harry. The Dursleys turned out to be very cruel, and I apologize for that, but it took eight years before the last of the active Death Eaters were found and brought to justice. More still exist; they either wormed their way out of a trial, or simply went into hiding. For at least eight years, though, that protection was absolutely necessary."

"And by that time, I was basically on my own, taking care of myself," I said bitterly. "You still could have come for me then. It's not like I enjoyed working my entire childhood."

I know, my boy, I should have. But my worries about the Ministry are well-founded, and I had no legal means of protecting you in the magical community until you began to attend Hogwarts. Once you turned eleven, you were under the mantle of Hogwarts and I immediately sent Hagrid to get you ready for school. I'd have come myself, but I imagined that Hagrid would have a rather profound effect on the Dursleys for obvious reasons."

We shared a laugh at that before Dumbledore became serious again. "To be entirely honest with you, you were doing a very good job of looking after yourself. You did so with a maturity and common sense that belies your age, and you were, in my opinion, just and fair with your use of magic against the Dursleys. I was very proud of you."

"Oh. Well… thanks." What do you say to that? I was proud of how I took care of myself. Hearing it from someone else felt good, even if that someone made it necessary in the first place. Speaking of that... "Sir, how does my mother's protection work?"

"There are two degrees to the protection that you receive from the Dursleys," Dumbledore explained. "The first degree is the most obvious part: No one associated or allied with Voldemort, no matter how many degrees of obfuscation or separation, can set foot on or near to #4 Privet Drive. The second degree is less secure, but works well nonetheless: You and each of the Dursleys carry a small part of that protection with you, so that any efforts that Voldemort or his servants take to locate you will fail. Unlike the first degree, you are quite vulnerable once you have been located; they still have to find you, however. This second degree is why I am not averse to your traveling around. Unless and until Voldemort returns or the Death Eaters themselves form back into an organized group, my opinion will not change. The point of the protection is to give you relative anonymity with regards to Voldemort, and a bolt-hole that you can escape to should he go on the warpath. So long as you spend at least 21 consecutive days living there per year, the enchantment will hold.

"That means that if you wish, you only need to sleep under that roof for 21 nights, Harry, and then do as you will for the summer.

"The agreement your Aunt and I made is binding only until you reach the age of 17, or are considered an adult in wizarding society. If you wish the protection to last longer, you would have to reach a personal agreement with your Aunt to remain a resident of the house, and you would still need to spend the 21 consecutive days per year living there. The charm, by the way, is specific to you, not your Aunt. Should you and your Aunt change your place of residence, the first degree of protection will transfer after 21 days in the new residence. Until then, the second degree still holds. Should you find a new blood relation to your mother and reach a living arrangement with them, 21 consecutive days will transfer the charm to include you, them, and the other residents of the home, and exclude the Dursleys.

"Now, your Aunt is your only remaining relative on your mother's side that I know of. However, should you one day have children, you could instantly transfer the charm to work between you and your child within 21 days of their birth, thus protecting your new family."

"My... family? So, this protection will work in the future, too?"

"Yes, Harry. If you keep this charm alive, Voldemort will never touch you or your family."

"Th-Thank you," I managed. I swear to you, I could have kissed Dumbledore right then; he really was a magical genius. I had ongoing, permanent protection from Voldemort, anyone who's associated with Voldemort, and anyone who takes up his flag in the future. My future family would be safe even if Voldemort or someone allied to him became a permanent pain in the backside. That was worth the Dursleys; even at 11 years old, I understood that the future was a hell of a lot longer than the past, and that made this a good deal.

Finding some degree of closure to my childhood with the Dursleys, I decided to take advantage of the fact that there was an amazingly knowledgeable person in front of me. "Sir, since we're here, I have a couple of questions about magic..."

Dumbledore just smiled, and we sat in his office talking until dawn. I'm not going to fill you in on everything he said, but I learned so much in the span of a couple of hours with him, that I wished he taught all the classes at Hogwarts. I'll pass on a few highlights, though.

Dumbledore on skill and power:

"Your reference to 'skill' and 'power' are a little too simplified, Harry. Let's look at wand motions. To use what you've told me, it takes a certain degree of skill to cast the first-year flame hex, Incendio, silently." With a brisk wave of his wand, Dumbledore conjured a candle. He then waved his wand in the proper motions for the flame hex, and the candle lit.

"This isn't the end to your wand work, however; Watch." Dumbledore blew the candle out, and with barely a wave of his wand the candle lit again.

"You didn't use the wand movements...?" I said with confusion laced in my voice.

"Of course I did," he said. "Your wand needs to go through the motions. You don't have to do them all together while your wand is in front of you, and they needn’t be more than the slightest movement if your motions are accurate." He finished off by effortlessly lighting the candle again with no apparent wand movement other than his raising the wand towards the candle.

It took him a while to explain this part to me, so let me explain it in first-year terms: As long as the motions are accurate, you can do them while you're raising the wand rather than already having it pointed at your target, and the motions can be the tiniest little twitches as long they're the correct shape. Good for stealth casting during a duel and for showing off your skill so that no one ever challenges you to one.

"However," he continued, "That sleight-of-hand is as far as skill alone will take you with that hex; the rest is power. You see, there's Incendio..." a slight wave of Dumbledore's wand again produced the small puff of flame near the tip, lighting the candle.

"... and then there's Incendio." Dumbledore flicked his wand away from us, and white-hot flames burst from his wand in a constant stream, instantly covering thirty feet to lick angrily against the stone wall. I nearly fainted from the overwhelming heat radiating from the flames, and when he let up the hex, the entire section of wall was an angry red patch of stone with molten rock dripping and pooling on the floor.

I stared at the destroyed wall open-mouthed, and then I looked back at Dumbledore, who twirled his wand between his fingers with twinkling eyes and that cocky smirk. "And that, Harry, is why power is important, even for a first-year hex."

Dumbledore on Severus Snape:

"I understand that Professor Snape dislikes you, but Madam Pomfrey's been quite happy with your work. Professor Snape can and has been to #4 Privet Drive."

"So, he's good, then," I said, following the logic of my mother's protection.

"He's an ally," Dumbledore said, correcting me. "You don't have to like him, and he certainly isn't 'good,' but you should know that his intentions are not malicious."

"All the same, is there any way I can just test out of Potions completely, and work for Madam Pomfrey directly?"

All I got for a response was Dumbledore's heartfelt laughter.

Dumbledore on the Troll:

"...and here, you are presented with the first indicator of your limits: Despite your magical strength, the spells you used against the Troll failed to affect it. It would probably take someone closer to my level of ability to use a Body Bind on a Troll. This is where Transfiguration will aid you more than charms and hexes. If you can control your surroundings, you can control a battle. Enchanting the chamber pots to attack the Troll would have distracted it, and animating one of the washbasins to push Miss Granger out of the way would have accomplished your task wonderfully. If you wished to show off a bit, then you could have transfigured the lavatory door into a continuation of the stone wall, and you would have trapped the Troll in there neatly.

"The moral of the story, I suppose, is to not use magic directly against a foe whose weaknesses you are not certain of."

"I guess," I said, still stuck on the notion that you attacked enemies directly. "What about Professor Snape? He took the Troll down with one spell."

"Yes he did, and I recall yelling at him for that." The twinkling power in Dumbledore's eyes turned into a hard sheen, and I could taste his power in the air. "I do not condone the use of Dark Arts in this school, especially by professors.

"What I want you to realize, Harry, is that Professor Snape was perfectly capable of incapacitating that Troll using non-lethal spells. It likely would still have been only one or two spells at most. Despite this ability, Professor Snape chose to kill. I would hope that you would choose to show more compassion; a problem dead is not necessarily a problem solved."

In the face of an angry Dumbledore, all you ever, ever want to do is smile, nod, and hope you don't wet yourself. I quickly changed the topic.

Dumbledore on Hermione:

"...smart girl, very dedicated to her studies; yet I sense something very wrong with her outlook. She's hiding something, I think; something that's causing her a great deal of pain."

"I've noticed, too," I said, "but I have no idea at all how to help her aside from schoolwork."

"You're doing everything you can, Harry. Just like I let you stand on your own with the Dursleys because you were capable of it, so too must you allow Miss Granger to manage her own life. Catch her if she falls, certainly; but to use muggle terms, you and I want to be safety nets, not harnesses. Do you understand, Harry?"

"I think so," I said, nodding. "Don't meddle, just do... err... damage control, I guess."

Dumbledore smiled at me. "That's exactly right, Harry: Damage control. Meddling takes up far too much of the day, anyways."

Dumbledore on the Malfoys:

"Dear God, I despise that family." Dumbledore's tone and bluntness had me fighting my laughter. I almost held it in, but the sight of the greatest wizard in the world dropping his head into his hands in frustration brought it out of me. Dumbledore just looked up at me from between his fingers and smiled as the room echoed with my mirth.

"I suppose I shouldn't have been so forward about that, but it's good to hear you laugh, Harry.

"My problem with the Malfoys is that Lucius Malfoy was almost certainly one of Voldemort's chosen Death Eaters, but his money and political influence turned away any suspicion. Now I will grant that young Draco Malfoy may be different than his father, but I gather on the whole that the Malfoys will do whatever is in their best interests to do. For now, that seems to be allying with you; should Voldemort return, what then? Can you win over Lucius Malfoy enough that he would honor your alliance over his initial pledge to his master? If not, what of Draco? Would he choose you over his own parents?"

I didn't have answers for Dumbledore at that point --no, wait, I did. I know I did, I just wasn't willing to give up.

Dumbledore on the Weasleys:

After I told him how I met the Weasleys at King’s Cross, Dumbledore exploded into raucous peals of laughter at some inside joke and tears were soon streaming down his face. Dumbledore finally managed to choke out "Good luck with Molly, Harry!" before he collapsed into laughter again.

Great...

Dumbledore on the Parkinsons:

"…Another borderline family; not allied with Voldemort to my knowledge, but certainly anti-muggle. They would not be anti-you, though, so you can take that for what you will. Young Miss Parkinson seems quite attached to you, though I've noticed her tendency to avoid young Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger.

"It's a fact of life that your friends will not necessarily all be friends with each other. It will fall to you to balance the disparate groups. It's the secret of throwing the best parties: Know who's interested in what, and make sure that you make the correct introductions between people in your social circle. It's something that both Mrs. Parkinson and Mrs. Malfoy are very skilled at; if you maintain contact with those families I expect that you'll be well-versed in the art yourself."

"Err, Professor... you don't seem to care that I'm associating with the Malfoys and Parkinsons. If they're connected to Voldemort..."

"You’re forgetting your mother's protection, Harry. No one can act against you on Voldemort's behalf, even unwittingly, and be able to find you. Use you politically? Certainly, but that's about it. You're very safe with those families right now; if you weren't, their letters and children would not be able to locate you, even if you are simply sitting in the library. Give me some credit, Harry. That charm you're wearing is probably the most complex magic I've ever cast, and I'd like to think I'm good at what I do."

"Meddling?" I said with a smirk on my face.

Dumbledore just returned the smirk and said "Damage control."

Dumbledore on my physical magic and memory:

"I'm not concerned about it, Harry. It's one of the biggest reasons that I never came for you: You could handle your own problems. Internal magic such as your strength and speed boosting cannot be tracked by the Ministry, as there is no external emanation to trip their charms. The same is true for other internal magics such as animagus transformations. The only internal magic that can be detected is Apparition, and then only because you are physically displaced when using it.

"As for you being able to adjust your memory, by all means use it; I wish that every student was so gifted, it would make teaching that much easier."

"I was wondering, Professor: If Voldemort was responsible for my power, could he also do this with his mind?"

"Absolutely," Dumbledore said. "The memory trick you can use is a collateral effect of being versed in Occlumency -- the art of protecting your mind. This art is used to combat the Imperius Curse and similar forms of control or coercion as well as Legilimency, which is the art of looking into another's mind."

"Wow! Is that something that you can teach me?" I tried hard not to do Hermione's trademark bouncing while I asked this. It was exciting to know a bit about what I was doing, but also to know that it was a normal thing. Being advanced was cool in my mind; being an extension of Voldemort was not.

Dumbledore chuckled and patted the air in front of me. "One thing at a time, Harry," he said gently. "You can only learn magic so fast. Get the basics down before we go turning your mind into a puzzle box, alright?"

All too soon for my liking, it was morning.

"Harry, you should get to bed now. It's far past the time for that, actually. You’ll be happy to know that Filch is asleep at this time, so you should be unmolested."

I wasn't quite done, though; a couple of nagging questions were left. "Sir, you said that Voldemort was after me specifically. Do you know why?"

He looked away for a moment, and then back to me, frowning a bit. "That little piece of information is a very well-kept secret. I know what it is, but no one else does. I want to share it with you, but only when you're older, and I know that you will be able to keep it secret no matter what."

"What can I do to be ready if he comes back?" Because he would, if he's the evil psychopath I've learned about.

"What you're doing now to develop your skill is excellent. I will provide some books and instruction as I can, but like I've mentioned, your magic will progress only so quickly. You're a remarkable young wizard with your ability to grasp your magic like you have, and put it to use. Keep learning and practicing and you’ll be fine."

With that we said goodnight, and I headed back to my tower. I spent he entire holiday talking on and off with Professor Dumbledore. I was well over his placing me at the Dursleys; after the initial shock, I realized he was right: I liked the fact that he trusted me to take care of myself, and would only interfere if I had really needed it. He had three major roles to play in his life: The General, the Politician, and the Headmaster. He had dealt with me as the General, and it worked out well enough.

I was quick to take advantage of my one-on-one time with the Headmaster. My wand technique improved by leaps and bounds with Dumbledore’s direct instruction. He simply had me start with the normal amount of pushing I did on a spell, and make the wand movements smaller and smaller. Then, he'd have me doing the motions before the wand was raised, so that they were less obvious. Finally, he had me "shoot from the hip," doing the movements while my wand stayed down by my side and out of sight for the most part. Once I had the wand motions down and could cast without actually looking at the wand, he had me slowly decrease the power I used for the spell, making up the difference with wand movements.

For the muggle-savvy out there, it's kind of like learning how to type: There are a few dozen standard movements, and you need to be able to "type without looking at the keyboard" in order to be any good at it; it's your hands that need to remember where to be, not your eyes. Once you can type like that, the rest is practice for speed and accuracy. To compare, you need the equivalent of about 50 words per minute in order to do a spell without pushing more power into it. You'd need 80 words per minute to minimize the movements like Professor Dumbledore does, and 100 words per minute to effectively cast silently. If you can do 130 words per minute, you can begin to cast silently and unobtrusively like Professor Dumbledore, though Dumbledore himself probably rates at 180 or 200.

I started Hogwarts at about 25 wpm; horribly below par, but with more than enough power to make up the difference. Hermione and Draco (who were about 70 wpm themselves) had gotten me to around 45 wpm before Christmas, and Professor Dumbledore coaxed me to about 65 wpm over the two weeks. There was such a feeling of freedom to not have to push to cast a spell anymore. I still had a ton of work to do to consistently cast silent spells, but I could cast vocally and generate even stronger effects, since I wasn't wasting power on the activation.

Christmas shopping was an interesting problem for a first year stuck at the castle. I had several people that I wanted to get something for: Hagrid and Dumbledore, because they were damned cool; Hedwig, for being such a great owl; I wanted to find something for Pansy and Draco, and Hermione especially needed something good. After mulling over it, I decided to get Ron something for Christmas. If he came around and apologized, it would be a good gesture on my part. If he didn’t, I was out a few sickles; so what?

With this list in mind, I caught up with Professor Flitwick on the second day. "Professor, I'm looking to get Christmas gifts for a few friends of mine, as well as something for the professors for helping me this year. Is there anyway that I could do that before Christmas Eve?"

He pulled his short beard as he spoke, seemingly deep in thought. "Mr. Potter, you cannot leave the castle. Only third-years and up have access to Hogsmeade, and even then only on appointed days. Those completed their OWLs, of course, can leave when they choose. Still, you've been an exemplary student...

"All right, if you tell me what you'd like to get for everyone, I'll make a trip for you."

I'm sure my smile was broader than my face at that moment. "That'd be brilliant, Professor! I'm sure you know Hagrid and Professor Dumbledore better than I do, so I trust what you get, and I'll sign the cards. Ron likes the Chudley Cannons and sweets, Hermione loves her books, and I think that she's into Arithmancy already. Pansy enjoys items with complicated charms on them, and Draco is looking for Quidditch gear. I can send these over the holidays with Hedwig. Some owl treats for Hedwig would be a nice touch for her."

For all my expectations of a boring holiday, things were certainly looking good for me. The biggest shocker came when Professor Snape walked up to me during breakfast the next day.

"Potter, if I gave you the first, second, third and fourth year tests for Potions, could you pass them?" The question sounded ridiculous, but Snape said it with the same tone of seriousness that he conducted his classes.

"Err, yes, I think so," I replied hesitantly. I wasn't sure where this was going, but the truth was probably the best bet.

"What about History of Magic, Muggle Studies, and Astronomy. Could you do those?"

"Yes, it'd take a few days to get ready for all that, though." A couple weeks if I wanted to get better than scraping A's, but I wasn't going to say that out loud.

"What about advanced theory? Arithmancy, Herbology, Divination, Creatures and Runes?"

"Hell, no!" I blurted before I could stop myself. I immediately blushed and mumbled "Sorry, professor" while Snape smirked at me.

"1 point for language, Potter, and Happy Christmas.” The other professors sniggered while I tried to keep a straight face.

“Uh… thank you, sir,” I managed, ignoring the incredibly loud snort from Hagrid.

“Getting back on topic, you're beyond your classmates in your studies and you know it. You may not have the advanced courses under your wing, but I gather that by the end of next year you would, wouldn't you?"

I nodded; Arithmancy and Runes were much more involved than most other theory courses, but it was all still theory to me: I’d memorize the books, and then work through the assignments until I was decent with the material. Being able to bring up the textbook in my head made most exams kind of pointless.

"Good. I'm approaching you because of your question to Headmaster Dumbledore. The professors all agree that your participation in classes will skew the point system overly in favor of Ravenclaw, as it is improper to have you in class and ignore your accomplishments. It is far better for us if you weren't in the class to begin with. It will also make your school life much easier if you simply tested through to fourth year on every theory course you can.

"The practical classes are a little more involved, as you are aware, so you will test through these only with the permission of the relevant Professors and Headmaster Dumbledore."

"I take it that the Ministry won't allow early OWLs?" I said, catching on to the fourth-year limit.

"Exactly. Something about children playing at being adults and winding up in Azkaban." The look on Snape's face made it clear that the thought of children in Azkaban was extremely amusing to him. I told myself repeatedly that I wasn’t like Snape just because I thought the idea was funny, too.

My entire holiday passed in a flurry of amazing talks with Professor Dumbledore and the persistent migraine that came with memorizing several textbooks worth of information and running it constantly through my head to sort the information. Remember how I told you that I hated reading?

Yeah, that. Bet you you’ve never sat 16 exams in two days, have you? I crashed for 48 hours afterwards.

The letters I sent and received over the holidays cover the rest of the highlights:

-----

Dear Hermione,

Happy Christmas! I hope that you enjoy the gift; I know that you’re interested in Arithmancy, and since you’re so far ahead, I figured that you’d enjoy something on Arithmancy that Hogwarts wasn’t likely to teach. I have some interesting news on that topic: Professor Dumbledore is letting me take the first FOUR YEARS worth of tests for Muggle Studies, History of Magic, Astronomy and Potions! Snape came up and told me that I should just test out of the courses and stop wasting my time and his. He’s such a nice man, isn’t he?

I’ve already read all the Potions books, and you and I have made a fair number of the potions. I know I’ll be fine for Muggle Studies; that course is so stupid! History will take me about three days to read up on and memorize. It’s a lot of information, but I can write a persuasive paper as well as anyone, and I’ll have the books in my head. It’s Astronomy that I’m worried about. I’ll need some time to get my head around the Calculus, and no amount of memorizing is going to help. I’m going to try to finish these tests before the end of the holidays, and I hopefully won’t do too badly. I don’t care about my marks, really; only that I pass. It’s the OWLs that really matter and I have to wait to do those.

I got to talk to Professor Dumbledore about my parents, and even learn a trick or two about magic from him. I’ll show you all of it when you get back.

See you soon!

Harry

-----

Dear Draco,

Happy Christmas! Hope you enjoy the gear, and say hello to your parents for me. Lots of news to tell you when you come back to Hogwarts.

Have a good holiday!

Harry

-----

Dear Pansy,

Happy Christmas! I got you something to dissect, so I hope you have fun. Lots to share once you get back to school. I promise you’ll be “interested.”

See you in the New Year!

Harry

-----

Dear Hagrid,

I had to get something for my first real friend. I hope you have a great Christmas!

See you at dinner!

Harry

-----

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I can’t begin to thank you for what you’ve done and are doing for me. I hope that we’ll still be able to talk when school starts again. I always look forward to it. Hope you enjoy the gift.

Happy Christmas!

Harry

-----

Ron,

You can be a real git, but I still hope you have a good Christmas. Say hi to your family for me.

Harry

=====

Dear Harry,

So this is Hedwig; I’m so in love with her, she’s so soft!

I love the book, but you get to test out of four courses before Christmas? For the next four years?? I can’t tell you how jealous I am, Harry. Please, please work with me to figure out how you affect your memory. I want so badly to do well, and it would be such a relief to have half of the courses done with.

Calculus is easy once you start on it; it’s only the beginning that’s hard. I know you’ll do well.

I can’t wait to see what Professor Dumbledore showed you. He’s absolutely amazing.

Hedwig is returning with my gift for you. I hope you like it.

Have a Happy Christmas, Harry.

Love, from

Hermione

-----

Dear Harry,

The gear is awesome! I hope you’re ready for some competition in next year’s Quidditch season!

Mother had some sweets made just for you; I think that she’s sending a book to you, too. If you don’t like it, let me know, and I’ll get you a Christmas present that you really like!

My parents say hi!

See you soon,

Draco

-----

Dear Harry,

I love your owl; can I keep her?

I’ll have this thing in pieces and improved once I get back to school. Hope your news is as good as you say. With the way you dash off your essays, I figured a quill that corrected your spelling and grammar would do you good; maybe it’ll keep Hermione off your back.

My parents say hi, and are glad to hear from you. They’re hoping to see you this summer. You can work something out, right?

Happy Christmas, and see you at school.

Pansy

-----

Dear Harry,

Thank you for your gift and your sentiments. My office is always open to you, and my drink of choice will allow you passage. Kindly burn this letter after you are finished with it.

I hope that you enjoy your gift as well. It isn’t so much a gift as it is my returning something that belonged to your father. Use it well, and kindly remember that it doesn’t work on me.

Have a Happy Christmas.

Your servant,

Albus Dumbledore

-----

Harry,

I’m sorry.

I’m a git and I know it; I just put my foot in my mouth, and then your jaw broke my hand. Ginny’s never going to let me live that down, you know.

I’m going to write Hermione to say that I’m sorry, too. I know I have a temper. Mum keeps telling me. I didn’t want to say most of what I did. I didn’t mean to start it at all. I guess you know all that, though.

I miss playing Chess, hanging out, and being happy. Hope we can pick up again when I get back to school.

Fred, George, and Mum say hi and Happy Christmas. I think Mum’s sending you a sweater.

See you soon, and enjoy the candies.

Ron

=====

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Thank you! I can’t thank you enough for this. To have something of my father’s is amazing on its own. I’ll be careful with it, and I won’t disappoint you.

I wanted to ask you if you could give me some pointers on Occlumency. Hermione’s asking about testing early, and I want to give her as much help as I can. If I can figure out this memory thing, maybe I can teach her, and you’d let her test out of classes early too?

Any help you can give is great!

Thanks!

Harry

-----

Ron,

You’re forgiven. See you at school. Thank your mum for the sweater.

Harry

=====

Dear Harry,

I suppose I should have expected this. Hedwig will be carrying a book on Occlumency for you. It’s not nearly complete on its own, but it should cover enough to help Ms. Granger with her memory if she is diligent. That book is restricted material; do not leave it lying around, and keep it wrapped in your cloak if you must carry it outside of your respective dorm rooms. I will allow her, and only her, to test for the same courses that you do, assuming she is successful with her attempt at Occlumency. She can take her theory tests during Easter break. Perhaps by then you will have some other courses to test for, as well?

I advise against testing for Transfiguration, Charms and Defense. There is no point pushing yourself that far ahead; not only would it result in a dangerously incomplete understanding of the material, but I will already be hard-pressed to occupy your time next year. Once you test out of all the theory courses, we will focus on your practical skills. While we can obviously lay some groundwork, you can’t officially start on NEWT material until you’ve completed your OWLs, so hold any such ambitions in check. My leeway with students only extends so far.

I must remind you strongly that Ms. Granger is not your equal, Harry. She is a marvelous student, but she does not have the excess power that you do. You will benefit from unconventional practical tutoring; she will not.

You both have four and a half years until you sit your OWL exams; try to relax a little.

Your servant,

Albus Dumbledore

-----

Dear Hermione,

To avoid reciting everything, I’ve attached Professor Dumbledore’s letter. Please destroy it afterwards. I’ve read the book, and it’s really good, but this will probably take a lot of time. You might have to test next year if this takes too long, but we’ll give it our best shot.

Yours,

Harry

=====

Dear Harry,

This is wonderful news! Thank you thank you THANK YOU! I can’t wait to get started on this book. Could you send it to me with Hedwig once you’re done with it? I’d imagine that you’ve memorized it by now.

I’m so happy!

Love, from

Hermione

P.S. Ron apologized. Are you okay with this? -HG

=====

Dear Hermione,

Yes, I’ve memorized it. Yes, you can read it. Hedwig must enjoy the workout she’s been getting. Good luck, and see you in school in a few days. With any luck, I’ll be done four courses by then.

Yes, Ron apologized. We’ll play it as it goes when classes start.

Yours,

Harry

=====

Dear Harry,

I am pleased to inform you that you scored as follows on all your tests:

~First Year

Astronomy O

History O

Muggle O

Potions O

~Second Year

Astronomy E

History E+

Muggle O

Potions E+

~Third Year

Astronomy E-

History E-

Muggle E+

Potions E

~Fourth Year

Astronomy A

History A

Muggle E

Potions E-

You began to slip predictably as the material became more complex, and your lack of experience with higher-grade papers impacted your History of Magic and Muggle Studies marks. However, if you consider that you have four and a half years to solidify this material and learn one more year’s worth for each course, you are in a wonderful position to master the OWL exams. Since you have the necessary resources, you should begin to study for Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, Divination, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes. I am willing to allow you to test for those during Easter break, or in June if you find that you need the time. The professors for those courses will be available for consultation if you give me some notice. Use your new free time well, and I wish you the best of luck on your studies.

Your servant,

Albus Dumbledore

4. A League of their Own

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: This chapter finally finishes off the first year. In my trend of increasing chapter length, it sits at roughly 11,800 words. Don't expect them all to be this length, folks. I hope you all enjoy my take on Voldemort, as I strive to not pull my punches against the first-years.

YEAR 1: A League of their Own

========================

Hermione greeted me with a crushing hug when I met her at the train station. She was very excited to be back to school, and nearly ran to the castle. Draco and Pansy gave me heartfelt greetings, and Ron was only uncomfortable for a couple of seconds until I slapped him on the back and got him moving. A round of hot chocolate in the Great Hall banished the cold, and I told the tale of my Christmas holidays.

Everyone was very impressed at the difference in my wand work, and I promised to show them how to practice the way Dumbledore taught me. Hermione was intensely jealous of the time I'd been able to spend with Professor Dumbledore. She had devoured the Occlumency book and had attempted several of the meditation techniques that the book suggested to get started.

To provide a little background on Occlumency, what you're trying to build is not some kind of shield. It's much better to think of your mind as a muscle; when you think, remember things, or use your logic center, you are flexing that muscle. The more you use it, the better it gets; if it remains unused, it deteriorates. It's a close enough model of the mind for our purposes, anyways.

Legilimency is the art of reaching out and flexing someone's mind muscle for them, kind of like placing a joint-lock on someone's arm at the elbow and wrist and bending it in the direction you want. Occlumency is the art of teaching your mind to resist the movements caused by outside sources, just like you can make your arm resist. How well you resist depends on how strong you are (power) and how good you are at avoiding and escaping joint-locks (skill).

Unlike Judo and Aikido, however, there isn't a real joint-lock involved, so direct resistance works just as well as evasion and avoidance. The difference is whether or not the Legilimens knows that they're being blocked. We didn't get a chance to progress in any meaningful way during our first year, though; Professor Dumbledore flat-out refused to test my Occlumency. "When you've both been at it for three or four years, we'll talk," he said. "This is not an overnight talent you're building."

Hermione was extremely diligent with the practice. She still did her homework on time, and maintained her top marks, but she wrote her essays using my self-correcting quill from Pansy, and she performed spells without the usual attention to detail. Nearly every waking moment of her time that wasn't focused on schoolwork was focused on Occlumency. Those extra few minutes of free time she spent listening to me recount some of my ad-hoc lessons with Dumbledore.

Draco and Ron were their usual selves once school got started. Both of them were amazed that I had tested out of so many classes, but neither was surprised. Ron avoided the issue by clapping me on the shoulder and saying "Always knew you were top; too bad you have to wait for OWLs. Fancy a game of chess?"

Draco's reaction was more in keeping with his outlook. "That's brilliant!" he exclaimed. "I don't suppose I could test out of a few classes. Father would try, but I'm not advanced like that. Still, you should push harder to get your OWLs early; there isn't a rule made that can't be bent."

When I told Pansy, she just held her hands out. At my questioning gaze, she said "Your Arithmancy and Runes books, of course! They'll help me out with my item enchanting, so hand them over!" She then stepped forward and hugged me briefly. "Congratulations," she said more seriously. "I hope you do well." Pansy initiates physical contact next to never, so that hug was one of the most unexpected things I'd ever gotten. I hugged her back and mumbled my thanks, and wondered between Hermione and Pansy what I did to deserve being hugged.

I spent some time working on Occlumency with Hermione, but I didn't deviate from my studies much. According to the book, my little memory trick was Occlumency in its most basic form; I could move my mind around to any memory, and that same trigger was how I would prevent a Legilimens from moving around. Instead of shifting memories, I'd reverse the feeling and lock my mind on a single memory, or even nothing at all. A related mental action was used to expel the Legilimens, ending the attack. I couldn't practice detecting an intrusion since Dumbledore was against it, but I had all the general Occlumency practice I needed as I mentally deconstructed the textbooks I was reading and pieced them together to create a working knowledge of the material. I have to tell you, that book had a few wonderful tips and hints that I was making constant use of.

Being willing to work everyday non-stop for ten hours or so was how I survived for four years as a child on my own money, so a few more months of it wasn't going to hurt me. January became February as I furiously devoured book after book at Hermione's direction. My focus was more on Arithmancy and Runes than the other three; both courses were hideously complex, and I ended up brewing a batch of headache potion in Madam Pomfrey's small workshop just so that I had a constant supply. Slowly, ever so slowly, I started to become proficient with the material.

Hermione was surprised at my progress as she watched me work on Arithmancy. "How did you learn the charts and procedures so quickly?" she asked. "Even if you memorize the material, it wouldn't help with the math."

I shut my book and took a few seconds to reorder my head before answering. "The thing with Occlumency is that I don't just have control over what I remember, but how well and in what order I remember it. I can take the textbooks and break them into pieces, putting a few sentences from one book together with a few sentences from another. You get where I'm going?" I waited for her to nod, and then continued.

"Now, the trick that I had to learn in order to get algebra and Calculus down for Astronomy was how to mesh those memories into my working knowledge. What I do is take the memory of the math procedures, as complete as I can make them from multiple books, and I push it way back so that it's as if I did it four years ago, so the active memory is kind of fuzzy. Still with me?" This time the nod was more hesitant, and her eyes were a bit wider.

"Once the memory is back there, I slowly pull it forwards again, going through all my memories in-between when I do it. If you read between the lines of that book, what that does is link the new memory to four years' worth of old memories, so it's as if I've been using the process that entire time, making it familiar."

"Oh my God!" Hermione exclaimed, forgetting to censor herself in her shock. "You can fake experience! You can use the past years of your life to study!"

"Yeah, that's basically it. It's painful and takes hours of my time, and it's why I get those massive headaches. I'm not sure if I'd recommend doing it, but it's worked for me so far. The only downside is that I have to re-live those four years of my life over and over and over every time I want to add something."

"I've got it!" she shouted, scaring the entire common room. "I know what to do now!" With that, Hermione bolted up to her room, leaving me trying to puzzle out what exactly she 'got' from my explanation. I eventually decided that whatever it was would likely be a good thing, and went back to my work. Hermione was a smart girl; I was sure she wouldn't hurt herself... much.

Valentine's Day was the one time I forced Hermione to take a break. The entire school assumed that I took Hermione on some sort of romantic date; the truth is I shut her books forcefully, grabbed her by the hand, and dragged her out to Hagrid's hut for tea. I might not have been able to distract Hermione from her work on my own, but Hagrid is irresistible. We spent nearly the entire day there as Hagrid recounted stories of his time at Hogwarts, and some interesting stories about the professors. Halfway into the day we were joined by Professor Dumbledore, and the quality and quantity of the stories increased a hundredfold. Hermione had her chance to meet the Headmaster and ask a few questions from her endless list, and Dumbledore answered with his usual wit.

It was quite late when we got back to the tower, but Hermione stopped me at the entrance and hugged me. "Thank you for doing that," she said. "I had fun."

"No problem; Hagrid's always fun to hang out with, and we both needed the break." Now, if I could get Roger and Cho to kill the rumor mill, things would be perfect.

As if she read my mind, Hermione pulled back a bit and said "You know that the entire House thinks that you took me on a date. Are you alright with that?"

"Are you happy?"

"Absolutely," she said with a big smile on her face.

"Then we're good." I took her hand and walked her into the tower, and I remember thinking that having Hermione as my girlfriend wouldn't be such a bad thing, and that maybe I should just let the rumors go.

March went by and I was much closer to being able to pass Arithmancy and Runes. Madam Pomfrey was extremely worried about the amount of headache potion that I'd been taking, but there weren't any side effects to it, so she didn't stop me. Hermione had come in for a few doses too, which made me wonder if she had made progress with her Occlumency.

I started to read up on Herbology and Care. I'd leave Divination for last, as it was the one I could do the least with. I laughed with relief as I skimmed through the books; I had grossly overestimated these two courses. Herbology was straight-up textbook memorization, with maybe a few trips to Professor Sprout's greenhouses to give me the hands-on experience I'd need to pass the exams. Similarly, I was sure that Hagrid would be happy to show me the creatures that he kept around Hogwarts while I memorized the methods to deal with them.

Any evenings that weren't Quidditch practice I with my friends. Ever since Christmas, Draco had made friends with a couple of Slytherin bruisers, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. "They're muscle," he explained to me as he introduced them. "Father told me that having a couple of people that could deal with the cruder problems you come across in exchange for easy favors is a good thing."

"And you need `muscle' in Hogwarts?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Of course not," Draco scoffed. "But here's where I can pay back the favors. You can't imagine how poorly these two were doing in classes until I started to help them. Easy repayment, I think."

"Well, if it suits you," I said with a shrug. "Not my thing, though."

"That's because you're made of stone already!" Crabbe piped in, and we shared a laugh at the memory of Ron's broken hand.

Ron had become closer friends with Neville and Seamus Finnegan, another first-year Gryffindor. Neville was as shy as he was when I first met him at the beginning of the year, and Seamus was a walking temper tantrum. Ron was sort of in-between the two and they made an interesting group to watch. Ron would initiate a conversation and Seamus would find a reason to pick on Neville. Neville would whine to Ron who would then confront Seamus. Seamus would then be nice to Neville and take shots at Ron, who would defend by changing the topic and the whole process started over again.

"They're good mates," Ron said when I asked about them. "Neville's got decent marks, so I ask him for help when I need to. I'd come to you, but you're what, three years ahead of me now? May as well get to know someone that takes my classes with me, right?

"Seamus, he's fun. Always quick to joke around, and keeps the classes interesting."

May as well fish for information, I thought. "He seems to pick on Neville an awful lot. Are those two alright?"

"Yeah, Neville's so shy you almost can't help but pick at him. Neville gets really defensive, so it's fun to wind him up. Nothing too personal, it's all good. We figure that eventually Neville will grow some balls and start to talk back, and then he won't be so shy anymore."

Oh, shit. "Well, as long as Neville's okay with it," I said. I'm never letting you near Hermione again, I didn't say. Neville reminded me a lot of Hermione: Smart and soft-spoken. Hermione would take ribbing like that extremely personally, and bottle up any emotions or reactions until she was overwhelmed, like she did in October. I hoped that Neville wasn't the same, or Ron was doing some real damage.

Unlike the guys, Pansy didn't introduce me to her friends. I knew that she hung around the Slytherin girls and was becoming their unofficial ring leader, but she kept them well away from me. "They're the fan-girl type," she said when I asked her about it. "They'd bore you with girl-talk and asking for autographs. Have you decided to sign a few, then? Can I have one?" She batted her eyelashes at me, looking like the picture-perfect princess.

My answer was to snort indignantly. "When cows walk on the ceiling," I said.

I watched Pansy's eyes light up as I said that. "Is that a challenge?" she asked, moving closer. "I know just the place to do it, and the idiots to do it to." She stopped, and looked at me appraisingly. "This is worth more than some scrap of paper, isn't it?"

Trust Pansy to milk things for everything she can. "I'll make it worth your while," I said, laughing. Pansy just smiled and offered another one of those rare hugs before sauntering off to the Slytherin dungeons.

By April, I felt ready to sit Arithmancy and Runes, and was more than up to giving Care and Herbology a go. I certainly don't have anything exciting to report about sitting yet another 8 exams, and Dumbledore's letter explains it well enough.

-----

Dear Harry,

I have enclosed here the results of your second set of tests:

~Third Year

Ancient Runes E-

Arithmancy A

Care of Magical Creatures E+

Herbology E

~Fourth Year

Ancient Runes A

Arithmancy A

Care of Magical Creatures E

Herbology E

Your lack of familiarity with the material shows this time around, but you have passing grades in all the courses, and plenty of time to fill in the gaps before your OWL year. You have only Divination left, and I feel confident that we will test you for that in June. I cannot offer much advice on the subject myself, however, as I never bothered to take it, but I wish you the best of luck.

Your servant,

Albus Dumbledore

-----

It was in late May that Hermione raced down the tower stairs and threw herself at me screaming "I did it! I did it!" The force of her lunge knocked the chair I was sitting in right over, depositing us painfully on the floor as Tarot cards flew everywhere.

"Um, ow."

"Sorry, Harry," Hermione said, her voice muffled by my shoulder. She scrambled up and helped me right the chair, before resuming her excited bouncing. "I did it!" she repeated. "I can remember things!"

Well, she set herself up for this. "Gee, that's great news, Hermione. I was getting tired of introducing myself to you every day."

"You know what I mean, idiot!" she said, smacking my arm. "I can use your memory trick! I'm not very good at it yet, but I can do it now. I can't wait to get ahead!"

"I'm really surprised," I said truthfully. "I kind of figured that getting where I was would be more difficult. Dumbledore certainly thought so."

Hermione's mood instantly changed from ecstatic to looking like she was caught stealing. "Well, it normally is," she said hesitantly, "But the way you were learning Arithmancy gave me an idea. What if I did that with my Occlumency techniques? Of course, it was much harder to start, but I chose a spot in my memories a couple of years ago, and went through all my memories between then and now, and focused on what I knew about Occlumency. I did it over and over and after six or seven times I started to feel different, so I kept doing it, and I could start to remember things more clearly, well naturally I had to test it so I grabbed a book and just looked at a page then I shut the book and tried to remember, and I remembered the page! It was wonderful! So I grabbed the book again, and--"

"Hermione!" I shouted, covering her mouth with my hand. "You're rambling. I'm happy that you figured it out. I know all about how it works, and I know you'll be fine with it."

Hermione bounced at the shoulders and pouted into my hand at being cut off, but thankfully didn't continue when I let go. As I settled back into my chair, she sat in the chair beside mine. "I'll get started on my studies tonight. I'll try to test on as many courses as I can in June, if Professor Dumbledore allows me. How are your studies going?"

I shrugged and pointed at the mess of tarot cards. "It's Divination. Apparently this stuff works, but I hope to God that Trelawney grades on subject knowledge. I can tell you exactly what every card is supposed to mean, and my 'readings' sound good, but I'm hardly convinced that I'm reading the future." I started to clean up the cards and put them away; I'd had more than enough of them.

"You'll do fine, I'm sure." After a moment of silence, Hermione asked "What was it like doing your Arithmancy exams so quickly? It must have been terribly difficult, even with all the Occlumency tricks."

"Those tests gave me such a headache. I basically had to have the textbook open in my mind to access the charts, and refer back to the examples they gave to work out most of the processes. I'll say straight-up that I'm awful at Arithmancy. The only reason I passed those exams was because Professor Vector teaches close to the books. It'll probably take me until my OWL exam to really be comfortable with any of it."

Hermione nodded. "I figured that you'd have problems with that one, because memory doesn't have anything to do with mathematical process. I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I'm surprised you passed at all. "

"You're surprised?" I laughed. "I'm surprised there wasn't a bright red 'T' on those papers! Still, it's one less headache for third and fourth year."

"Were the others any better?" I could almost hear Hermione's brain making notes on how to prepare for her studies.

"Well, Arithmancy and Astronomy were the killers --math, math, and more math. You're good at math, though, so you'll be better than me.

"Ancient Runes is the next big one, mostly because there's something like two dozen different sets of Runes, and sometimes you use more than one set at a time. Those tests were the other major headache generator.

"Then you have Care, Herbology, History, and Muggle Studies which are all straight-up memorization and paper writing. I don't have anything special to say about those, except that I lost a bunch of marks for using small words." It was an exaggeration, but making Hermione laugh is fun.

"You're ready for Potions, full stop. You can borrow my higher-level books if you want, but you've got all the practical experience you need. And last is Divination, which is some kind of sick joke. Unless I suddenly develop 'The Sight,' I can't really do much more for it than I have."

"I think I'll test for everything but Arithmancy and Runes this year," Hermione said after a moment's thought. “Those seem like the only courses that need some time to learn. I'll ask Professor Dumbledore if he'll let me test for the other two in September.”

"I'm sure he will."

Other than studying, the term progressed uneventfully. The Quidditch games against Slytherin and Gryffindor were my only real excitement. The Slytherins were a physically powerful team, and our players suffered dozens of minor injuries in the first ten minutes of play. We'd have lost players if it continued, so I decided to change tactics: Using my magic to fortify myself into a human Bludger, I rode my broom at near-to-full speed and slammed into the Slytherin Chasers and Beaters mercilessly. These hits were blatant fouls, and earned Slytherin about 40 penalty shots, but the injuries were slowing them down, and eventually their lines fell apart.

For the last part of the game Roger, Bradley and I had a nearly-continuous three-on-one advantage against Slytherin's Keeper, who was rubbish without the goon squad protecting him. Terrence Higgs, the Slytherin Seeker, was no match at all for Cho, and after a half-hearted chase, she caught the Snitch 45 minutes into the game, punishing Slytherin with a 560-250 victory. The Slytherins were furious with the loss, but the ones that mattered --the Malfoys and Parkinsons-- had worn Ravenclaw colors. The entire Ravenclaw team was battered and bruised, me more than most, but our crude "third Beater" play had been effective.

Gryffindor had a powerful team with a lousy Seeker named Lee Jordan. Rumor had it that he only got the position by being friends with Fred and George, and there wasn't anyone else better to choose from. The Weasley twins were vicious Beaters, though, and Oliver Wood was a tremendous Keeper. Their Chaser line, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, were very skilled and played off each other like professionals, and the play was dead even at 50-50 after two hours of play. Cho was running circles around Jordan, but Fred and George were launching Bludgers at her with abandon, forcing her to fly defensively rather than follow the Snitch. I wasn't surprised that Roger eventually shouted at me to switch with Cho.

I tore after the Snitch like a madman every time I saw it. The one flaw in Gryffindor was their Seeker, and they knew it. If I played it safe the Weasleys would shut me down just like they did to Cho, and I couldn't let that happen. On the other hand, the Gryffindors had no reserve Seeker, and with every Bludger that kept me from the Snitch, I felt more and more that a flaw like that should be exploited. As the game hit the three-hour mark and we were now 50-90 in favor of Gryffindor, I decided on a high-risk gambit. Putting on a burst of speed, I buzzed past Jordan, knowing he would turn to follow.

I took us right past the Weasley twins, setting myself up for a punishing Doppelbeater attack as they were now both behind me. I kept my speed at a level that Jordan could tail me easily, and waited for the telltale double-crack of the Bludgers. Once I heard the second impact, I pushed down hard on my broom handle, going over more than 100 degrees and flying slightly upside-down towards the pitch. Jordan overshot the turn like I knew he would, not being skilled enough to turn as fast as I could. The twins' Bludgers trailed above me like I knew they would, anticipating a straighter route instead of the hairpin turn I just pulled. I crossed my fingers, and...

THUMP-THUMP!!

With two dull thuds, Jordan sailed off his broom like a rag doll, both Bludgers lodged into his back. He probably had a broken spine and maybe a few ribs --I know that sounds bad, but it's nothing that Madam Pomfrey and some Skele-Gro can't fix. The game was stopped as Madam Hooch and Pomphrey came running out onto the field, slowing Lee's limp, falling form. Pomfrey then began the trek back to the Hospital Wing, levitating Jordan while she began to work on the worst of his injuries. Hooch started the game again in a couple of minutes, but the Gryffindors' momentum was broken. They subbed Katie Bell in as a Seeker, but she wasn't used to it at all, and their reserve Chaser had obviously never had any game time. Fred and George were both guilt-ridden from injuring their friend, and were horribly off target with their Bludgers.

Cho went back to Seeking, and took her sweet time catching the Snitch. During that time Roger, Bradley and I took it to Wood and amassed a 100 point lead. It was a testament to Wood's mettle that he performed as well as he did, having next to no defense and was the only Gryffindor left playing 100%. He pulled crazy moves on his broom, stopping shot after shot, but he couldn't stop them all. My respect for the man kept increasing as he worked tirelessly to prevent the score from becoming too lopsided.

Cho finally ended the game, and we enjoyed a 350-100 victory. I had a couple of words with Roger, and then I took Bradley and went over to Wood. "We're taking you for a victory lap," I told him, and we took off, holding Wood by the arms.

"LET'S HEAR IT FOR WOOD!" Roger's shouted with a magically amplified voice. "THE ONLY GRYFFINDOR WORTH THE NAME!" We took Wood around the pitch twice to the standing ovation of the entire crowd, especially the Gryffindors.

Hermione caught up with me as I left the team dress room. She liked to walk back to the tower with me from practices and games, and I was grateful for the company. Even though she seemed to detest Quidditch, she hadn't missed a game that I was in, and always fussed about my injuries. She seemed particularly happy today as Gryffindor had played fair, so there wasn't a scratch on me.

"That was your idea, wasn't it?" she stated more than asked me as we began walking.

"About Wood?" Seeing her nod, I did, too. "Yeah, I wanted to make sure that he was recognized. If the press writes another article like they have for the other games, I want his name in there. He deserves it, he was amazing."

Hermione just smiled at me and took my hand; we walked back the tower in comfortable silence. I'm sure that the entire Ravenclaw tower noticed that we were holding hands again, but Roger and Cho were very protective of me, and any off-color remarks about me and Hermione never made it back to my ears.

The Daily Prophet printed small articles about me in their sports section. There was one titled "Tiny Raven Terrorizes Serpents!" that spent equal time bashing the Slytherin team for having to resort to violence, and chastising me for lowering myself to Slytherin standards, even if they did deserve it.

The game against Gryffindor got me the second page with a large picture showing Roger announcing Wood while Bradley and I led him around the pitch, and a smaller picture showing Wood performing one of his riskier saves. The article spent far too much time talking about me, but they highlighted Wood's superb performance in a three-on-one situation. "I hope that League officials were watching," the article stated, "because Oliver Wood will take any team he plays on to the World Cup."

Gryffindor had won their games against Hufflepuff and Slytherin, and Slytherin had won against Hufflepuff. That left Ravenclaw and Gryffindor to play again for the championship.

I never got to play that game, though, and some of you know why. For those reading that don't, here's the full story:

In response to Hermione's request late in May to get some hands-on creature experience for her Care studies, I got a note from Hagrid asking me to meet him at his hut late that afternoon with Hermione and any other friends I wanted to bring. Fred and George had scared Ron senseless with stories of 'giant spiders' that hung around Hagrid, so he had begged off the trip. Draco, Pansy, Hermione and I went down to Hagrid's hut expecting either tea with a friend, or some illegal creature that he had smuggled in -- in fact, I had brought my Invisibility Cloak along just in case. I hadn't used it much this year; I didn't really feel like breaking rules, and I could picture the stern look on Professor Dumbledore's face when he had written “it will not work on me.” I had a hunch that it might come in handy tonight, though; must have been all the Divination work.

We were all surprised to see Hagrid with a large crossbow out, looking geared up for the road. "C'mon, you guys," he said to us, "We're headin' inter the Forest. Got sumthin' ter check out, an' I figure that I could show you lot the Forest while I'm at it."

The reactions from us were quite varied: Pansy and I were grinning, thinking about what fun might be had in the Forest; Hermione looked scandalized and worried, likely thinking about the "Forbidden" part of all of this. Draco looked plain scared, and was trying futilely to hide it.

"But Hagrid, we're not allowed into the Forest. Won't we all be in trouble for this?" Ah, classical Hermione; how I miss this.

"Nah, the Forest's perfectly safe; S'only forbidden to keep the students out, s'all. Dumbledore said that ye're alrigh' ter go, long as you're wit' me an' stick together. 'Sides, me and young 'Arry here can take jest about anythin' that we come `cross. Ain't nothin' in here near as strong as a Troll."

With that, I was geared to go, and Hermione's major concern was laid to rest. Draco's fear mellowed into trepidation, and we were off down a forest path, looking for what Hagrid described as a "trail of silvery stuff." Along the way, Hagrid pointed out the homes and locations of plants and animals that existed in the forest. I can't for the life of me tell you what we saw along the way, because what we eventually found imprinted itself into my mind.

Once we came across the trail Hagrid was looking for, Hagrid became serious, and told us that it was Unicorn blood, and that this wasn't the first time it's happened this year. Following it led us to a clearing, where Hagrid expected to find a wounded or dead Unicorn, and hopefully the beast behind the killings.

Hagrid was spot-on: In the clearing, we found the corpse of the Unicorn, and a dark shape bent over it. Hagrid immediately thought it was a Lethifold, and fired his crossbow at it. As soon as Hagrid fired, the shape moved, and the crossbow bolt snapped as if it hit a wall. The shape stood up, and it became obvious that this was not a Lethifold, but a man in a dark cloak; a man with glowing, blood-red eyes...

My scar surged like it never had before, and an irrational anger took hold of me. More than anything, I wanted to hurt this man; more than anything, I wanted to kill him. I brought my wand up, but the man was far faster.

Before any of us could cast, he slashed his wand downward, launching a thin vertical crescent of energy several feet across toward Hagrid. Hagrid tried to dodge out of the way, but the spell caught his wand arm at the elbow, severing it cleanly. The curse continued past Hagrid, slicing though four trees before it lost potency. As Hagrid fell screaming, the man turned the same curse on us.

I pulled Hermione to me and shouted "Protego!" pushing with all my power. A perfect blue energy field appeared, and the crescent curse broke into angry energy arcs across my shield as it impacted. I felt the pressure of the hit, but it wasn't anything compared to the troll's club, and I was a little bit stronger than I used to be.

Any hope of returning fire was immediately quashed as several more crescents flew towards us. Pansy got her own shield charm up, but staggered back with the blow as the curse hit. Draco's shield wasn't strong enough, and he lost both of his legs just below the knee.

"Petrificus Totalus," Hermione intoned, stepping out from behind my shield. With a flick of his wand, the man reversed the direction of the hex, forcing Hermione to dodge her own spell.

"Pathetic effort, mudblood!" he shouted. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Shit! I launched myself at Hermione, tackling her at the waist. My shield followed me, but the jagged green bolt of the Killing Curse arced through it like it wasn't even there, missing our heads by inches.

"Enough," the man whispered to himself. "We have what we need." Firing another crescent curse at me and Pansy to keep us behind our shields, the man raised his hands and seemed to draw the shadows to him. Floating a few inches from the ground, he literally flew towards the castle, wisps of shadow trailing behind him.

"Damn it!" I was really, really pissed. I was quite ready to fly off after him, but Hermione grabbed my arm.

"Harry, we have ho help Hagrid and Draco!"

Right; dying friends come first. I forced my anger down, and looked around. Hagrid was back up on his feet, fumbling around with a healing spell using his off-hand. I knew nothing about healing spells, so I hoped that he knew what he was doing.

Draco was shivering and moaning, obviously in shock. He had lost a lot of blood, and was white as a ghost. Pansy was trying to stop the bleeding with her robe, but I knew we needed better than that, and I only had one idea.

"Stupefy. Pansy, move away." I hoped that Draco would forgive me if this didn't work. I knelt down to his legs, and forcefully intoned "Incendio."

Ignoring the shrieks of the girls, I quickly cauterized the two stumps to prevent any further blood loss. As I was finishing, I saw a bright light fly past us at an amazing speed toward the castle. Looking behind me I saw Hagrid still holding his wand awkwardly in his left hand. His right arm was attached, but it looked very pale.

"Dumbledore'll be here right quick," he said. "Jes' you keep him comft'rble. I'm alrigh'."

I knelt beside Draco and straightened his robe, not knowing what else to do. Hermione and Pansy both knelt beside me and put their arms around me. Both girls were beginning to cry, and I was fighting the urge. My irrational anger was still surging underneath, making it very difficult for me to control my emotions.

Only seconds later, there was a large fiery burst near us, and Dumbledore was there, with a magnificent red and gold peacock-sized bird perched on his shoulders. Without speaking, his wand was out and Draco's legs were rejoined in seconds.

"Ms. Parkinson, hold onto Mr. Malfoy. Tell Madam Pomfrey that he needs to be treated for blood loss more than anything else. Fawkes, take them." Fawkes must have been the bird, as it trilled a response and flew over to Draco, landing on his chest. Once Pansy had taken hold of Draco's robes, there was another burst of flame, and they both disappeared.

When I looked back to Dumbledore, he had already healed Hagrid's arm. Another bright white light shot towards the castle, and then Dumbledore turned to me. "Take Ms. Granger back to your tower. I would prefer you stay in your rooms, but do not leave your tower. Severus, Hagrid and I will deal with this man."

I wasn't quite ready to leave, but the angry look on Dumbledore's face quelled any desire I had to argue. I took Hermione's hand, and we jogged back through the forest to the castle. By the time we got to Ravenclaw tower, it was late evening.

"I'm going after them," I stated just before we reached the tower's portrait door.

"What? Harry, no! He'll kill you!" Hermione's eyes were wide with fear, and she gripped my robes tightly.

"I have to; this has something to do with me anyways, I know it. I have my cloak; I'll be okay."

"Harry, no. I... you can't just ignore Professor Dumbledore, he... please, Harry. Don't go."

"I'm sorry. I have to." I smiled as I saw Hermione's entire train of thought in the look she gave me. "No, Hermione. You aren't fast enough to bind me. Please don't try; I'd never raise my wand against you."

"Please..." she whispered, tears beginning to form. “I don't want this to be the last time I see you.”

"I'll be back, I promise." I hugged her with everything I had, and then broke off at a run. My anger was starting to resurface, but my promise to Hermione tempered it a little. I would win, no matter what it took. I knew that there was only one target in the castle that someone would bother to break in to reach.

Pushing myself to supernatural speeds, I reached the third floor corridor the Cerberus' door in seconds. The door itself was off its hinges, and the Cerberus was a little ruffled, and very angry. I threw my cloak on, cast the strongest body-cleaning charm I could to dull my smell, and then cast a silencing charm on the room.

Silent, scentless and invisible, I ran to the open trap door, and jumped down. I landed in an enormous patch of weeds that quickly announced itself as Devil's Snare by trapping me with vines. I pushed my magic to my limbs, and with strength well beyond that of a child I managed to free my wand hand. Five flame hexes later, the Devil's Snare was dead, and I was running down a roughly cut stone tunnel, and into a room with hundreds of flying keys.

The room was obviously designed to have someone play Seeker with the keys, finding the right one and then unlocking the door. A revealing charm showed a massive amount of magic present, and I knew that under normal circumstances, no amount of fancy spell casting would let anyone get through without finding the right key. Every key had obscured charms on them, and it was a safe bet that grabbing the wrong key would be detrimental to your health.

The broken door on the other side of the room told me that whoever made this room did not expect someone of this caliber. I ran through the room, and entered a larger chamber with pieces of giant armored figures strewn about. About ten minutes ago, those figures would have been the room's guardians. The walls were scorched with the telltale angular burns that spellfire produced, and ambient magic still hung heavily in the air; a lot of fighting had happened here, and quite recently.

I crossed the room and exited to the other side. Once again the door had been blown off violently. In this room was an exit with black flames barring passage. Sitting in this room was professor Dumbledore, nursing several cuts and scrapes, and working on healing a critically wounded Hagrid.

"Harry," he breathed, turning immediately to me. I guess he wasn't lying about being able to see through Invisibility Cloaks. "What are you doing here?"

"I-"

"Never mind," he said, cutting across me. I could see in his eyes that the Headmaster was no longer present. I was dealing with the General now. "I cannot pass this barrier without disabling it first, and it will take time. Severus has gone ahead, as the barrier is his own design. Your cloak will shield you from the barrier. Go ahead and help Severus stall for time until I can get there."

"My cloak...?"

"Harry!"

"Err, yes sir!" I turned and walked toward the barrier. It felt like walking through a waterfall; there was a lot of pressure, but the cloak did its job. In less than a second I was through the barrier and into the next room, which was nearly half the size of the Great Hall. There were arches on the walls, pillars all the way around the room, and a wondrous shining light coming from the center of the ceiling. This room definitely reminded me of Dumbledore.

In the center of the room stood a tall mirror; in front of the mirror dueling with Snape was the man that I had fought, his dark cloak removed.

Quirrel.

I had a hard time equating the pathetic, stuttering Defense professor with the killer I saw before me. Quirrel and Snape danced gracefully around each other as Dark magics soared around the room. Each spell promised death, and the walls were riddled with the long slashes of Quirrel's cutting curse, or groupings of small craters from the curse Snape used against the Troll. They cast their spells at a withering rate, faster than anything I'd ever seen.

And Dumbledore thought Snape needed my help?

It became apparent that he did, though: Slowly, one close call at a time, Snape was being overwhelmed and worked into a corner. With less and less room to maneuver, dodging became impossible, and Snape had to switch from counter curses and deflection spells to solid shields. Quirrel seemed to have been waiting for this, and launched a flurry of cutting crescents, following up with "Crucio!"

The Unforgivable lanced through Snape's shield, and the professor fell to the ground screaming. Quirrel didn't hold the curse, however, and dispatched Snape with a silent Stunner.

With Snape down, it was obviously my turn, and I wasn't about to waste time. Mustering all my concentration, I fired off a silent Expelliarmus at Quirrel, hoping to catch him by surprise while he had his back turned. Quirrel sensed the magic and turned quickly, but the charm struck him dead-center, and Quirrel's wand flew to me.

"Damn you!" He screamed at me, not a trace of stuttering in his voice. "I've come too far to be stopped by a child like you. I-- master, no! Master, WAIT! MA--AAARGH!" Quirrel stumbled around for a second, holding his head as if it would explode, then froze in place, and slowly righted himself. When he next opened his eyes, they weren't just glowing red anymore, but were lit like blazing fires. Looking at those eyes was like staring into the headlights of a semi coming straight for you -- a guaranteed death.

"Harry Potter, we meet at last..." The voice that came from Quirrel was not his; barely a whisper. It was the same whisper that I had heard in the forest, when I thought Quirrel was talking to himself. My scar was aching, and I knew exactly who it was that was speaking to me.

"Voldemort," I whispered. The rage that I had felt was gone, completely suppressed by fear.

"Come, Harry, I am unarmed now. Let us dispense with wands, and talk like proper gentlemen." His eyes flashed brighter for a second, and all of a sudden both wands shot out of my hands and were engulfed in bright flames. Whatever was left of the wands landed in the corner of the room.

"Now come, Harry; come to the Mirror of Erised. I'm sure you've heard of it? Such an amazing artifact it is. Come, and let us examine it together." An unyielding force grabbed me and pushed me forward. As much as I wanted to fight it, I found myself forced to walk to Voldemort. The loss of control was more horrible than anything I'd ever felt before. I'd been hit with tickling hexes, tripping jinxes, and more than a few that left boils or worse on my face. Everything had a counter spell to it, and I knew them all. Everything could be blocked by a shield. Being wandless and at the mercy of someone who by thought alone could dominate my movements was terrifying.

Then I came to the mirror, and my world stopped: Standing in the mirror, looking at me with sad eyes, were my parents.

I could barely breathe. Every now and then my father would shoot a venomous glance toward Voldemort, but my mother looked only at me, with tears flowing from same emerald green eyes that I had. She pressed up against the other side of the glass, as though she was actually there; as if I could touch her if I could just reach past the glass...

I could feel the tears streak down my face. This couldn't be real, and yet they were standing there: My father, ready to attack Voldemort all over again, and my mother, ready to run to me.

"Marvelous man, Dumbledore," Voldemort said as he watched the mirror, "To hide the Stone in the Mirror and to place restrictions on its removal. Truly, he has outdone himself. I see the Stone in the Mirror, Harry. It calls to me, wanting me to take it. But naturally, I cannot. Dumbledore would have prevented me from personally claiming the Stone, even in this pathetic body." He turned to me, smirking. "How do you think Quirrel did as a Defense professor, Harry? Did he do his job?"

"Not really," I said, trying to disguise my fear. "Barely covered what the textbook did. Maybe you should've taken over for him; we'd have learned loads." I had no idea what Stone he was talking about, but since he obviously expected me to know, I tried to play along. Stall for time, Harry. Dumbledore's coming. Stall for time...

His smile was even bigger then, and he seemed to be reliving a memory. "Yes," he chuckled, "I could have taught you all so well. I wanted to once, Harry. When Dumbledore was first made Headmaster, I asked for the Defense position. Generations of students could have benefited from my knowledge and experience. Hundreds of wizards and witches would have learned to properly harness their power... as you are learning.

"Yes, Harry, I see much of myself in you. I have no doubt that you will become a very capable and powerful wizard. I am rightfully proud to see you wield such power at so young an age; a strong grasp on your magic, silent casting of spells; a well-sated thirst for knowledge, and the will to use it. You are what I always wanted for this weak-willed society to become, Harry. Imagine, if you will, a society where every child commands power as you do, where every adult could command power such as mine, and where the weak are removed.

"It was not to be, Harry. Dumbledore turned me away, and forced me to instruct society using... other methods." The way he said those last words sent an involuntary shudder down my spine. He was looking at me directly now, his eyes burning straight through me.

"Those methods were terrible, magnificent, and brutal. They allowed me to demonstrate the power that a pure, unsullied society would hold, if only they could master themselves physically and magically. For my demonstrations, I was fought: By the Ministry of Magic, and by Dumbledore and his followers. The Ministry could do nothing because they were weak, saturated as they have become with the rabble I wish to eradicate." He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "It was Dumbledore that intrigued me; Dumbledore that had the power to face me; such an impressive man. But he could not defeat me, Harry. He tried, several times, to do so. He failed every time."

His eyes were boring into me; I could almost feel the heat off of them. "It was you, Harry, who defeated me. You, as a child, had power that I could not fathom. And when I cast the curse that should have killed you, it rebounded, and I was destroyed.

“But not killed.”

"My parents were," I said, trying to hold onto my composure in the face of my parents' killer. "You murdered them; you destroyed my life."

"I killed your parents because they opposed me, Harry. I fought them as they fought me. I was the stronger. They did not need to fight me, Harry, just as you do not.

"I know you must carry protection; the only times I felt aware of your existence was in your Defense classes and during your Quidditch matches. I heard the rumors of your power, and I felt compelled to test you on your first match. You performed above all my expectations."

"That was you?!" I blurted, surprised.

"Yes, Harry. Quirrel alone did not have the power to covertly bewitch the broom and the Bludger, but I do. I wished to speak with you so dearly afterwards, but your protections render you impossible for me to locate unless you willingly enter my presence. After the first Quidditch game, I did not dare to provoke Dumbledore further, lest he discover me. I am more than a match for him, but Quirrel is not. Likewise, your Defense classes are far too public, and your protection prevented me from simply calling you to my office."

"Professor Dumbledore did say that this was the most complex piece of magic he ever cast," I said. Keep the conversation going, Harry. Just a bit longer... I hope.

"I must agree; I have never seen such complex a ward structure in my life. You are a shining beacon on magic, Harry. But that matters little, as you are here, now, in front of me. Though your mother's blood is less than desirable, you have proven yourself worthy beyond all doubt, and through you, your mother as well. Join me now, Harry. My Death Eaters betrayed me, thinking me dead. Most were quick to forget their pledges of loyalty, the rest possessed of sufficient stupidity to be caught by the Ministry dogs they fought against. I have no one, just as you have no one. Together, we can start anew. Together, we can reach this Stone, and with the immortality it provides, we will unlock our highest potentials, and show these poor excuses for wizards exactly what a `wizard' should be. Come with me, Harry. Your future will be brighter than you can ever imagine."

He stood there with that smile on his face, his eyes bright as floodlights. He had his hand extended to me, waiting for me to take it. There was no force on me; apparently he was giving me the chance to accept on my own.

I knew my choices: I could say yes, help him get whatever 'Stone' he wanted, and probably die, or say no and definitely die. There was really only one choice to make, but fear makes decisions like this difficult. I looked back at the mirror.

My father's dark eyes were shining golden with power, staring at Voldemort with undisguised hatred; my mother's eyes were locked with mine. She had her face pressed against the mirror, mouthing the words I had never heard before in my life:

I love you.

“I love you, too, mum.” And with that statement, my fear began to fade. All that was left was my enemy, and something I could not let him have.

Slowly raising my right hand to take Voldemort's, I threw all my magic behind my left fist as I slammed it into the man's crotch. I could feel my knuckles brush the back of his pelvic bone and Voldemort flew back about five feet, landing face down. He immediately curled into a fetal position, but I was quite sure that while Quirrel might have been down for the count, to Voldemort this was only a momentary inconvenience. That moment was all that I really wanted, though.

Focusing all my magic on my left leg, I brought it up, and kicked the mirror as hard as I could. I heard Voldemort scream "NO!" just as my foot hit the mirror, cracking the whole surface like a large spider web. My father and mother were smiling in the mirror; my dad winked at me, and he cocked his fist back and slammed his hand into the other side. A huge shard of the mirror came flying off, and there was a loud echoing tone in the air as the Mirror's enchantments died. My parents' image faded away as the rest of the mirror blew apart, the pieces falling to my feet.

There was no Stone in that mess.

Voldemort roared incoherently with rage, and in two steps he had me by the neck, choking the life from me. Something in my neck started to pop, but he let go almost right after, screaming in pain. His hands were burnt an angry red where they had touched me, and they looked like they were already starting to swell. Whatever this was, I needed to keep Voldemort touching me, and not doing something smart like kicking me, or using his magic to throw me around the room. I lunged forward and grabbed his face, hoping that my touching him would work the same way.

Voldemort screamed louder, and tried to pull my hands off his face, only to have his hands start to burn again. I focused all my magic on keeping a grip on his smoking head. The pain really started when his face and hands actually caught fire. The flames were a brilliant white like Dumbledore's flame hex, and they completely drowned out the glow of his red eyes. But God, the pain...

I was nowhere near to Voldemort's power, and in only seconds my magic was depleted. I was thrown into one of the pillars behind me with enough force to crack my spine. I kept my head ducked so that I wouldn't hit it, but the pain that exploded in my back left me paralyzed. I sat crumpled against the base of the pillar, and watched in agony as Voldemort started to walk towards me. His skull showed through his charred face and white flames still danced on his head and arms. His red eyes were trained on me like laser sights, and I knew I was going to die. I couldn't kill him, and my magic was exhausted. I'm sorry, Hermione. I couldn't keep my promise. I lost, Professor, but we won. Voldemort towered over me, and I closed my eyes.

There was a gale force wind that suddenly picked up. I didn't dare open my eyes out of pain and fear. Let it end. Let the pain end. Let me see my parents again.

The wind stopped after only a moment, and there was a second of deafening silence, before Voldemort spoke.

"No."

My ears nearly burst as there was a sound deeper and louder than the largest subwoofers a muggle dance club. I felt the stone crack around me, and I felt the brush of fabric as something flew past me at great speeds. There was a sickening crunch from the far side of the room, and then silence. Deciding that I wasn't dead yet, I opened my eyes.

I could see Voldemort crumpled against the far wall of the room. Standing above me with his eyes and his wand glowing bright blue with power was Dumbledore. Voldemort did not rise; a thin black vapor trailed from the body, and wafted towards the room's exit. Dumbledore carefully watched that vapor, and only when it had disappeared completely did he lower his wand, and turn to me. Dumbledore waved his wand twice over me, and I fell into a mercifully painless sleep.

When I awoke, I was in the Hospital Wing, being blinded by a shaft of sunlight from the window across from me. My glasses were still in one piece and on my face, which made me chuckle -- those charms were pretty potent, then. As the very one-sided fight I was just in came back to me, I quickly squirmed around in bed, seeing if I was still injured. Nothing seemed to hurt, and I had full mobility, so I slowly got up from bed and tested my legs out. Standing... walking... a quick jog on the spot... perfect. My hands told the tale of my ordeal, though. Even though they felt fine, the skin of my palms was onyx black. Small trails of that blackness licked around the sides of my hands and back across my wrists and forearms, as though those white flames had permanently burnt my skin. Despite the blackness, the skin was perfect; I could just make out my fingerprints.

A quick look around my bed showed me that there were several people -- Hermione, Pansy, Draco, and a bunch of Weasleys -- that had sent me sweets and chocolates, one vase of brightly colored flowers, and several cards that wished for a swift recovery --Fred and George's rather vocally. I smiled as I read them all; it meant that everyone else was all right.

"I see you're up and about, Harry." I turned to see Professor Dumbledore in the doorway, smiling at me. Infectious as the man's smile is, I couldn't help but smile wider than I already was. "I was hoping that you'd be fully recovered today. I'm sure that you have questions, and I would appreciate hearing from you exactly what happened. Even though I wanted you safely in your tower, I must thank you greatly for coming when you did. I may or may not have won against Voldemort, but your actions most likely saved Severus' life." With that, the professor walked over and sat down on my bed. Before I could join him, I heard an excited squeak from behind him in the doorway and turned back just in time to catch a flying bushy-haired missile named Hermione. Professor Snape and Hagrid came in at a more sedate pace, and they made themselves comfortable on the nearby beds.

Once I had calmed Hermione down, the full explanations took more than two hours. Once upon a time, Dumbledore worked with Nicholas Flamel. Flamel's greatest creation had been the Philosopher's Stone, which granted him immortality. Flamel agreed with Dumbledore about the threat of Voldemort returning, and had initially sent his stone to Gringotts to be protected. What was to be a routine change of location for the stone occurred on the same day that Hagrid had gone into Gringotts with me; it was what he had emptied from the high security vault. Hagrid then told us about Fluffy, the Cerberus that he had gotten to perform guard duty for the Stone. Dumbledore, Flitwick and McGonagall had set up the armor guardians, and Snape had set up a barrier that only Voldemort's Dark Mark could bypass -- and even then, only on the way in. Dumbledore himself charmed the Mirror of Erised to work as the Stone's final defense. "I had charmed the Mirror to release the Stone to someone who wanted it, but who did not want to use it. I had thought the charm brilliant, of course. I had never considered that someone would face the Mirror as you did, Harry, with no real knowledge of the Stone, nor any desire for it at all. I also never anticipated that someone would physically destroy the Mirror. Alas, to think like a young man again."

"I only wanted the Stone away from Voldemort at the end," I said. "I didn't know that I would destroy it." Dumbledore and Snape looked at each other for a long time, before Dumbledore looked back at me.

"Take off your glasses, Harry. Have a good look at them." I did as he said, quite confused, and stifled a gasp at what I saw reflected in the front of the lenses. My father stood in my left lens, looking up at me proudly. Standing in my right lens with a large red gemstone in her hand was my mother.

"How..." I began but couldn't finish.

"Old Magic is very persistent, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "The Mirror of Erised was a powerful piece of Old Magic. The magic understood in a rudimentary way that its primary purpose was to defend the Stone from Voldemort. So it did so in the best manner it saw possible, and took the avenue you so ably provided when you destroyed the original Mirror.”

“But, my glasses…?”

“The magic of the Mirror transferred to the closest reflective surface it could find,” Snape said. “In this case, it was your glasses. Considering that the Dark Lord was the enemy, the magic would have found a place to exist on you, even if it was your belt buckle, Potter.”

Hermione got it way before I did. “Oh, that's right! Your protection, Harry! Voldemort can't ever locate the Stone again, because he can't locate you!” Both professors nodded, and I couldn't help but smile at the thought of being the world's safe-spot from Voldemort.

“We may need to remove the Stone now and then for Nicholas,” Dumbledore said, “But on the whole I'd imagine that there isn't a safer place for it.”

With the death of Quirrel, there was bound to be Aurors investigating, so we prepared our story. Publicly, it was Quirrel that made the attempt on the Stone. With me, Hermione, Draco, Pansy, Snape, Hagrid and Dumbledore as witnesses, we testified to dueling with him in the Forbidden Forest where he had killed a Unicorn for its blood. He defeated us and escaped to the castle to steal the Stone. Chasing him into the castle, Professor Dumbledore and I cornered Quirrel near the Stone, and I destroyed the Stone to prevent its theft, injuring Professor Quirrel badly in the process. Quirrel then attempted to kill me, but Professor Dumbledore dueled with him, killing him in the process of defending me. Dumbledore proudly presented the four of us with Special Awards for Services to the School for the role we all played in confronting Quirrel. The name Voldemort was never mentioned.

I had missed the last Quidditch game, which lasted five hours. Gryffindor had won by 10 points due entirely to Cho not being able to avoid Fred and George and catch the Snitch until it was too late. Due largely to the points I amassed for my academics in the first part of the school year, and Hermione's point throughout, Ravenclaw won the House Cup. Pansy, Draco, Hermione and I were congratulated several times by students of all years for dealing with Quirrel and offered their sympathies for my permanently marked hands. I quickly wrote my finals for Divination, scoring A's on both of them. I had the sneaky suspicion that I could have lied to Trelawney about what I had seen to increase my mark, but I hardly cared; she'd never teach me again. My first year practical exams were O's across the board. Hermione sat her exams and passed all of them with a lot more O's and E's than I managed. Ron passed with the A's and low E's that he'd held for the entire year, and Draco ended up with O's and high E's all over - a perk to hanging out with Hermione. Pansy had marks to match her attitude: Charms, Transfiguration, Defense, and Potions were O's; Muggle Studies, Astronomy and History were A's.

Professor Dumbledore met with me again before I left to go over next year's plans. “I will adjust the wards around Hogwarts to guard against Voldemort returning and possessing another person,” he said. “It will be difficult, but I have three months to manage it. You are free to do as you please for the summer, but please keep your glasses with you at all times.”

“I'm hoping to see my friends this summer,” I said. “There's not going to be problems with that, is there?”

“The only place that I'm even remotely concerned about is Malfoy Manor. I would suggest allowing Lucius and Narcissa to invite you directly. If the invitation reaches you, it's safe to go.”

“Okay. What about being able to tell people stuff?”

“Please leave the important details out for the Malfoys, Harry. If you decide you trust the Parkinsons, then go ahead, though I doubt Ms. Parkinson's parents would enjoy learning that she encountered Voldemort on Hogwarts grounds and I'm sure that would come back to haunt me politically. The Weasleys and Ms. Granger are perfectly safe to tell.”

I nodded, as that was more or less what I had in mind in the first place.

After a large leaving feast and several congratulations from professors for me and Hermione -including one from Snape who thanked us both for removing ourselves from his classroom—it was finally time to leave Hogwarts. The crowd of students messing with trunks caused me no end of amusement as I helped Hermione maneuver hers into the compartment and onto the rack. Judging by its weight, she'd managed to get permission to borrow a few library books. Pansy joined us, and Ron came in with his brothers. Draco stopped by to say hello, and left to sit with Crabbe and Goyle and sucker them into whatever he wanted done over the summer. It was convenient, as it gave me the perfect audience for my story.

Everyone made the appropriate noises in the appropriate places while I related the uncensored version of the Philosopher's Stone Incident. The Weasley clan was uniformly surprised that Voldemort allowed Draco to be targeted. Pansy was upset that I didn't take her along, and Hermione was upset that I went at all. Everyone except Hermione was floored that I was now the protector of the Philosopher's Stone, which Voldemort thought was destroyed, and exactly how much protection against Voldemort I truly had. My black hands told the story better than I could about how much power was involved, and how close I came to being killed.

Ron was very sure that his mother would want to have me over during the summer, and Pansy voiced her desire to have me over, too. Hermione quietly said that her parents weren't ready for company yet, but that she'd love to come visit me.

You're all tallying up the Weird Points for Hermione's home life, right?

Draco also approached me and asked about seeing me over the summer, but only after I'd promised to not tell his parents about his injury. “They'd go berserk,” he said quietly. “I'd never be let into Hogwarts again, and Father would make all sorts of trouble for Dumbledore. You'll want to be very careful what you say around them.” Yes, Draco, you were on the ball so much more than I gave you credit for.

Other than that, the ride was routine: Percy was talking to Hermione and me about OWL exams while Ron, Pansy and the twins were playing Exploding Snap. When we got to the station, Pansy hugged me goodbye and ran off to find her parents, and Draco shook my hand and left in the same general direction. Hermione and I stayed with the Weasleys, and were greeted by a very happy Mrs. Weasley and a very shy Ginny. Mrs. Weasley was all for having me over, and before Ron and I could even begin explaining what was going on with the Dursleys, Mrs. Weasley was already set to take me home with her.

"I need to spend 21 days straight there, Mrs. Weasley," I interrupted, "After that, I'd love to stay with you."

"Well, if you must," she allowed. “There's always room for you at our place. I'll set up a bed for you in Ron's room. Percy's is bigger, though... he used to share a room with Bill and Charlie.”

In the end, it was Percy's room that I was going to bunk in, and Mrs. Weasley ended up talking Hermione into visiting for a while too; I said goodbye to the Weasleys after figuring out what "Day 22" would be and learning from Mrs. Weasley exactly how to use the Knight Bus. I even coaxed Ginny out from behind her mother, and got her to promise to take care of Hedwig for me while she was at the Burrow. I learned from Hermione and Pansy that it's hard not to fall in love with Hedwig and Ginny was soon smiling and talking a mile a minute. The Weasleys soon left in a little red-headed ball of chaos, and I turned to say goodbye to Hermione.

“Here,” she said, passing me a piece of parchment. “This is my phone number and address. I'd like to see you over the summer; it's just not a good time for you to come over. I'd like to meet at Diagon Alley at least once, if you don't mind…?”

“That's fine,” I said. “Is there something wrong?” I asked with my concern building with every cheap line she gave me about her home.

“No, Harry, there's nothing wrong; at least not with me.” I couldn't help but notice that she looked away as she said this.

I reached out and held her by her shoulders, looking straight in her eyes. “If you need help, or anything, you come to me. I'll take care of it, I promise.”

A large smile formed on her face. “Thank you,” she said, moving forward to hug me. “Call me soon, alright?”

“Absolutely.”

Hermione left with her trunk in tow, and I trekked through the station until I saw Uncle Vernon waiting for me. I bet he thought he was being so generous by coming to pick me up; I had a great time showing him my new wand, and telling him how much more magic I could do now. I've never seen a fake smile stretch so wide. The smile wasn't so false once I told him that we'd only be seeing each other three weeks a year, barring emergencies. My Uncle was quite happy after that, going so far as to thank me for the information. I decided not to tell him about the protection that he enjoyed because of me; I might break him.

After coming home to the equally fake smiles of my Aunt and cousin, I went upstairs to my bedroom, and dropped myself into my chair, placing my feet up on the desk. It wasn't anything ideal, but I was back at the Dursleys and in control. I had friends, an amazing start to my education, and partial revenge against my parents' murderer.

Things were looking good.

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5. Home and Castle, Part 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: Sorry about the delay; this chapter nearly destroyed me to write -- too many conjoining plotlines sometimes ruin the story. This is the heavily edited and chopped down final version: 17000 words of stuff that I couldn’t leave out, and that’s after removing a lot of crap. If there’s an editing issue or two, please forgive me, as I’m posting this on a time limit – I’ll correct anything monstrous next update. Those looking for a few good fights will enjoy next chapter, which will be coming soon.

Thanks to all that reviewed! I enjoy answering people, so keep them coming!

~TOW

YEAR 2: Home and Castle, Part 1

===========================

So many things happened in 1992 and 1993; Quirrel was just the tip of the iceberg. This was the year that the entire world flipped upside down, and I was right in the middle of the spin cycle. It hurts to recall this year. Despite all the good things that happened, remembering this year is like being kicked in the nuts repeatedly with spiked boots. Most of the good things happened before Christmas ‘92, so I’ll cover those first.

I had my first "pureblood" moment at the Dursleys' on the very first day there. After ten months of never having to worry about wiping yourself or hygiene in general, using toilet paper to push shit around your arse just felt... filthy. I missed the luxuries of Hogwarts and of the magic world in general. I suppose the Dursleys wouldn't consider some of them luxuries, but I bet I could sell my Aunt on a wizard's lavatory pretty quickly.

My aunt, uncle, and cousin were quick to forget about me, and I was more than happy to return the favor. I had more than enough money in my pocket to see me through the summer and more available if I needed it. I'm sure that everyone in the neighborhood mourned the loss of their cheap yard labor, but I was certainly not going to work if I didn't have to.

My summer freedom got me thinking about a future career as a wizard. It was obvious that they held jobs and that some, like Aurors or pro Quidditch players, were exciting and physical enough to hold my interests. The goblins had left me under the impression that looking for a job was not going to be the most pressing thing in the world, though; having money really does take the tension out of life.

I spent the first couple of days getting food and other necessities for my room, and looking around my old stomping grounds. The kids I knew were surprised and happy to see that I was taking good care of myself, and seemed to have come into some real money. These kids weren't exactly friends, but we all knew each other from school and hanging out at the mall, and any one of us that ended up with a better life was a cause for celebration. For some of them, it meant a new foster home and a decent set of parents. For others, it meant acceptance into a gang and the money and protection that came with organized crime. I thankfully avoided both sticky scenarios, courtesy of my parents and Dumbledore.

The more I thought about it, the happier I became with Dumbledore's decision to leave me be. He set me up to be independent from the moment I hit the wizarding world; I had the knowledge of how to take care of myself and the money to do it; I had the common sense to watch my spending and a survival streak that comes from having to take care of your own needs. A large chunk of this was also my Occlumency: Kids gloss over or forget details that adults know are important to catch; it's one of the defining characteristics of adulthood. As an adult you catch subtleties in social situations, and display patience in your day-to-day affairs. Courtesy of Occlumency, I had a huge advantage remembering and analyzing things, and a pen-to-paper vocabulary that puts most adults to shame. The patience of adulthood comes to anyone that has ever had to work for a living. Delayed gratification usually means something different to a child; as an adult, you will often delay things as essential as eating for however long is necessary when the situation warrants it, so your concept of what can be delayed is entirely different.

I'm sad to say I was already at that level before I went to Hogwarts.

Enough whining about my life; I found it refreshing to see that there was a level of maturity in wizarding society that was far beyond muggles. Children are expected to know University-grade material by their third and fourth year studies, and are expected to achieve adulthood by completing their OWL exams around the age of 15 -- a medieval holdover on when adulthood can be achieved. If you're a dunce and can't do the OWLs well enough, they force adulthood on you at 17. If you include NEWTs, wizarding children are asked to be a muggle's equivalent of a 25-year-old Masters graduate by the time they're done with their schooling.

Though it was much later in the year when I asked him this, it fits right here: I asked Dumbledore why Occlumency wasn't taught at Hogwarts since it could be used to such a great effect in school. "There would be no point," was his response. "We expect our children to become adults so quickly already in a society where we can live beyond two centuries if we're careful. There are unique circumstances that arise such as yourself and Ms. Granger, but why would we strip others of what little childhood we allow? Let them grow into their power naturally; there is no benefit to society to create super-soldiers out of children, Harry."

Hmm... Exactly the opposite opinion of Voldemort. I understood Dumbledore’s position well enough, though: There's just no point in pushing to achieve something early that you'll be expected to achieve later. My testing out of classes would net me a much easier shot at all twelve OWLs, some one-on-one time with Professor Dumbledore, and some extra free time during the school year. Hermione was in it for the OWLs and probably a load of NEWTs. Would it get me anywhere special that normal studies wouldn't have? Probably not, and not any earlier, either. All in all, there wasn't a lot to gain for rushing ahead except avoiding a few years of boredom and getting some direct instruction from Dumbledore. That was more than enough reason for me, but it wouldn't be for most kids. On top of that, any more than one or two students outside the standard curriculum would probably strain their patience to breaking -- but kids don’t think about the problems adults have, and I was still a kid as far as that went.

To avoid bothering my relatives, I had a second phone line installed in the house going to my room. Calling Hermione was long-distance, and I wasn't about to come to blows with my uncle about how much time I spent on the phone. My uncle readily agreed with the second line once the phone company assured him that it could be disabled when I was away. With my own phone available, I followed up on my promise, and called Hermione as often as I could. We arranged to meet at Diagon Alley in a few days time, with Hermione still wanting to avoid having me over, and my not wanting to subject her to the Dursleys.

Before I met Hermione, I decided to make my visit to the Weasleys. I made a it a habit never to leave any of my stuff at the Dursleys’ besides the furniture, so it was a very empty room that I left behind with everything neatly packed into my tiny cube of a trunk, sitting in my pocket.

The Knight Bus is not a comfortable ride; not at all. I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels like 0-200mph with no seat belt should be illegal, but Quidditch had honed my reflexes to the point where I never failed to grab the seat or the rail in time, even if my arms threatened to rip off. I suppose that it's one thing that any muggleborn needs to get used to in the wizarding world: Since broken bones, ruptured organs and other injuries muggles would consider 'severe' are fixed in a matter of moments by wizard Healers, wizards are a lot more lax in terms of personal safety. The Knight Bus and Quidditch are prime examples of that.

Upon getting to the Burrow, I found myself staring at the most haphazardly constructed house I'd ever seen: No symmetry, no obvious means of support, rooms on upper levels built jutting out the sides... Magic obviously kept this place together. There were farm animals out to pasture, and a rather large garden. I could see a tool shed and a small barn from where I was. Mrs. Weasley was working in the garden as I was walking up, and waved to me when she saw me.

"Harry! So good of you to come! You've grown quite a bit since last I've seen you. And your clothes! Are these proper muggle clothes? They look very nice on you. Come in, come in! Ron's been quite anxious to see you." Mrs. Weasley carried on in the way that only a mother could, leading me back to the house.

Before anything else, I asked if their washroom was free to use. "It'll be nice to wash up and feel clean again,” I said. “Muggle washrooms just aren't the same."

Their washroom was similar to the one from my room in Hogwarts but there wasn't any fancy charms on the water aside from keeping it pure and removing dirt from your body, so a manual bath was in order. It struck me that luxuries like the Hogwarts showers weren't likely to appeal to the Weasleys, who were obviously quite tight on money. I imagined that the bulk of their money went into supporting their children's education. I never asked, but I assumed that tuition to Hogwarts was quite steep. I remembered from my discussions with Dumbledore that there was some form of financial reward for doing well on OWLs, so I imagined that whatever Bill (their oldest) Charlie (the second oldest) and Percy (the third oldest) got for their OWL awards was filtered back into the pot for the younger Weasleys. It wasn't my place to ask about it, so I just filed those thoughts away for later.

Feeling properly clean again, I chose a simple work robe to wear. It was a light brown, and had my family name in runes embedded in a woven line pattern down the back of the outer robes. It was a little fancy considering where I was, but it was the simplest robe I had, and I was sick of wearing blue jeans.

On my way back down, I saw Ginny in her room, playing with Hedwig. Figuring I'd say hello, I knocked on her doorframe. "Hey, Ginny. Hedwig behaving?"

She looked over and squeaked, nearly dropping Hedwig. She fumbled around for a moment, trying to get Hedwig onto the window sill, and then turned back to me, her face as red as her hair. "H-H-Harry. Um, hi. I-I, um..."

"Are you alright?"

"YES! Yes, I'm fine. Um... how long have you been here?"

"Just got in," I said, smiling. "Ducked into your washroom to knock the Dursleys off of me, and I'm ready to feel like a wizard again. Are you up for showing me around?"

Ginny got this absolutely horrified expression on her face that made me wonder exactly what her brothers had been saying about me. But slowly a small, hesitant smile began to appear. "...Really?" she said quietly, sounding as if I had just told her she'd won something.

"Sure, let's go!” I answered with confidence to mask my confusion. “Hedwig! Coming, girl?"

With a flap of her wings, Hedwig flew over to her favorite perch on my left shoulder, and I let Ginny lead me around to the various parts of the burrow. The inside was simple enough, and while she was showing me the grounds I ran into Ron, Fred, George, and Mrs. Weasley, who looked like they were busy throwing small creatures around. Ginny was back to talking non-stop, filling me in on everything to do with the Burrow. She only stopped when Ron broke away from his family and came over to greet me.

"Ron! There are still Gnomes in the garden, we need your help-- oh, hello Harry. Is Ginny showing you around?"

"She was, and was being quite thorough about it," I replied. "Do you all need help? What're you doing?"

In short order, I was informed about Gnome-tossing, and why Gnomes were bad for the garden. Ron and his brothers seemed to have made this a sport, and were comparing the distance they could throw the Gnomes, as well as how dizzy they could make them while spinning.

I hadn't used my magic in three weeks, so I was itching to burn off some energy and have fun. I pushed my magic out into my muscles, feeling the rush of power. I took a Gnome from Mrs. Weasley, who was quite happy to have someone else tossing, and with only a token spin I threw the Gnome as hard as I could. It was barely a speck in the air by the time it landed, quite far from the Weasley property.

"Bloody Hell, Harry--"

"Language, Ron!"

"--How did you do that?" Ron asked, talking right through his mother's rebuke. The twins were looking at me in awe, and Ginny had that 'lost' look on her face again.

"Remember what I told you I did to Quirrel, Ron?" Ron winced, his hands automatically covering his groin. "Yeah, that."

Ginny promptly pestered me for details, so I regaled her (and horrified Mrs. Weasley) with the tale of Quirrel's attempt on the Philosopher's stone, his possession by Voldemort, and my 'answer' to Voldemort's offer of cooperation. The twins were now holding their crotches, too, while Mrs. Weasley just looked shocked.

"You-You attacked--"

"Voldemort, yes. Like I said, I punched him hard in the privates, and it gave me a chance to break the mirror. He went nuts after that, and I'm sure that if it weren't for my mother's protection, I'd be dead. As it was, I basically burnt his face off, and by the time he threw me off Dumbledore had arrived and cursed him into the wall. That was the end of the fight; we just watched the little trail of vapor that was Voldemort float off."

Ron and the twins were quite thrilled at my victory, and Ginny had this enormous grin on her face. Mrs. Weasley looked terrified, though. "He's still alive..." she whispered.” Oh Merlin, he's still alive. Oh no." Whoops.

"I didn't mean to scare you, Mrs. Weasley. Professor Dumbledore's not worried about him, though; if he was concerned for anyone's safety here, he'd have let me know. We'll be alright.

"Were you involved in the war against him, like my parents were?"

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley said quietly. "Arthur and I, as well as my two brothers, Gideon and Fabian. Arthur and I made it out; my brothers were killed."

"Like he killed my parents..." I trailed off, looking at Mrs. Weasley’s expression of anguish and fear. It was the first time I’d seen someone directly affected by Voldemort. For the first time since I’d fought Quirrel, I felt my rage, and the need for revenge. "When I was a baby, he lost to me and my parents, even though my parents died. Last year, he lost to me and Dumbledore, and only his loser of a servant Quirrel died. I'm sure I'll see him again, and when I do, I'm going to finish what he's started."

Mrs. Weasley pulled me into a tight hug, tears forming in her eyes. I was still a bit shorter than her, so it was rather suffocating. "You're a good boy, Harry. A very good boy." I couldn't help but wonder if she'd held her brothers like this, before they died.

To break up the mood, I gave a quick lesson on how to draw up your magic and push it into your muscles. Ron got it right off having worked a bit with me last year and the twins and Ginny got the hang of it quick enough. Mrs. Weasley was the best at it being a seasoned adult; she and I competed for farthest Gnome tossed that day. Soon, Gnomes were flying unheard of distances, and it was quite unlikely that they would be coming back anytime soon.

It didn't take long to figure out that Ginny had a crush on me. The twins teased her about it (for which I was a spectator to the disgusting and hilarious aftermath of the Bat Bogey Hex), and Ron offered his sympathies. I didn't particularly mind, though, Ginny was a good-looking girl, and was very passionate; everything she did she threw herself into... including arguments, of course. This brought the number of girls that wanted to be closer to me up to three; I admit to feeling rather good about myself, despite the hard feelings that might come about once I made a move myself.

Dinnertime at the Weasleys was entertaining. I spent most of the time talking about muggles with Mr. Weasley, while Mrs. Weasley got after the boys for their table manners. Ginny split her time between listening to me and getting Ron in trouble with her mom. Percy was last to arrive and first to leave the table, apparently more interested in his sixth-year homework than his family, the git.

I went back to the Weasleys a few days in a row, but I always returned to the Dursleys, not wanting to prolong my sleeping there. My only other outing during those three weeks was to meet Hermione at Diagon Alley.

In keeping with her nature, Hermione was already there when I arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, even though I was half an hour early. She smiled and hugged me, and we walked into the pub and through to the Alley.

"So, are you studying anything over the summer?" she asked once we were past the greetings and small talk.

"Not much to study," I replied. "Probably go over everything that I covered and see if I can absorb a few more details, and then make sure I'm clear up through fourth year Charms, Transfiguration, and whatever Quirrel had planned for fourth year Defense."

"Do you think that Professor Dumbledore will let you test out of those classes early?"

"Sure; he said as much before I left."

“That’s good,” she said, her eyes focused on something distant. “I plan on testing out of the practicals by Christmas.” I was a little surprised at how quickly she wanted to test out, but Hermione was nothing if not determined. I, however, did not want to spend our time together talking just about school, especially when Hermione was always hedging around talking about her family.

“So, how’re your parents?” I watched as Hermione missed a step and grabbed onto me for balance. I was worried about whatever was going on, but I can’t deny that there were times like this where I had fun at her expense.

“They’re… good,” she managed finally. “Still busy, but I think they’ll come in for a trip to Diagon Alley later this summer. You might be able to meet them then.” A noncommittal answer with a promise for more information at a later date; Hermione certainly played the game well.

We spent the rest of the afternoon in the Alley, and made plans to meet again once my time at the Dursleys was done. Since it would cost me mere sickles a day, and keep me close to the wizarding world, I decided that I’d rent a room at the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of the summer. My first day at the Alley, I finally met Hermione’s mystery parents, shook their hands, and wondered why I didn’t feel like my questions were answered. We were school shopping that day with the Weasleys, and Arthur Weasley, muggle enthusiast that he is, pounced on Hermione’s parents like a wolf might jump on his prey. Ron and Ginny tried to monopolize my time, and Hermione seemed to stay very close to her parents. I probably would have let this day go by and forgotten all about my concerns if I hadn’t noticed that Hermione was very jumpy and kept her wand out all the time – a pointless gesture for an underage witch, unless she was actually casting something. It made me watch her parents more closely.

Eventually, we were drawn to the bookstore, where I had a chance to fade into the background while the Weasleys and Grangers ogled the famous Gilderoy Lockheart. While Lockheart won the crowd over with his stunning smile, I was puzzling out why Hermione's parents looked so odd to me. They both had brown hair and brown eyes, but their facial structure was all wrong; Hermione looked nothing at all like them. As an adult, I'd have thought about adoptions or foster parents, but I didn't consider it at the time. All I knew was that something was very wrong with the scene in front of me, and that gut feeling prompted me to cast a revealing charm on Hermione's parents while everyone's backs were turned towards Lockheart. Small auras of spells showed up around the heads of Hermione's parents; the odd yellow color that is the telltale sign of Confundus-family charms. I stared wide-eyed at those balls of light; it wasn't at all what I expected. This was no Imperius or Obliviation, but a series of minor memory alterations that were more in the league of a young Hogwarts student.

Like Hermione.

I cancelled the revealing charm and stowed my wand quickly; just because the Ministry couldn't track my magic in public didn't mean that I wanted a bunch of adults seeing me breaking the law. My concern had hit an all-new level, and I nearly ran over to where Hermione was admiring Lockheart. Not waiting for acknowledgement, I grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of the bookstore and around the corner, giving us a degree of privacy.

"What the hell is going on?!" I demanded in a harsh whisper. "What are those charms on your parents? What's going on, Hermione?"

Hermione went pale as a ghost and fumbled around for her wand, and I saw red. Did she think I was another muggle to play with? With a small push for speed, I whipped my wand back out and into her face before hers was halfway up. "I told you before, Hermione. Don't ever, ever pull a wand on me for anything other than healing spells if you want to stay friends.”

"I'm sorry!" she wailed, dropping her wand. She made to step nearer to me, but stopped near my wand’s tip.

“Good,” I said, indicating her dropped wand. “Now what the hell have you done?!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to draw, I swear, please don't be angry. Please..." Hermione’s initial panic had passed, but she still seemed very frightened. My anger began to fade once I was sure that she wouldn’t go for her wand again. Moving very slowly, I put my wand away, and held my arms out to her. With two wobbly steps, Hermione wrapped me in a fierce hug, her body shaking from head to toe.

"I’m sorry about the wand thing,” I said softly. “It bothers me, and I’m already worried about you. I want to know what's going on. Your parents have memory charms on them, and I'm pretty sure you cast them."

"Harry, I'm scared. If I tell you, I could be..." she trailed off, still shivering.

"Please trust me, Hermione. I care about you; I'll take care of you the best I can. You’re all right." I started to rub her back, saying anything I could think of to reassure her. We stood there for several minutes while Hermione brought herself under control. I couldn’t make sense of the situation; were her parents abusive? Were they intolerant like the Dursleys? I had experience dealing with that directly. Was there something else? I couldn't understand why Hermione would do something so risky.

"Those two people aren't my real parents," she managed eventually. "They just think they are, and only with the shallowest memories, it was all I could manage."

"But why?" I asked, even more confused. What was the point of all of this?

"My … real parents ... are dead, Harry. They've been dead for a year and a half now."

Oh, shit, I thought. With a little prompting, Hermione began to explain, her voice gathering strength as she went.

"No one really knew us in London; my parents had closed their dental practice just before we moved to the city, but they were killed before they could start a new one. It was a car accident late at night, and the car was lost over the bridge. I forced the door open and was thrown out of the car with my mother's purse before it went over. It's been like this ever since. I cried so much, but I didn't want to be put in some home. My mother used to take me everywhere with her, even on her banking trips, and I remembered a lot about it. I used my mother's ID and passwords to manage her accounts over the phone, and had the banks free up the funds I'd need whenever I had to.

"Then I got my Hogwarts letter; once I was sure that it was real, I put everything I had into it. I needed to be a great student, and I figured that maybe there was some sort of scholarship system to use to pay for everything. I also figured that magic might help me manage my life without my parents. I didn't really understand that there was an entirely different society, but I was already committed.

"I found out that there is a scholarship program, but only after the OWL exams. I figured that I'd be able to scrape by until 5th year, and then the money from the OWL scholarships would tide me over until school was done, and help me get set up. It was a long shot, I know, but I had nothing else left and..."

"... You wanted to keep control of your life," I finished for her, trying to sound calm. "I get it; I was there, too, though it was a little different. But why the fake parents now?"

"I read a lot to try to stay ahead of anything the Ministry might want. A lot depends on parental consent in the wizarding world," she said. She wasn't shivering anymore, but she was still holding onto me tightly. "I needed at least some people to see that I had parents, just so that no one –like you or Professor Dumbledore-- would check on them. I also needed them to authorize the transactions at Gringotts to convert pounds to galleons.

"Since the Ministry can't easily track underage magic in public areas, I did those memory charms just off the train in King's Cross at the beginning of summer. I renew them periodically near the Leaky Cauldron."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, I couldn't help but be a little amused: Little Hermione, the harmless Ravenclaw bookworm who always looked down at her feet and barely came up to my shoulder, had bewitched two adult muggles into being her parents. I didn’t call her on it, though; to be honest, I wasn’t really worried about her controlling them -- I’d broken more than my share of laws as a kid, and re-wiring muggles was hardly a crime in wizarding society. Hermione, being Hermione, didn’t need my prompting to defend her actions, though – she launched right into it.

"I ... I needed to,” she said, her voice pleading for understanding. “I'd have set them right afterwards. They're wonderful people, Harry; I might get them to forgive me, but I had to -- I started this last year when I took over my parents' accounts, and I can't stop now. I need to be great at school, and I will now thanks to you and Professor Dumbledore, but I needed to be seen with parents. You understand, don't you? Please say that you understand..."

Yes, Hermione. In your distorted view of the world, what you're doing is exactly right, just like I did right in my own life. "Come with me, Hermione. We're going to set this all straight."

I strode fast enough to make Hermione nearly jog to keep up. I couldn't believe what a surreal set of events had taken place; Hermione's life seemed to be just as messed up as mine. I apparently had had Dumbledore for support, if at a distance, but Hermione had had no one. I felt that it qualified as a good time to be a “safety net.” Thinking back to what I did to start my "new life," I figured that a repeat of what I did last summer was in order. My first stop would be Gringotts for a quick cart ride.

Once we got down to my vault, I asked the goblin if they could leave us there for a few minutes. I brought Hermione inside the vault, and I took her by the shoulders to keep her facing me.

"Hermione, I'm going to take care of you, and you're going to let me do it; okay?" Hermione looked around at the gold piles that surrounded us, clearly understanding at least some of my intent.

"Harry, I -- you don't have to. My parents had -- have money."

"Hermione."

"I-I ... ... alright."

"I'm going to do everything for you that I did for myself just before first year. So, help me count out about a thousand galleons. That will give us enough to do all that, and still have a ton of spending money besides. How much does Hogwarts cost you for a year?"

"... Twelve hundred."

"Twelve hundred!! Holy shit! You've paid for this year, right? Okay, then... that's another six thousand that's earmarked for Hogwarts. I'll talk to the goblins, and then send a letter to Professor Dumbledore. That's what, about 60,000 pounds a year on a good day? How did you afford your first two years?"

"My parents had a lot of money invested in stocks and such... I called it all in pretending to be my mother and traded the money at Gringots with people pretending to be my parents. I could probably have afforded the next two years, and then... I don't know what I would have done. The rent for the apartment I put everything in comes out of there, too." Hermione was clearly uncomfortable explaining this all to me; everything she said about her parents opened a would that hadn't really closed yet.

"Shh, shh," I said, pulling her close again. "I'll take care of Hogwarts. I'll take care of your stuff now. There's no need to worry about it any more. No more fretting about marks; no more charming muggles; you're safe now."

Hermione was much calmer as I led her out of the bank. The goblins cleared a draft form for the six thousand galleons that I could send to Dumbledore, and his letter would be the first thing to do once I got to the Leaky Cauldron. But first: Shopping.

We ditched the Weasleys at the book store with promises to write, and then ditched Hermione’s “parents” at the Leaky Cauldron with promises to have Hermione home later in the afternoon. Within three hours, Hermione had a trunk like mine, the full seven-year set of books, the full potions kit, and all the other little bits that I could think of. I got her a complete wardrobe at Madam Malkin’s which included having her family name in runes across her robes like mine. It's too bad that her family didn't have a crest, but the robe designs were beautiful even without it. Madam Malkin took the time to resize my robes as well.

With the same 5000 pound budget that I used, I took Hermione clothes shopping in London. She went so far as to get her hair cut and styled, as well as a manicure; things that she would never have afforded herself while trying to scrounge for Hogwarts years. By the time we got back to the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione looked like an entirely new person. I'm sure she could tell I appreciated the view by the silly grin on my face.

Adjusting my summer plans slightly, I booked a room with two beds at the Cauldron, and gave the second key to Hermione. She took it looking at me very intently, and not for the first time I cursed not being a Legilimens. The room was a re-introduction to heaven. Proper wizarding washrooms and temperature-regulating beds. A proper perch for Hedwig. Yes, this would do nicely. I let Hermione use the washroom first while I got my thoughts together to write to Professor Dumbledore.

-----------

Dear Professor,

Enclosed with this letter is a bank draft for 6000 galleons; the remaining tuition for Hermione Granger’s years at Hogwarts. I have done this for reasons that are both personal and private to Hermione, but she and her family are very grateful for it.

I was wondering how on earth most muggleborn pay for their education at Hogwarts? Not every family could afford 1200 galleons a year per child; is there a system in place for that? It makes no difference to me at this point -- my money is well spent, so please sign the draft and file it with Gringotts. I'm far from poor.

Yours,

Harry Potter

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Short and direct; it would do.

I had just sent Hedwig off with that letter when Hermione came out of the washroom, saying "Your turn, Harry." I nearly ran to the washroom, wanting to remove all traces of the Dursleys from me.

After three long and sweaty weeks in the muggle world, I was clean again. I must have spent at least twenty minutes standing in that shower, luxuriating in the feeling more than any girl would have. The simple pleasures in life are by far the best.

By the time I'd gotten out of the shower, Hedwig had arrived with Dumbledore's response; he must have been in his office.

-----------

Dear Harry,

You amaze me with your generosity; I will honor your request for privacy, and refrain from asking why this has occurred. If both you and Miss Granger are happy, the point is moot.

In most cases, the families of muggleborn students forward whatever costs they can cover, and the rest is simply owed in the manner of a loan with minimal interest. This has the unfortunate effect of forcing many muggleborn students to stop after their OWL exams and begin to pay back their owed amounts, sacrificing their seat at the school and their opportunity for taking the NEWT exams at Hogwarts. Those of Hermione's caliber can use the scholarship monies that they receive to pay for their NEWT year, as well as clear come of the lingering debt.

One of the things that I cannot change, even as Headmaster, is that fact that Hogwarts has become a school of prestige. The tuition is far greater than the costs of supporting a student, but it serves to prevent receiving thousands upon thousands of applications from across the world only to turn almost all of them down. The school generally hosts seven hundred students, and can only comfortably contain just under a thousand. The pressure of those waiting for a chance to attend Hogwarts keeps the returning students from straying; you must attend your years consecutively, or you must bow out and attend a different school. These are details of politics, though, and are not likely what you wished to hear. Perhaps one day this year you will join me for tea, and I will tell you tales of daring in which I have navigated the sea of Ministry politics for the sake of our students.

I wish you luck and patience in your studies; less of the former, and more of the latter.

Your Servant,

Albus Dumbledore

-----------

Well, that was interesting and slightly educational, I thought. I gave the letter to Hermione to read. She skimmed through it, and looked up at me. "You already sent the money?"

I nodded, and she came over and kissed me on the cheek. "Thank you, Harry. I don't know why you did it, but thank you."

"You mean that much to me," I said before my brain could insert a more neutral answer. I promptly went beet red once I realized what had come out of my mouth. Still, I didn't look away from Hermione; I couldn't say that I didn't mean it.

Hermione had colored slightly too, and she had that intent look on her face again. Slowly, she came back close to me, bringing us pretty much nose to nose, her eyes never leaving mine. The room seemed to disappear from my senses, and the only things I could really focus on were Hermione's eyes and her face. With the clumsy instinct that came from watching older couples around Hogwarts, I pushed against hear nose with mine, tilting her head back a bit. With a mixture of desire and trepidation, I brought my lips down to hers. She pressed back immediately, and an unfathomable sliver of eternity passed with us standing there, connected by our first kiss.

I'm sorry to disappoint all the hopeless romantics reading, but that’s about as mushy as I get. There really isn’t that much more to cover, anyways, as far as romance was concerned; nothing in either of our messed up childhoods would help a loving relationship form faster. If anything, our beginnings made the process harder. It would take me and Hermione years to trust each other enough to become intimate, but it began here, just before my 12th birthday.

We spent the rest of that evening packing Hermione's belongings in the apartment she kept them in, and depositing them in my Gringotts vault. I was there with my invisibility cloak when Hermione released her memory charms from her stand-in parents, and we watched unseen as they left slightly confused to continue on with their lives. I spent a large part of that night holding Hermione while she cried. It was hard for her to let go of another set of parents, even fake ones. I offered her my glasses to look into, but Hermione was too afraid of what she'd see in the Mirror of Erised to take them.

Hermione was far from depressed, though; as it sank in that her survival and independence were no longer in question, Hermione became happy to the point of bouncing. It made me wonder if I'd ever seen the real Hermione before. We tackled the endless list of assignments that she had left in order for her to test out of the rest of her theoretical classes, but her work went quite a bit slower than the pace Hermione usually set; the pressure to perform was off, and it showed. We spent many days walking through Diagon Alley, spending our money on stuff to decorate our rooms at Hogwarts, or indulging in the more exotic ice cream flavors at Florean Fortescue's.

Both Hermione and I got some interesting insights into each other over the summer. Most boyfriends and girlfriends don't really get a chance to live together until they're ready to marry, or are already married. Being in dorms at school is different, since there are so many other students around, and you tend to keep your guard up and stay civil. It's not a place where I would hear Hermione swearing in the morning, or making cute cooing noises to Hedwig. I'd never have seen her with only her pajamas on for modesty while she fought with her hair, nor would I have imagined I'd be helping her brush it. I'd have never heard her use such crass body humor in school, or heard her complain about her periods and the cramps that went with them. I let my own guard down, too. I slept in my boxers, and was in no rush to get dressed in the mornings. I wasn't bothered by Hermione seeing me like this before I got dressed; I swore a lot more than I usually did, and my humor was just as base as hers was. I remember showing her this game that Hedwig liked to play where she would hang upside down from your hand, and wanted you to spin around. I never asked Hermione to talk about her parents, just like I never talked about mine. She had her pictures like I had mine, and that was it.

The day before my birthday I took some time to visit with Pansy. She and her parents lived in the Diagon Alley area, so it wasn’t much of a trip to make. Pansy's home was very formal and proper until you got to Pansy's rooms. Here the telltale signs of Pansy's enchantment projects were strewn all over the place. Pansy herself dressed in simple work robes that I'm sure her parents considered inappropriate for company, but she didn't seem to care.

I had the chance to meet Pansy’s parents while I was there. Marius Parkinson was a self-employed Warder, and made a tidy profit from erecting and maintaining wards around people's properties. The wards were often tied to sensors monitored by clerks of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Marius was something of an installer and troubleshooter for those sensors as well. I never really thought that installing and monitoring alarm systems was a prestigious job by muggle standards, but it certainly paid well in wizarding society.

Livia Parkinson had a career as an Obliviator -- a member of the DMLE tasked with removing memories of magical events from muggles and replacing them with something more acceptable to muggle society. The position paid well, and between the two of them and their family inheritances, the Parkinsons were quite well off.

I enjoyed talking with adults, as I’d been doing it my entire life. I didn’t get to talk about much more than their jobs and school before Pansy dragged me away, though. She showed me around the grounds, and some of her experiments in enchantment. While I was examining a moving Quidditch player, Pansy turned the conversation a little more serious.

"I'm not going to get a chance to be with you, am I?" she asked, trying to keep her tone flat.

"Err..." I wasn't ready for this conversation, and I was scrambling for something to say.

"I was hoping that you'd be interested, you know," she continued, not waiting for my reply. "My parents were looking forward to it for their own reasons, but I thought it would be fun. You know that they'll make me go after Draco now, right?"

"I'm sorry," I said once I had gathered my thoughts. "It's not like I wasn't paying attention to you. I do like you, but I'm really drawn to Hermione. If your parents are looking for an alliance or something like that, I'm all for it, but..."

"...But you're not available," she finished.

"I have to give it a shot with Hermione. You know that I'll be here for you, Pansy." This is where I expected there to be one of those long uncomfortable silences. To my surprise, Pansy just walked over and put her arms around me.

"I want to be mad at you," she said as she hugged me. "I want to watch you leave the house, and curse your name for a week. I want to spend my summer burning your pictures, and scream at my parents for not doing something about it. Then, I want to come back to school and hug you, and be friends again, because you're important to me. Can I do that?"

"Yeah," I said, returning the hug. "You can do that. I'm comfortable around you Pansy. It's like you're family." For some reason, that brought Pansy to tears, and she hugged me harder.

“Can we make that happen?” she asked me. “We can, you know. You could be a Parkinson if you wanted. I know my parents would agree.”

“Would I have to change my last name?” I was the last Potter that I knew of, and I would have hated to let the name die off. The prospect of having parents and a sister was a very cool idea, though.

Pansy shrugged, and then called for her dad. Soon Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson, Pansy and I were sitting in their living room, having a very thorough discussion about the merging of the Potter and Parkinson families.

“You’re not the only one in this situation,” Mr. Parkinson said. We are the last Parkinsons in Britain; once Pansy marries, unless the wedding is very unorthodox, the Parkinson name will die off with us. Livia and I weren’t planning on having children again.”

“In the case of us adopting you,” Mrs. Parkinson continued from her husband, “You would have the legal option of using either last name. I would imagine you’d still use Potter for yourself, and whoever you married would be Mrs. Potter, so that your family name lived on. You’d still have a legal claim to the name Parkinson, though, and your children could take on that last name as well.

“The best thing that you could do for both you and us would be to have at least two sons, and have one son take on the last name of Parkinson.”

“But… even if they went on to have kids, both families would still be the same family… right?” I said, scratching my head.

“Essentially,” Mr. Parkinson said, nodding. “You’d have to file to legally separate the families, and they’d have to be two distinct bodies again, like I’m suggesting.”

“So, will you do it?” Pansy asked, grabbing my hand. “Brother, boyfriend, I don’t care as long as I don’t have to lose you completely.” I shot Mrs. Parkinson a look of confusion, but she motioned for me not to bring it up.

“We both understand that you’ve been largely independent,” Mrs. Parkinson added. “There isn’t a problem with you staying that way; we’re not going to try to step in and be parents, though you’d certainly be welcome here.”

“Alright,” I said after a moment’s thought, “Let’s do it. Mr. Parkinson, you’ll need to get a hold of Professor Dumbledore. According to current law, he’s directly responsible for me.”

Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson disappeared to go see Professor Dumbledore, and Pansy took me back up to her rooms. “Here,” she said, holding out a small knife. “I want to do this the old-fashioned way, too. Cut your wrist.”

It might have been a bit reckless, but if it made Pansy happy, why not? I slit my wrist and handed back the knife. She quickly slit hers, too, and we pressed them together. There was a small rush as our blood met, almost as if I had boosted my strength a little. Pansy gave a small gasp as it happened, but it was over in an instant.

We stayed like that for a couple of minutes before we pulled our sticky wrists apart. I was no Healer, but Pansy had a salve in her room specifically designed to mend flesh wounds. Two quick cleaning spells later, all evidence of blood was gone. Despite the rush of magic, neither one of us felt any different than we normally did, and we wrote the whole event off as a quirky personal touch to what was ultimately a legal matter.

Pansy’s parents returned two hours later with the signed documents; I added my signature, and we celebrated the expansion of our mutual family over dinner. I later asked Mrs. Parkinson about Pansy and her comment about losing me. “It’s more her story to say,” She said, “but Pansy has lost a lot of male figures in her life. Her father is the last one she has left, and she’s rather protective of him. You fill a void that’s existed for a long time, Harry. Please be careful with her.”

I decided then and there that damaged girls must gravitate to me for some universal reason. Hermione, Pansy… I wondered if Ginny had something horrible happen to her as well. Hey, maybe three won’t be enough, I thought. Why not pick up a couple of extra deranged girls and try to make their lives better?

I spoke to soon on this one, as you’ll find out.

When I got back to the Leaky Cauldron that evening, I told Hermione what I’d done. As a testament to her change in personality, her only reaction was to laugh and hug me.

“Well, Congratulations! I guess Pansy really wanted to hold on to you,” she said. “So, you’re a Parkinson now?”

I shrugged. “If I want to be. Basically, nothing changes except that Marius can open the Potter accounts and get that money moving again, which is a bonus. I’m going to stay a Potter; I’d feel really weird not keeping my parents’ last name.”

“That’s true.”

“Hmm… Now all we have to do is find you a family, and we’re all set.”

Hermione smacked my chest lightly. “Yeah, right, Harry. I think you and Pansy have Britain’s quota of overly-permissive parents to yourselves. Besides, I’d still be on my own dealing with my parents’ muggle accounts.

“Oh, right.” I’d honestly forgotten about those. “What are you going to do with them?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I should probably liquidate them and just create an account at Gringotts; there’s nothing left in the muggle world to go back to.

“The only problem is that I need my parents to deal with Gringotts, so I’m still stuck in that circle.”

“You know, I could probably convince the Weasleys to adopt you,” I said jokingly. “You’d get those pesky parents, as well as an enormous family out of it.”

“I could never ask that,” she said. “Besides, Mrs. Weasley is as strict as you can get, and they’re not in a good position to afford…” Hermione trailed off at my look. “Right, sorry, most of my expenses are covered. I don’t know, it would be nice, I guess.”

“Why not pay them a visit and ask?” I said, deciding that my joke might actually work out for real. “You might be surprised at how easy we both end up with families.”

The Weasleys were delighted to have Hermione as part of their family, of course. There was a big argument about the fact that I had paid for Hogwarts, since it would quickly become a Weasley family matter, but as I’d already settled the matter with Dumbledore, there was nothing to be done. Mrs. Weasley was more than happy to have someone else to care for. “With Bill and Charlie gone, there’s simply too much room in the house,” she said, while the rest of the crowded kitchen laughed. Mr. Weasley was just as openly supportive, and more than happy to have Hermione around to talk muggle-tech with.

For the amusement of everyone Fred and George immediately started off on me for dating their “little sister,” and we ended up in a two-on-one wrestling match. As I had way more power and experience with boosting my strength, I won. Bill and Charlie were fire-called, and wished their newly adopted sister well. Ron gave Hermione a one-armed hug and said “Welcome home,” which of course made Hermione and Mrs. Weasley cry. It certainly made me smile; it was refreshing to see Ron do something nice for Hermione.

Ginny was the only one who had mixed reactions. While she thought a sister to share her time with was a good thing, Ginny was less than pleased that Hermione was my girlfriend, and that she wasn’t. Oh, well; can’t fix everyone’s problems in one shot.

Dumbledore cleared the paperwork for Hermione like he had done for me, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley helped her sort out her parents’ estate. Hermione convinced Mrs. Weasley to use some of that money to improve the Burrow and buy furniture, and Hermione slowly settled into her new family as the first weeks of August carried on. Since Hermione was no longer staying with me in the Cauldron, and I had a better place to be, I stayed with the Parkinsons to close out the month, and spent my time helping Pansy enchant items, or over at the Weasleys with Hermione.

The best part of that entire event was that Mrs. Weasley was so busy with Hermione that she forgot entirely about the fact that the day we had come over was my birthday, and that she had planned to host a small party for it. I didn’t, and neither did the twins, but I shushed them and allowed Mrs. Weasley to dote on Hermione. It was three days later that a very embarrassed Mrs. Weasley invited me over for dinner to celebrate my birthday, and Fred and George were quick to congratulate me amidst much laughter on using Hermione as a clever diversion to avoid my own party.

You’ll all notice how I neither heard nor saw a Malfoy all summer. That was a depressing fact to relay to Dumbledore, but even he could only shrug his shoulders. “You can’t save everyone,” he said. Oh, so true.

All too quickly, the summer was gone, and we were shipped back off to Hogwarts. My second year looked markedly different from my first. Hermione finished off her theory courses like she wanted to; it took me most of September to test out of my practical courses through fourth year. Unlike my other marks, however, these tests were solid O's. Dumbledore's wand lessons had paid off big time, and on the rare occasion that my wand motions weren't up to par, there wasn't really any practical work I couldn't just power through. Having finished off my course work until my OWL year, I was free of all scheduled classes.

One of the new Ravenclaws was a very quirky girl named Luna Lovegood. I’ve never seen Hermione so flummoxed as when Luna would come along and spout off information about some imaginary creature that couldn’t exist even in a wizard’s wildest dreams. She was an absolutely brilliant student, easily on par with Hermione, but her imagination was working in overdrive. A few of the snobbier Ravenclaws were quick to pick on her, but between me, Hermione, Roger, and Cho, it died off fast.

Draco was now the Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team, with his father having bought the entire team brand-new Nimbus 2001 brooms. There weren’t any school regulations to prevent this from occurring, and while Draco received a lot of praise from the Slytherins for it, Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout were all ticked off because it drove the wedge between Slytherin and the other Houses even deeper. Having the means to do something about it, I sent Hedwig to Professor Dumbledore for permission, then to Mr. Parkinson for the 3000 galleons that I’d need to do it. Very quickly, all three other houses were equipped with ten Nimbus 2000 brooms each to replace the old school ones, ensuring an even playing field throughout. Pansy told me that the Slytherins hated me for it, but since I almost never saw them, I couldn’t have cared less.

Aside from Ravenclaw having won their two scheduled games against Hufflepuff and Slytherin that term, there isn’t a lot more to say about Quidditch; the season had a good start, and every team was better than they were last year.

There’s a bit to say about the pompous git Lockheart, but I’ll save that for the bad part of the year, where he featured quite prominently.

Professor Dumbledore met with me for at least two hours each weekday, and we'd cover everything from OWL-level material to his particular version of summoning charm to collect exam papers. We did some amazing stuff, and I'll share a few of my favorite moments with you.

----------------------

"There are many facets to magic, some of which you're beginning to understand," Dumbledore said in one of our first meetings. "Let's start by looking at how we expect students to proceed in learning magic.

"The most straight-forward area is Transfiguration. In this branch of magic, you are given several specific spells that change one object into another. This is done to get you used to the general process of Transfiguration, as well as the specific processes of applying minute details to transfigured works. Eventually, the goal is to have all the details such as shape, texture and hardness mastered by the end of fourth year. In fifth year, you are introduced to the four Universal Transfiguration spells: Non-living to non-living; non-living to living; living to non-living; and living to living. You will then add the necessary textures, shapes and other details to the universal spell to achieve any transfiguration you desire.

"Naturally, we could have started with the universals in first year, but they tend to require more power than the average first-year student can muster, and there is no student-friendly manner in which to pass on the additions to the spells for all the necessary details. Thus, we teach specific transfigurations first to build experience, and you have the system that we use now.

"After OWLs, Transfiguration ceases and the Conjury NEWT begins. Here, you will learn the Conjurus spell, which creates a basic malleable silvery substance similar to carbon in weight and composition from the pure magical energy that the caster provides. There are two variations of the spell: One for temporary conjurations, and one for permanent. Naturally, the permanent requires significantly more power to cast, and so we do not dwell on it in classes. Once the substance is conjured, you then use the Universal Transfigurations to turn it into whatever you wish. With practice comes skill and speed, and the result is exactly like the chair I conjured for you to sit in: Your item will appear as quickly as to seem like one spell rather than at least two very complex ones strung together."

"Okay," I said. "That doesn't seem too difficult to understand. Are we going to be practicing Conjury together?"

"A little," Dumbledore replied, nodding. "You have sufficient skill in Transfiguration that I believe you capable of using the Universals. Once you’re fluent in Universal Transfiguration, we will move on to Conjury. Before we begin I must ask you to please use caution: Conjury requires a fair amount of power, even for temporary items. I don't see any issues with most temporary creations, but be careful with any permanent creations, as you'll likely feel very drained afterward, just as any adult wizard would. I have no issues with you passing your knowledge on to Ms. Granger, but please advise her against attempting permanent conjurations until she is older. If she truly needs something, I would prefer that you create it, as you have the power to do so without risking injury."

“I have one more question,” I said, toying with a galleon in my robe’s pocket. “If wizards can all just make whatever they want, why do we have so many stores?”

“Any muggle can draw whatever they want,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “So why is it that some muggle artists are famous and in high demand, while others never manage to sell their work?”

Oh. Right. “Never mind,” I said, hitting my head. As I quickly learned, being able to conjure a chair does not imply that the chair actually looks good, or is structurally stable; this branch of magic requires some talent.

-----------------------

"Unlike Transfiguration, Charms are designed for specific functions, and so you will doubtlessly end up with a repertoire of at least a couple hundred by the time you are an adult. Naturally, however, there are similarities in the spell creation and manipulation process that we can exploit to make this easier."

What followed for the next two weeks was a crash course in the worst kind of Arithmancy and Runes work possible. I was pushing the concepts around in my head, trying to understand it all. The math made sense, but Dumbledore was obviously trying to make a point, not just prepare me for NEWT Arithmancy.

As I was playing with a pebble that I had levitated, it occurred to me that the Levitation Charm didn't have an opposite. What would that be; a Gravity Charm? Intrigued, I tried to crunch the Arithmancy backwards, thinking of how to reverse a Levitation charm. Dumbledore's Arithmancy lessons were good, and within ten minutes I thought I had a workable concept for the Charm. It was a very simplistic wand command (essentially "down"), and used two runes for the incantation that were vague at best. My mental image for the spell was simply the outcome: the pebble being forced downwards. The only reason that I figured this would work was that I could pump an enormous amount of power into the spell, but it was a start.

Dumbledore had stopped talking to watch me while I worked. Once I figured out the runes to use, I twirled my wand tip in a tight spiral, and then flicked it straight down, intoning "Ingravo!" The pebble floating over Dumbledore's desk rocketed downward and impacted the desk with a loud 'thwack!' My spell gave way immediately and the pebble bounced off the desk to the ground, and I could see the dent that it had made in the desktop. I would've been excited if the energy drain didn't almost knocked me out; as it was I collapsed backwards in my chair, thoroughly exhausted.

I mustered what energy I had left to answer Dumbledore's questioning gaze. "I think I've got it professor: Charms are based off of simple commands and processes; kind of like a do-it-yourself magic set. If you're familiar enough with the processes behind the wand control, incantation and mental imagery, you can basically create Charms on the fly."

"Indeed!" Dumbledore agreed with a huge smile. "It is the hardest lesson to teach, and one that most students simply do not understand. It's why so many students struggle with the Spell Creation NEWT. You see, we teach charms that are well-developed and complex; those are so useful that most wizards do not seek to apply their Arithmancy and Runic knowledge to seek out more direct, personal solutions.

"Naturally, you would need to work on this discovery," he said, pointing at the dent on his desk. "This charm of yours needs to be redesigned with the proper Astronomical constants, as well as further refinement on what Runes the incantation is based off of, both of which will help to reduce the power drain of the spell to something the average witch and wizard would consider acceptable. Add to that a new arithmantic algorithm to calculate the wand control to at the very least manage the speed of descent, and you will have a reasonable charm model.

"There would be even more refinement to do if you wished to publish your work, naturally: You want the spell to be as accessible as possible to all wizards and witches. The lower you can work the power drain, and the more complete and flexible the wand controls are, the more useful --and thus more popular-- the charm would be."

"Err, wow. That's a lot of work." That's probably about three months' work with no interruptions for someone very familiar with NEWT-level Arithmancy and Runes, as well as much more experience with Charms in general. I had absolutely no chance at doing any of that at this point.

That didn't stop Dumbledore from continuing the Arithmancy lecture, though, and I trundled along as best I could.

-------------------

I really wish that Dumbledore himself taught DADA. He could cleanly and concisely teach a student everything worth knowing within the span of a year, let the students get 'O's on their OWL, and then come back for one more year to finish NEWTs.

"There are as many different theories on personal defense as there are wizards,"Dumbledore began. "In my opinion, there are three areas of knowledge that you will call upon in dangerous situations. The first is evasion of combat, which means both dodging and moving when confronted, and avoiding the confrontation in the first place.

"The next area is Universal Conjury. I trust I don't have to explain why it's vital that you can quickly and easily produce anything and everything you wish on a moment's notice.

"Finally we have the creature-specific spells, which you will use against your adversary when the opportunity presents itself, and not before."

I was very eager to learn how to duel properly. After my near-fatal run in last year, and the spectacular battle between Quirrel and Snape, I was very interested in learning how to move like that. They hadn't been throwing around single spells like Expelliarmus or Protego; their fighting was much more like a ramped-up Kung Fu movie where all the attacks and blocks blur together silently and with little wand movement, and where each combatant had their signature attack move.

Dumbledore was surprisingly open about dueling, and we spent a lot of time on it once the more academic side of DADA was covered. It turns out my comparison of dueling to martial arts wasn't wrong, either: Aside from the hundreds of specific counter-curses that exist, there are something like 12 different shielding charms with Protego being only the most common; there are also close to 20 varieties of deflecting charms that divert spells away from you. These require some accuracy on the user's part, but take a hell of a lot less effort than a full shield would, and the strongest varieties can even deflect the otherwise-untouchable Killing Curse a couple of degrees, which could be a life saver.

There were the standard offensive spells, of course: Expelliarmus, Petrificus Totalus, Stupefy, Impedimenta, and others that you've likely all heard of, and a lot of you have used. These spells were certainly used to great effect in tournament duels, along with Transfiguration to control and change the field. In a real fight, however, it's more like Snape and Quirrel: Each fighter uses a spell that they've personally created or modified to prevent the use of a counter-curse.

Especially skilled combatants develop several variations of that spell and cycle through them so that the chances of a counter-curse being reverse-engineered are negligible. In every case, these spells are used silently, and almost always with muted wand movements. Dumbledore told me that fighters passed their signature spells on to students, like Master to Apprentice, and the secret of the spell is expected to remain with the Apprentice until he takes a student under his wing.

There was a lot to learn, and a great deal of physical conditioning to go through. We didn't run marathons, but Dumbledore introduced me to body-weight calisthenics, meditative breathing, and a change in diet to improve my stamina. I learned quickly that while Voldemort had given me the strength of a fifty-year-old wizard, I didn't have the endurance of one, and strenuous magical use like dueling tired me out very quickly. All the muggles reading this should put the book down and go to their local martial arts school and sign up. Do what they tell you with as much effort as you can muster for a year or until they hand you a black belt, which ever comes first, and you'll have a small idea of what I went through with Dumbledore. You'll also understand how different the concept of 'fighting' becomes after you've been trained and how important tactical movement and anticipation become.

Wizarding society is exactly like muggle society when it comes to fighting skill: The average wizard knows how to use Protego, Stupefy, and Expelliarmus, just like the average muggle knows how to throw a punch. Neither practices much, and they're not really concerned about being good at it. The wizard will cast vocally with textbook wand movements, and against most creatures, muggles or unskilled opponents that's good enough. The 'weekend warriors' and trained militia of wizarding society ('Hit Wizards,' we call them) tend to cast silently, have a reasonable repertoire of offensive and defensive spells, and don't ignore the use of Transfiguration in combat.

Professional duelists, Aurors, and most of Voldemort's Inner Circle fight with spells meshing fluidly together, and have developed signature spells that can't be easily countered. At this level, the wizards are usually pushing themselves to be physically faster and stronger as well, so they really are operating at a blur to the naked eye. Snape is a great example of someone at this level.

Beyond that, you have elite people like Dumbledore, Flitwick, Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort, whose styles are unique and untouchable except maybe by someone else at this level. Despite what I thought I knew I was useless in a fight when I started with Dumbledore. By the time Christmas came I was a little less useless and could duel with Dumbledore for a few minutes before collapsing, as long as he took it very easy on me. I began to understand what Dumbledore meant when he had told me that I could only progress so quickly; it would take years to become a competent duelist like Snape was, and I might never be able to reach the level that Dumbledore operated at.

Dumbledore was hardly modest, either: He would often go all-out on the same spell combinations that I was practicing, or the same exercises I was doing. For example, a five-spell combo like Accio/Universal Transfiguration/Reducto/Wingardium Leviosa/Waddiwasi would summon an item, change it to a granite slab, shatter it, render it weightless, and fire it at an enemy with the force of a shotgun blast. I could manage this combination in about 4.5 seconds on average after a few weeks of practice with Dumbledore, with my best time ever being about 3 seconds. Dumbledore, on the other hand, could manage it in about 0.5 seconds consistently (and yes, the books, tables and chairs he would summon moved that fast).

Remember my reference to words-per-minute for wand work in my first year? Here's a better indication of why skilled wand work is necessary: For those good at math, I was managing 1.2 spells per second on average, and the grade for active-duty Aurors was 2 spells per second. Dumbledore was managing 10 spells per second, 5 times the speed of your average Auror, and nearly 10 times my speed. I couldn't even think that fast at the time, but it was amazing to watch, and it gave me a target to strive for. To this day, I'm still striving for it.

There one conversation I remember during our dueling was quite depressing, but it saved my life later that year.

"Sir, what about fighting someone who's using the Unforgivable curses against me?" I had kept this question in for a while, but my concerns of battling Voldemort again prompted me to ask.

"Well, I suppose there are two options,” he began slowly, stroking his beard, “Though only one if you truly think about it. The first option is to respond with the Unforgivables yourself. I truly believe this to be the wrong decision, as it only evens the odds against your opponent rather than offering any advantage, and it also paints you into a corner both morally and legally. Thankfully there is an alternative solution for the skilled duelist.

"This solution is to draw upon the essential flaw of the Unforgivables: Power. You will find, Harry, that any of the three Unforgivables are quite simple to learn, but require significant magical strength to cast for very obvious reasons. The Killing Curse is especially difficult for most people to cast, requiring most of a seasoned adult's power. As such, it is far more likely that you will be assaulted with the Cruciatus, which is the lowest-powered Unforgivable. You will only be targeted with the Imperius if your opponent is desperate or if they are certain that they are proficient enough to defeat your resistance. To a practiced Occlumens like yourself, the Imperius is next to worthless without first subduing you.

"With the exception of Voldemort and a select handful of his Death Eaters, everyone who uses these curses is quite unskilled, and is likely using them in desperation. Even those Death Eaters would struggle to use those curses consistently against skilled foes like Aurors, frequently resorting to standard spells or Dark Arts of lesser power. Only Voldemort has been known to duel using just the Unforgivable curses; the reason that he is so feared and his name is so unspeakable is due to such displays of inhuman power and ability.

"Continuing on, the Unforgivables derive much of their power from emotion; specifically hatred and the need to dominate. The effect of this emotional dependency is that the incantations are that much more important to the curses, as emotions demand a physical outlet more than a magical one. Withholding the incantation removes much of an Unforgivable's power. Done silently, the Imperius and Killing Curse are both ineffective, and the Cruciatus is somewhat painful but hardly incapacitating. Having said all of this, then, I offer my solution to almost every case of the Unforgivables: Silencio.

"Naturally you're not aiming this spell at your opponent as it would most likely be countered or blocked. Instead, you are warding the room or area you're in against internal sound, rather than external. This act will prevent both you and your opponent from vocalizing spells. Since you are skilled and not using the Unforgivables, this should not matter to you.

"Your opponent, however, will have been relying on vocalization to produce the Unforgivables consistently. Thus, you have forced him into a difficult decision. If he attempts to undo the Silencing Charm, he will leave himself vulnerable to your spells, and will most likely be defeated. If he chooses to continue the duel silently, he must either abandon the Unforgivables or attempt to work them silently. Once again, I have yet to see any Unforgivable aside from a very weak Cruciatus successfully attempted silently. Even Voldemort is not known for silently casting these curses, though he would be the most likely candidate to do so. It is almost a guarantee that your opponent will abandon the use of Unforgivables or attempt to flee the area."

That information had me thinking. Essentially, the Silencio tactic would disable the only spells that a decent shield or deflector wouldn't work against. Voldemort might have enough power to continue silently, but it would be far easier for him to just blow a hole through the wall and leave the silenced area, so it would work against him, too, at least to buy time. Still, the thought of fighting Voldemort with a silencing charm wasn’t exactly the safety blanket I was looking for.

"That's really good, Professor," I finally said. "It would work well in every situation I can think of, except one."

"I know," Dumbledore said, his mood darkening. He stood from his desk and walked to the window of his office, looking out. He stood there for a long time, fighting some sort of internal battle. When he looked back to me, the Headmaster was gone; once again, I was looking at the General. "I hope you never find yourself pinned against Voldemort with no escape possible, Harry. I know that it nearly happened last year, though, and Voldemort will continue to move against you if you make yourself available to him. Try your best to avoid dueling Voldemort again; he should be taken by a group of skilled wizards, never faced alone. But if you have to... then use the first solution, Harry.

"No wizard alive will ever lay blame to you if you answer Voldemort with equal force."

We didn't talk any more that day. Dumbledore was thoroughly depressed that he had to tell a second-year student to use Unforgivables, even if it was against Voldemort, and even if it was me. I was reeling with the shock of Dumbledore’s words; even with last year's events, the wizarding world still seemed like a fantasy world to me. The concept of the Unforgivables had been so many meaningless words to me. Of course there was a Killing Curse, just like muggle stories had Wicked Witches. Voldemort would melt at my touch like the Wicked Witch of the West melted when hit with water; I would suffer a bit, but there wasn't really a threat.

But Dumbledore, the Omnipotent Great White Wizard, the hero of old who could solve any problem and rule the world without getting out of bed in the morning, just told me to use the Unforgivables against Voldemort.

I had nightmares again that night. I saw my parents die; I saw the Weasleys die; I saw Pansy die; I saw Hermione die. I killed the people that killed them, and more showed up. And more people died. I killed those too, and an army showed up to replace them. It was a never-ending cycle of death. For the next few nights, I didn't sleep much. I spent a lot of time with my cloak in the Restricted Section of the library, studying what I swore last year I would leave alone.

---

It wasn't all just a free ride for me, though: In repayment for all this special treatment, I agreed to help with maintaining Hogwarts. On mornings where I wasn't working with Professor Dumbledore, I was in Madam Pomfrey's workroom preparing potions for her. I had pretty much replaced Professor Snape as the brewer for the Hospital Wing's supply of cures. I had asked Madam Pomfrey exactly why potions were used instead of spells to heal; after all, I saw Dumbledore attach two legs and an arm in just seconds. Madam Pomfrey answered by saying "We're not all Professor Dumbledore, dear."

The translation of that answer is that potions can accomplish what spells can without requiring someone there to provide the energy for the spell -- kind of like 100% skill, 0% power, and a shelf life to boot. Potions are an easily stored version of healing that can be used anytime and treat an array of injuries from the most minor to very lethal. Putting a leg back on requires complex healing spells and someone of close to Dumbledore's power, or 5 ounces of a potion designed to re-grow muscle, tendons and ligaments, an ounce of Skele-Gro, and a minor healing charm to mend the skin and clear the bruising. Since people of Dumbledore's caliber take over a century to produce, and the potions take about 2 hours per cauldron batch, it's not such a big surprise that potions carry the day when it comes to healing heavy injuries.

My afternoons were spent taking care of the castle and grounds. For the last two weeks of October I followed Filch and Hagrid around and learned everything to do with their jobs. Filch was a Squib, and his job as caretaker was a painful one due to his inability to perform magic. He coordinated with the House Elves, but as their name implies, House Elves are naturally attuned to working in houses. They can cook, clean, and pick up after the students and professors, but they aren't knowledgeable in any way about how to maintain a castle or the surrounding lands.

Hagrid was responsible for the grounds, and was more than capable of using magic. His job was to grow the various crops and tend to the livestock that Hogwarts used for food. On top of that, he was responsible for stocking supplies such as wood and leather, and had to keep all the creatures in the Forbidden Forest in line as well. All in all, Hagrid was a very busy man.

Having my help made Filch a very pleasant person -- well, at least to me. He'd walk around with me and tell me what to do, and I'd do it using cleaning, summoning, levitation, or repair charms. Using magic, I could finish in three hours what took Filch two days. Within those two weeks, the castle was nearly up-to-date on maintenance, and Filch's days were much shorter than before.

Helping Hagrid was a lot more involved: Specific transfigurations and charms to keep the grass short, the crops large, healthy and pest-free, and the animals in line; a ridiculous amount of pruning and trimming in the Forest to keep the trees healthy and prevent them from choking out the rarer plants that we collected for Professors Snape and Sprout, as well as Madam Pomfrey; intimidation and a few nasty hexes to keep the Acromantulas and Centaurs in line and within their parts of the forest. I've made myself out to be pretty strong, but Hagrid's got me beat. My Expelliarmus threw a Centaur's bow and arrows up into the nearest tree and knocked the Centaur back a step; Hagrid's Expelliarmus threw the Centaur into a tree, and I didn’t see where the bow and arrows got to. It's not hard to figure out why Dumbledore trusted Hagrid to look after the grounds, or why Quirrel had been so quick to disable Hagrid in the forest last year.

By mid-November, both Hagrid and Filch were well on top of their work, and my afternoons were split yet another way. If Hagrid and Filch were good for the day, I would traverse the grounds with Professor Dumbledore and help him reinforce the wards around Hogwarts. By 'help' I really mean 'watch and take notes while he does it;' warding is ridiculously complex, and people like Dumbledore, Bill Weasley and Marius Parkinson have my awe and respect for what they do. It wouldn't be until late December that I first began to successfully aid Professor Dumbledore on some of the most minor incantations.

Why did Dumbledore have me doing all of this work and making life easier for Snape, Hagrid, Filch and Pomfrey? Public relations, of course; I had never dealt with Dumbledore in his Politician mode before now. Once I had stopped attending my practical classes it was obvious to everyone that there was something going on with me. Hermione only attended her practical classes now, so it was clear that she was only a step behind me, whatever we were doing. When the Prophet came calling, Dumbledore happily told them that I was finished my fourth and fifth-year material, and was just sitting around for my OWL exams. My volunteer work for Hogwarts was my way of contributing to the school while I was here, and learn a few extra tricks from the professors I worked with on the side. Hermione was getting there, and would likely join me in my efforts.

The Prophet ate that up like honey, and while I gained a few points to my name for being such a caring and proactive individual, Dumbledore gained points as a Headmaster for having Hogwarts working smoothly and efficiently, and Hogwarts itself gained points by having students advance so quickly that they were years ahead of the curriculum and by having students that are generous enough to donate their time to volunteer work, speaking volumes for the school's values.

Hermione's abilities also gained her some direct attention, as she was a muggleborn with no known magical relations of any generation. She existed as a testament to the fallacy of blood purity, and there were a couple of articles that made noise in that regard, using Hermione as their shining example. Blood purists were quick to debunk the equality of muggleborn, instead allowing for certain exceptions to exist. Regardless of who was winning the debate, all sides recognized Hermione's prowess with magic.

All of this happened because I flippantly asked to test out of classes early last Christmas break, knowing that I'd be turned down. From that question spoken in jest, Dumbledore managed to gain political momentum for himself, me, Hermione, and Hogwarts, as well as strike a blow against the pro-purebloods. On top of that he was well ahead of his planned maintenance to Hogwarts, and slightly under-budget as well. All of this was entrenched in the media complete with pictures and detailed articles, making the gains irrefutable by any political detractor. As I said before, Dumbledore plays games that make everyone else look like amateurs.

Christmas.

Everything went downhill at Christmas. Me, Hermione, Pansy and her parents were all over at the Burrow on Christmas Eve. The Parkinsons were trying to bury the pureblood hatchet with my friends, and were doing a pretty good job of it. Since I was now 'part of the family,' it gave them both the excuse and the foot-in-the-door to do so. Judging by the loud conversation and large smiles on everyone's faces, they were succeeding.

Hermione sat next to me, holding my hand under the table. Pansy sat on my other side, and would occasionally elbow me to emphasize whatever she was talking about. Ginny was on the other side of Hermione, trying to figure out how to switch places with her. I appreciated that Ginny hadn’t been mean or pushy about it, but she was certainly determined in her own quiet way.

Ron had teamed up with the twins to pester Percy about his bookishness, which was the center of a blazing row on the other side of the table. Mrs. Weasley would have been all over them for being rude, but she was currently caught up in a conversation with Mrs. Parkinson, catching up on all the gossip that she'd missed, and offering a bit of her own.

Mr. Weasley, Mr. Parkinson, Bill, and Charlie were all swapping stories of their various jobs -- Mr. Weasley's job may not have paid much, but he definitely had the best stories. Biting toilet seats in a public washroom? I'd pay good money to see that.

Hermione, Pansy and I were talking amongst ourselves; a lot of the conversation was me telling stories about the interesting things I'd gotten into with Hagrid and Filch. I invited Ginny to sit with us to keep her from feeling left out and the girls were good with her, sitting her right in-between them on the couch when we left the table.

That's what I really enjoyed about both Hermione and Pansy: Hearts gold, the both of them. Coming from a large family with a lot of older brothers, Ginny was very receptive to being held or carried. She was very quickly spread out across Hermione's lap, with her legs on Pansy's, listing to me talk about school. Ginny reminded me of a very large playful cat: Very mischievous, but a sucker for attention. As far as I was concerned, it was a perfect night; one of those nights that you committed to memory as the definition of happiness.

With a deafening roar, the moment was gone.

The house rocked as though a giant was shaking it; pictures fell from the walls, plates jumped off the table to smash on the floor. Everyone was thrown to the ground, and the adults and I scrambled to erect dome shields above the others as the support beams creaked and groaned with the strain. I had all three girls under my shield, all holding each other and me. Several moments passed with everyone counting the cracks and shifts, waiting for the structure to collapse.

With Fawkes' telltale burst of flame, Dumbledore appeared in the middle of us all, in between the living room and kitchen. I could just make him out through my shield as he aimed his wand up, and with a thunderous series of cracks the building righted itself.

"Your home is secure," he said. "What you have just experienced is the shockwave of a tremendous explosion to the north. Azkaban prison has fallen."

I wasn't aware of Azkaban and its reputation, but I could see the seriousness of the situation in the pole axed looks on the adults' faces. There was an ominous silence that followed Dumbledore's statement that was worse than any sound could have been. It was Dumbledore who broke the silence, commanding in his General's tone.

"Marius, William, place as heavy a set of wards around this house as you possibly can, but be quick. Molly, Livia and Arthur, come with me. Harry, gather everyone else around you. I will arrange for transportation to the Dursleys. Just stun them to shut them up; we'll deal with them later."

Within moments of that statement, me, the younger Weasleys, Pansy, and Hermione found ourselves on a one-way Portkey ride to Privet Drive. We landed right in the living room, with all three Dursleys sitting on the couch, looking gob smacked. I wasted no time in following Dumbledore's commands.

"Stupefy, stupefy, stupefy. Make yourselves at home, people; we might be here for awhile."

"Hey!" exclaimed Ron, "Where's Scabbers?! He was right on my shoulder when we left!"

Everyone just shrugged their shoulders. I knew why some people might not have been able to make the trip, but not a rat. Any discussion of the matter was cut off by the fiery arrival of Professor Dumbledore.

"Everyone will be safe here from anything hostile!" he announced to everyone. "Charlie, please keep the muggles stunned, I will deal with them later. Harry, I need you with me; we're going to Hogwarts."

My response was drowned out by Hermione's and Pansy's cries of "NO!" Pansy ran to Dumbledore, crying "Where are my parents?!"

"Marius is assisting with barricading key houses and structures with William Weasley and other allies of mine. Livia is on duty with her Obliviator squad dealing with muggle reactions." Dumbledore then turned to the Weasleys. "Arthur is at the Ministry helping to secure the building from forced entry; Molly is rousing more of our allies to assist us.

"Now, we have no more time for talk; Harry, with me!"

I kissed Hermione quickly and hugged her; Pansy joined in, hugging us both. "Come back," she said. "I won't lose family because of this; come back to me."

"Both of us," Hermione corrected her. "Please be safe."

"I promise," I said, squeezing both girls tightly. "I'll be back."

As I let Hermione and Pansy go, I saw a very conflicted Ginny standing there with a tear running down her face; she was obviously unhappy with my leaving, but wasn't quite comfortable enough to hug me on her own.

"Come here, Ginny," I said, holding my arms out. The short girl jumped up into my arms, and I held her to me. "I have to go help Professor Dumbledore, now. You'll be okay here. Alright?" Ginny shook her head forcefully, hugging me harder. "Come on Ginny; I have to go. Be strong for me, and look after Hermione and Pansy. I know you can; I've seen your hexes. Can you do that for me?" Slowly, Ginny nodded her head, and she reluctantly let me go and walked over to the other two girls, who put their arms around her.

I smiled at the three of them, clapped Ron on the shoulder, and walked over to Dumbledore. "I'm ready, sir." Dumbledore put his hand on my shoulder, and in a burst of flame, we were gone.

We appeared in the Great Hall, and Dumbledore rushed off at a great pace, with me jogging to keep up. "What are we doing, sir?" I asked.

"There is a room in Hogwarts called the Chamber of Secrets," he replied. "It was originally built by Salazar Slytherin, but Voldemort has gained access in the past. I believe that he has gained access to it again in our absence."

"But... I thought that he couldn't enter Hogwarts again." I said uncertainly; Dumbledore had spent the summer adjusting the wards; had he failed?

"The wards are now drawing from your protection charm; he said.” While you are here, it should become very difficult for Voldemort to operate at Hogwarts. If I could have, I'd have brought the Dursleys here permanently, but Hogwarts is public domain, so it won't work properly. It's not that specifically that I need you for, however.

"Only a Parseltongue -- one that can speak to snakes -- can open the Chamber. If I'm correct, Voldemort may have passed that on to you."

"And if he didn't...?" I asked. I had never talked to a snake before, so I didn't know if I could or couldn't.

"Then I’ll open the Chamber by force," he replied, his eyes flashing with power.

We passed signs of battle all over the place, accented now and then by the body of a fallen professor. I sucked my breath in when we passed Filch's body; the thought he wouldn't have been able to defend himself made it so much more painful to see him splayed out across the corridor, staring at the sky. His cat, the red-eyed Mrs. Norris, was wailing pitifully by his side, occasionally nudging the side of his face as if hoping he would wake up. As soon as she saw me, Mrs. Norris ran to me and jumped into my arms. She buried her face into the crevice near my elbow and continued to wail. I wanted nothing more than to stop and pet her, and tell her that she'd be all right, but Dumbledore didn't slow down at all, and Mrs. Norris had already put me five paces behind. Holding the trembling cat tightly, I pushed for more speed and caught up.

I silently thanked whatever God was watching me when we found McGonagall, Hagrid, Snape, and Flitwick. They joined with us on the second floor and Dumbledore lead us all to the same girl's lavatory that I fought the Troll in last year. "The entrance is here," Dumbledore said. "Harry, visualize talking to a snake, and command the entrance to open. I don't know what specifically to say."

I focused on there being a large snake in front of me, and tried to talk to it. "Open the Chamber," I said, hoping that it would work. My voice started out in English, but slowly turned into a sibilant chorus of hisses and clicks. I repeated the phrase, and after I successfully said the word "open" in Parseltongue, the wall began a slow transformation into a large staircase down.

We carefully followed the steps down into a large round tunnel. I had to open one more doorway using Parseltongue, which opened the way to an enormous vaulted chamber like the one Dumbledore used for the Mirror of Erised last year. Unlike that chamber, though, this one was dark, with pillars made from what looked like Obsidian, and large effigies of snakes and wizards, their arms raised in supplication. On the far side of the chamber was an enormous stone carving of the face of Salazar Slytherin.

What captured everyone's attention, though, was the bloodied, lacerated man crawling towards us, calling my name.

"Harry... Harry... I-I'm sorry... I couldn't stop him. Harry..." I stared in horror at the blood trailing out of his mouth, the enormous holes in his chest, and the furry patches and fleshy tail still showing on his body.

"Scabbers...?" I said, remembering Ron's missing rat.

"Oh my God," Dumbledore exclaimed, breathless. "Peter Pettigrew."

The Professors scoured the Chamber, but it was empty aside from Pettigrew. Dumbledore tended to his injuries in mere seconds, but the damage done by the venom in his body had left him beyond saving. Fawkes' tears provided a powerful healing base, and it gave Peter a few minutes to talk before he died. Dumbledore also confirmed with Legilimency that this man --an animagus, and former friend of my parents -- had been possessed by Voldemort and used to enter the Chamber.

It came as a shock to know that this man was responsible for betraying my parents as well. Dumbledore explained to me the Fidelius Charm, and the double-blind that my parents had set up by using Peter as their secret keeper. "Even I believed that it was Sirius they had chosen," he said. "Sirius will have escaped with the rest of the Azkaban prisoners, especially if he is an animagus. I must find him immediately before the Aurors and Hit Wizards do. Get what you can out of Peter, Harry." With that, Dumbledore disappeared.

"I tried to keep it from Him when he found me," Peter told me, his inflection telling me he was speaking of Voldemort. "I tried, but He can read minds so easily, and the Dementors made it impossible to think straight. I folded before I even knew what I was doing. S-S-Sirius came after me, and we dueled. I tried to explain that I didn't mean it, but h-he knew that you have to offer the information to break the F-Fidelius. I s-s-swear to you, Harry, I didn't do it because I wanted to. I t-tried to be brave, but I could never stand Dementors, and couldn't do Occlumency. H-H-He made me feel worthless, made me feel like I had no choice... Then he Marked me, and I felt dirty and wretched.

"I hid after Sirius was taken away. I didn't want to be f-f-found with the Mark. I stayed in my r-r-rat form. Everything was so much s-s-simpler that way. When I s-s-saw you, I wanted to be close to you, Harry. B-But I didn't think you'd forgive me for what happened. Y-Your parents are dead because of me, and S-Sirius is --was-- in Azkaban.

"When He possessed me, I fought with everything I had, b-but it wasn't enough. H-H-He wanted my knowledge of being an a-animagus for something. W-When He had access to the Chamber, H-He left me. T-Then th-the b-b-basilisk came back. Tried not to l-look at it; tried to change back to a rat, but it was too fast." Peter's voice was fading now, his breathing very shallow. "I-I'm s-s-s-sorry, Harry."

With those last words, Peter Pettigrew, last and least of the Marauders, died in the arms of his one-time arch rival, Severus Snape. I'd have been touched if the blasted coward hadn't gotten my parents killed. Snape, a decent Legilimens in his own right, as it turned out, assured me that he had been telling the truth, "At least as much as he remembers it. We must allow for the fact that the Dark Lord is a master at mind games; Pettigrew likely believed that he had already betrayed the location before he offered up the information."

"I'd like to know how Voldemort knew he was the secret-keeper in the first place," I said. Snape just shrugged his shoulders and looked away. I was too focused on Pettigrew's cooling body to catch that guilty gesture, though.

In about two hours Dumbledore returned with a shaken and slightly insane Sirius Black. A little over a decade of Dementors will do that to you, I suppose. His only saving grace was some preliminary training in Occlumency and his animagus capabilities, which allowed him to remain in his canine form and prevent the Dementors from scrambling his higher-order brain functions with their radiating despair. It took several calming draughts and some careful Legilimency on Dumbledore's part to force the memories of Azkaban to the back of Sirius' mind, and return him to some sense of stability. I could picture Voldemort needing to work on quite a few of his Death Eaters in this manner, too.

It wasn't a fair trade off in any way, shape or form: We got one man back, and lost one half-rat, half-traitor; Voldemort got most of his people back, and had a bunch of wanted felons out causing chaos to keep the DMLE busy. On top of that, Azkaban, both castle and island, had been completely destroyed. Only a lonely pair of rocks jutting out of the water marked the former location of the island fortress.

To top it off, Dumbledore analyzed what Peter said and the memories he saw, and came to a very depressing conclusion: Apparently Slytherin had a 1000-year-old basilisk in the Chamber, which Voldemort had now possessed. With the knowledge of taking an Animagus form that he stole from Peter, Voldemort could reverse the process and force the basilisk's body to become humanoid, essentially granting him a virtually immortal and somewhat-human form. Any and all thoughts of celebrating Christmas had been quashed by the chaos that now ruled wizarding Britain.

I was mobbed by three nearly hysterical girls when I returned to Privet Drive, as well as a number of other people asking what had happened.

"I didn't duel anyone," I said in a monotone voice. "I'm fine. Your rat's dead, Ron. Voldemort used him to rampage through Hogwarts, so we're also short a few professors. I have a godfather now, and Voldemort's got all his Death Eaters that were in Azkaban. Apparently Voldemort can blow up small islands, because Azkaban's completely gone. Oh, and Voldemort has a new immortal and poisonous body now."

Silence. What could anyone have said, after all?

"Harry, you'll need to remain here, at Privet Drive. We'll use this location as a main staging ground, since Voldemort cannot reach us here." The thought of being stuck at Privet Drive was horrifying, but something in the back of my head clicked. For the first time since the summer, I remembered what Dumbledore had told me last year about my protection, and what a small sentimental gesture Pansy and I shared in the summer might enable me to do.

"Professor, any direct blood relation to me would work, right?" Dumbledore nodded at me, and I turned to Pansy. "Hey Pansy, can I live with you, wherever you are? Please say yes."

"Wha-? Of course you can," she said, confused. I felt a small tug on my magic right near my heart as soon as she finished talking, and I knew instinctively that the magic had altered to match the agreement.

"Awesome!" I said with a huge smile on my face. "Professor, do we have somewhere better to be? Everything should switch over around... January 14th, I think."

Everyone looked confused except for Hermione and Dumbledore. Hermione had easily caught on and was beaming at me; Dumbledore pulled out his wand and cast a couple of advanced revealing spells at me before pumping his fist in the air with a shout of triumph. "Yes! Wonderful, Harry! Alright, everyone should stay here for the time being, as others will know to come here; Harry, Pansy, I'll be back in a few hours with transportation to a secure location."

Thus concludes the good part of 1992. From here, things get really, really bad.

6. Playing Chess with the Devil

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: I am overjoyed at the number of you who stop and review my work, and I’m so glad that you’re all enjoying it. This chapter was viciously difficult to write, and it took along time to go from separate scenes to a flowing chapter. I think everything’s ironed out completely. Anyone who finds any glaring errors, please let me know, and I’ll edit and re-upload.

For those who were craving Voldemort’s return, be careful what you ask for.

~TOW

YEAR 2: Playing Chess with the Devil

=============================

The wizarding community's response to the destruction of Azkaban was nearly unchecked panic. Every Hit Wizard militia member that could still walk and hold a wand was called to duty and the Aurors and Obliviators were working double shifts. Not to apprehend the escaped Azkaban prisoners, mind you; this was all simply to maintain control of the hysterical population, and put on a show of force to prevent rioting.

Many prisoners were caught, of course; you can't hide very easily in communities that only have a few thousand people, because everyone knows each other. There were a lot of prisoners who weren't caught, however, and most of them had names that fit a specific pattern, like the Lestranges and Crouch Jr., for example.

The most pressing concern was the disappearance of the Dementors, who had been guarding the prisoners in Azkaban. They were virtually immortal, and could easily incapacitate wizards. A lot of Ministry manpower was tied up combing the countryside for any indication of their whereabouts.

The Ministry refused to send Hit Wizards after the escaped Death Eaters. "There is no point in sending members of our community to their deaths," Director of Law Enforcement Amelia Bones was quoted as saying to the press. "Better to stand guard and prevent these criminals from entering established locations than to lose people to hit-and-run warfare."

Because that tactic worked last time, too, didn't it?

Amelia Bones wasn't aware that Dumbledore had been active on Christmas Eve, though; she wasn't aware of Sirius and Peter, or of Voldemort's theft of Slytherin's basilisk. The only thing she and the other Aurors were aware of was that several prisoners stormed through Hogwarts and committed several murders. Nothing valuable was reported as missing upon inspection so the whole incident was labeled a revenge attack by escaped prisoners with a grudge.

Bones also wasn't aware that Dumbledore had been gathering old allies to his side, quietly resurrecting the fighting group that he had led against Voldemort more than a decade ago: The Order of the Phoenix. The name was a lighthearted jab at how Dumbledore pampered Fawkes, which made the phoenix the ultimate authority. That kind of humor helped keep the Order members in good spirits the first time around, and it would probably help again.

Pansy and I were moved to Sirius' old house, #12 Grimmauld Place, early Christmas day. Dumbledore had covered it with the Fidelius Charm using himself as Secret Keeper and he, Bill, and Marius had warded it to be as secure as possible. We were all now patiently waiting for January 14th, when the house was officially impregnable to Voldemort or any of his allies, and the rest of the Order could move in and set up. In order to stay at Grimmauld through January, Fawkes would transport Pansy and I from our dorm rooms directly to the house, so that no one would be able to say that we weren't at Hogwarts at the time.

Pansy was very possessive of me from Christmas onward. The only people that she would allow near me without contest were the Weasleys, Hermione, Professor Dumbledore, and her parents; everyone else was headed off or subject to her venomous sarcastic barbs. Even Roger and Cho had to navigate around Pansy, which I thought was hilarious.

I had to work Pansy around Luna, though; Pansy could send the otherwise unflappable Luna Lovegood away in tears in two seconds flat. It took me several days to convince Pansy to let Luna stay around me, and convince Luna that Pansy wasn't a mutant Lethifold that caused people's tear glands to swell.

Many people answered Dumbledore's call: Arthur and Molly Weasley were the first, along with their older children Bill and Charlie. McGonagall, Hagrid, Flitwick, and Snape were already on-hand. Marius and Livia Parkinson had been drawn in over Christmas, and pledged their support. Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, an Auror of great fame, had already been heading to Hogwarts as soon as his house had stopped shaking. Remus Lupin, another old friend of my father's, had been drawn out of seclusion by Sirius to support us. By New Year's Eve, Arthur and Molly had made contact with several other people as well, but the people I've mentioned are the ones I had the most contact with at the time.

Dumbledore and the professors were hamstrung by the loss of their peers, and spent the beginning of January frantically trying to hire interim professors to fill the now-vacant posts. While there was no lack of applications to teach at such a prestigious school, the hiring process took more than just a single interview.

The rest of the Order was quickly settled into their old roles in the war, with new members filling in gaps. Dumbledore had given the Order two major objectives: Prevent the Death Eaters from infiltrating the Ministry, and locate and neutralize known Death Eaters at large.

Being young and naive, I was expecting some full-scale war to break out and people to start dying left and right. Sirius was the first person to explain to me that it would be a dark day in Hell for both the Order and the Death Eaters if the Ministry was involved.

"The 'War' that we old folks keep referring to was a secret war -- a shadow war," he said to me just before New Year’s. "Voldemort used his Death Eaters to get control of positions of power in the Ministry either by occupying those positions or controlling the witch or wizard who was.

"We did largely the same thing: we made allies with people in power, or maneuvered to place our own people in those positions. It's not a big mystery why half of the Hogwarts faculty belongs to the Order; Dumbledore didn't want Hogwarts compromised. The younger, newer professors were hired after Voldemort's destruction."

"Why were they the only ones targeted?" I asked, thinking for sure that Voldemort would have targeted known Order members.

"Because they were in the way and they were alone," Sirius replied. "From what you've told me you found Hagrid, Snape, McGonagall, and Flitwick together, right? Well, that wasn't a fluke. The moment they felt that explosion I'll bet they collected together immediately so that they could deal with any threat together.

"The newer professors had never had that kind of battle experience or training; really, it shouldn't have mattered. After all, Hogwarts is a school not a fortress. But it did matter this time, unfortunately."

"So, the Death Eaters are trying to get control of the Ministry?" I asked, moving back to the main subject.

"Not just that," Sirius said, before rubbing his face. "Let's back up a bit.

"A 'Death Eater' is a member of a cult that was formed by pureblood wizards a long time ago. The cult's only purpose is to promote the ideal that pure-blooded wizards are superior to those of mixed blood, and that wizards in general are far superior to muggles and other creatures.

"Death Eaters would often hold revels where they would torment a handful of muggles or creatures. Any pureblood was invited to attend, and the dress code --black heavy robes with your face covered-- kept the participants from knowing who they were associating with.

"For the longest time, it was considered 'acceptable behavior' for a pureblooded wizard to join in a revel. The Ministry would prevent the revels it was aware of, but since no Death Eater could ever identify his peers, the only thing the Ministry could do is arrest and charge individual Death Eaters with crimes against muggles, and even then only if they could catch any Death Eaters before they fled."

"And once they got away, the only way to catch them would be to arrest every pureblood in Britain," I said, beginning to catch on. "What a brilliant way to organize a group."

"It was," Sirius agreed, nodding. "It gave the Aurors and Obliviators the occasional workout, but since it rarely resulted in injury to wizards, the whole situation wasn't taken very seriously, and Death Eaters were looked at more like rebellious teenagers who hadn't settled down than rapists and murderers-- tells you how entrenched the pro-wizard sentiment was, in any case.

"Even the Death Eaters that were caught faced nothing more than fines for using magic against Muggles, and public exposure as a Death Eater, which was about as embarrassing as someone taking photos of you being a drunken idiot at a party. People would shake their heads at you and admonish you for being reckless, but you wouldn't lose your job or anything."

"So where does Voldemort fit into this?" I asked. "It's probably bad to say this, but the Death Eaters sound pretty tame so far."

"Up to this point, there hadn’t been any major use of Unforgivables," Sirius said. "Voldemort changed that; he promoted the use of Dark Arts against muggles, claiming that these arts were only punishable when used against people, which the muggles were not. He became a celebrity within Death Eater society, like a muggle rock star. No one knew who he was, but he had a powerful voice, and he quickly gained control of any revel he attended.

"Eventually, he proclaimed himself Lord Voldemort, which was an assumed name that the other Death Eaters could use to refer to him. Now the faceless dark arts user had a name --sort of-- and the revels he was at were always the best. Muggles were put under the Imperius and forced to fight each other like gladiators, or would willingly perform sexual acts. Voldemort used his magic to bring the darkest fantasies of the Death Eaters around him to life, and just like a proper showman he would always know just what his audience was craving."

"I'll bet it wasn't hard to move from forcing muggles to act to killing and torturing," I said, remembering Voldemort's impassioned attempt to get me to join him. It was easy to listen to him; easy to go along with what he said.

"Within a couple of years, he was the uncontested leader of the Death Eaters," Sirius said. "No Death Eater revel was planned by anyone else from that point on; they all waited on Voldemort. There were rumors of an 'Inner Circle' in the Death Eaters who were Voldemort's trusted allies and helped organize the revels. Of course, they also did a lot more for him, as we know. There wasn't any way to tell who might have been in that Inner Circle or not, though, so it remained a strong rumor at best."

"That's... amazing," I said. "So they were a secret group inside a secret group; how on earth did you fight that?"

"Well, Voldemort's revels were hard for the Aurors to track, and they began to suspect that Voldemort had inside help from the Ministry. That was the first sign that something big was happening, but it was a subtle one. The Death Eater revels were such a routine event for Aurors to crash that they were often relieved that they couldn't find them. It also prevented the awkward situation of having to arrest someone that you knew personally and charging them with minor crimes, which was a common event.

"Mad-Eye changed all that when he was involved in stopping a revel one night. He was too high-ranked to do it usually, you see, but he was pressed into it by a friend of his and went along to fill in for someone's partner.
"Usually Death Eaters scatter when Aurors show up but this time Voldemort told them to stand their ground and resist attempts from the Ministry to 'prevent their expressions of natural superiority.' Then he fought Mad-Eye and the other Aurors, and beat them back all by himself.

"What’s more is that Voldemort didn't use Dark Arts against Moody; he beat the Aurors fair and square, and sent them running. Such a complete victory over the famous Mad-Eye increased Voldemort's status in the eyes of the Death Eaters immensely; after all, who else could boast that they could single-handedly defeat a squad of Aurors with Mad-Eye in the lead?"

"But he didn't hurt them..." I said, thinking. "So he was following what he was telling the Death Eaters, that you don't use Dark Arts against other wizards."

"That's right," Sirius continued, "He kept beating back the Aurors from that point on. He taught the Death Eaters how to use Dark Arts against muggles, and how to duel properly against Aurors. This change, along with the increased use of the Unforgivables, caused the Aurors to treat the Death Eaters a lot more seriously.

"This all began to escalate as other Death Eaters fought Aurors alongside Voldemort, and a lot of them began using Unforgivables on muggles. Maybe it was only the Inner Circle to begin with, but soon Aurors were being overwhelmed at Death Eater revels. About this time, Voldemort changed his tune a bit, talking about his vision of a pure society, free of muggleborn and dominant over muggles and magical creatures, and how the Ministry was leading wizards into mediocrity at best and slavery at worst."

"I'll bet that the Death Eaters ate that up," I said.

"They did, and the final nail was driven by Barty Crouch Sr., who was the Director of Law Enforcement at the time. In response to the Death Eaters resisting arrest so vehemently, and the blatant demonstration of Unforgivables by so many wizards, Crouch authorized all Aurors to use the Unforgivables when working on apprehending Death Eaters."

"Wait, that doesn't sound right," I said, cutting across Sirius. "Why would the Aurors jump straight to the Killing Curse when dealing with Death Eaters?"

"Not the Killing Curse, Harry" Sirius said with a laugh. "The Aurors didn't turn homicidal overnight. The authorization allowed the Aurors to use the Imperius to gain information, and the Cruciatus in combat to more easily incapacitate Death Eaters. It sounded good on paper, but it went over horribly when the public got word.

"'Crouch authorizes Unforgivables against Purebloods!' the front page of the Prophet said the next day. There were other articles praising Crouch; a lot of the pureblood community now openly supported the Death Eaters, while others openly supported the Ministry."

"Crouch started the war," I said, astonished.

"No, Voldemort started the war," Sirius said, waving his finger at me. "He started it by converting the Death Eaters to his service, and carefully forcing the Ministry to make the first offensive move. Then, while there were public skirmishes to draw the Aurors away, Voldemort’s Inner Circle worked on infiltrating the Ministry. Dumbledore saw though this, and started making Ministry inroads of his own.

“One of the biggest reasons that Voldemort was as successful as he was, besides the receptive pureblood community, was that the Ministry didn’t have the manpower to both fight the Death Eaters openly and maintain internal security. The purpose of the Order was to help bolster that inner security, and to assist in preventing the Death Eaters from causing widespread damage.

"To the public, the war was initially about the Death Eaters and the rights of muggles, and the sides were pretty even. Only later, when Voldemort and the Death Eaters began to assassinate muggles and mark the killings with the Dark Mark was it apparent how depraved the Death Eaters had become. Crouch became a hero for seeing the problem ahead of time, because if the Aurors didn't need the Unforgivables at first, it certainly saved lives later.

"Voldemort was unbeatable, though, and he slowly turned the Death Eaters against the wizarding community as well as the muggles. He began to target the Aurors that attacked him, destroying their families and homes, but soon any one who vocally opposed him was at risk. He was faceless and no one knew his real name so he was even more frightening. He could have been anyone under that mask, and people grew to fear him. By 1970, there was a rumor that anyone who openly called the name 'Voldemort' would die less than 24 hours later, and enough people had been murdered by Death Eaters to make people believe it. That was the year people started to use the terms 'You Know Who' or 'He Who Must Not Be Named' in fear for their lives."

"Wow... damn." I could greatly appreciate the reluctance to say his name. I could also understand his followers calling him the Dark Lord; if his claim on Britain was so powerful that people didn't feel they could say his name freely, he certainly held a lord’s power.

"Your parents, Remus, and I started school in 1971," Sirius continued, carefully omitting Peter from his list of people. "We grew up during the years that Voldemort was at his strongest, and helped Dumbledore oppose him as soon as we were out of school.

"It was a hard run with the Death Eaters rampaging, and Voldemort and his Inner Circle 'pruning the hedges,' so to speak. The Ministry was slowly being taken over one position or Imperius at a time, and their war-time laws were highly restrictive to most people, with just enough loopholes for old pureblood families to give Death Eaters breathing room.

"Those muggleborn who knew about Dumbledore's resistance flocked to his side, having no one else to turn to. The pure that didn't support Voldemort either sided with Dumbledore or hid behind the wards of their homes, waiting for the Ministry’s inevitable collapse."

"...and then Voldemort ran into me and my parents." I said.

Sirius nodded and ruffled my hair to avoid speaking right away. "It changed everything,” he eventually said. “I'd rather have James and Lily back, but you cut the head right off the monster. With Voldemort gone, the Death Eaters folded. There were no organized revels, and the Aurors were now very open to the suggestions of Dumbledore and the Order, so a great deal of the Ministry was cleaned up. You still see some of those laws in effect –purebloods like them—but they’re pretty reasonable now."

I only nodded at Sirius. It struck me what a small amount of time had passed between 1981 and 1993; 12 years wasn't a long time as far as any society was concerned, and Voldemort had held real power for two decades beforehand. Dumbledore had told me that it wasn't until about 1989 that the Death Eaters had been wrapped up as a whole, only two years before I started Hogwarts.

Unlike Hermione and Ron, I didn't wonder at why Dumbledore was withholding Voldemort's name from the press; it would either be dismissed as fancy, or it would incite so much panic that it would undo any good that might come of it.

"It is especially important that you never mention anything of it," Dumbledore told me once our private lessons resumed. "You would scuttle any political momentum that you have gained so far. It would be far better for us all if you continued to gain momentum while we work to expose Voldemort once again. Once he is revealed to have returned, you can then lobby vocally to have him removed. Since you are living proof that he can be defeated, the community will rally to you. We must make Voldemort work as hard as possible to gain any further foothold in the Ministry."

Hogwarts slowly recovered from its losses, with new professors getting used to their job, and the old Professors keeping students in line. I offered to be Filch's unofficial replacement for the rest of the year, which pleased Dumbledore immensely -- another few political points for him and me, I guess.

Hermione also helped me take care of the castle. A lot of what needed to be done was in Hermione’s power range to do, and maintaining the castle was a real exercise in Charms and Transfiguration. When we didn’t have work to do, I passed on other lessons from Dumbledore. Mrs. Norris followed us around like she had with Filch, and she took a great liking to Hermione. Hedwig would often find me and perch herself on my left shoulder, so we looked quite the pair.

All of the Professors gave us a lot of leeway, treating us like staff more than students. Even Snape was civil, going so far as to say "If only your father had been as considerate." It wasn't much, but it gave me some idea as to why Snape didn't like me. Something to ask Sirius about later, I thought.

Sirius often joined us in his dog form, for which he was nicknamed "Padfoot;" he also answered to "Snuffles.” He was often studying Mrs. Norris closely, sniffing her and rolling her around to the cat's delight. When I asked him what he was doing, he said "Dogs can't get everywhere, so I need a smaller form."

"But I thought you could only have one form as an animagus," Hermione said, picking up Mrs. Norris. The cat rolled in Hermione's arms and swatted playfully at her nose.

"That's what the textbooks say," Sirius said, nodding. "What they mean though is that if you put in a couple years of concentrated effort, you will master one form. If you want a second form..."

"...you have to do it all over again." Hermione finished. "And it wouldn't likely be any faster, unless you were just going for a different breed of dog."

Sirius shrugged. "Even then, really."

"So you've got a big animal form; I guess you're looking for a small animal and an animal that flies, then," I said, gesturing to Mrs. Norris and Hedwig.

"You got it, pup!" Sirius said, and then suddenly Padfoot was there, licking my face. Ugh, Godfather breath.

Remus Lupin was a very quiet individual. I hadn't yet met him face-to-face, but apparently he wanted to change that. I got a letter from him early January, asking if my friends and I had the time to stop over for a visit.

"There isn't a problem getting over there," Dumbledore said. "He has a working Floo connection, and his location both secure and remote. You and whoever you take will be fine."

"It'll be nice to be able to hear about my parents," I said. Lupin was said to be the most level-headed of my father's friends, and though his condition as a werewolf made him shy, he still wanted to get to know me.

Only Hermione and Pansy were free to join me: Hermione because she only had three classes to worry about, and Pansy because she couldn't have cared less about her classes if there was somewhere more interesting to go. Bidding Professor Dumbledore goodbye, we disappeared one by one through his fireplace, first Hermione, then me, then Pansy.

The Domino effect starts here.

-----

We emerged from the Floo into an unknown room. It was lavishly furnished and completely unlike anything I would have expected from a werewolf in seclusion. Pansy's eyes widened in recognition, and she grabbed my sleeve, tugging forcefully.

"Malfoy manor!" she said quietly, "We're at the Malfoy's!" Uh oh.

"Fuck! Where's Hermione?" She wasn't in the room, and a sudden surge of panic twisted in my innards.

"She'd go to a different room; one for 'uninvited guests.'" I didn't need any further explanation than that; my imagination came up with all sorts of ideas for what the Malfoys considered appropriate for muggleborn 'guests.'

Pansy led me to a door, seeming to know the way around already. The door was spelled shut, glowing with a locking charm that I didn't know the counter to. I cast a revealing charm and nearly laughed at the idea that this room could hold me; the Malfoys apparently didn't have the full measure of me yet; their loss.

"Come on, Pansy, there's always another way to remove the lock. Ready? 1... 2... 3!"

"REDUCTO!"

------

Elsewhere, taken from Hermione’s memories:

Hermione rolled out of the fireplace and fell immediately to the right with a shriek. A powerful curse sailed through the space she had just occupied, reducing the side of the fireplace to dust and rubble. Once she righted herself, her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room. The walls were lined in small spikes, and there was no furniture. Only one door led from the room.

“Oh my God,” she whispered to herself. “Oh, God, what is this?”

As Hermione approached the door, there was a loud click. Slowly the door opened, and Hermione tensed, readying her wand. She was no duelist, but Harry made sure she knew her shields and hexes well; she would not be caught helpless here. Behind the door, however, was only a small house elf, looking more frightened than she was.

“M-m-miss sh-should not be s-s-staying here,” he said in a high, wobbly voice. “M-miss should b-be finding her friends.”

“Harry’s here?” she said, approaching the elf. “Where? Where can I find him?”

“T-this way, Miss.” The elf led her along a long hallway to a new room. There were sounds of combat coming from that room, and the elf made a panicked turn away from it, heading in a new direction. Curiosity won out over fear for a moment, and Hermione carefully poked her head inside the room, looking for the source of the noise.

A tattered wizard was fighting for his life, bleeding profusely from several large gashes. His opponent, a black-haired woman, cackled as she systematically tore him apart. It was hardly a duel; it was a slaughter, so completely one-sided that Hermione knew the man was still alive only to prolong his agony.

Careful to make no noise, Hermione backed away from the doorway, and followed the elf down the hall again. As she walked, she reached inside her robe and slowly removed the only thing she trusted more than her wand: A small silver revolver; her father’s old gun. He had used it once, when thieves broke into their home and threatened her mother. Since then, he had always kept it near. When she was seven, he showed her how to shoot the gun, despite her mother’s protests. “You should know how to protect yourself,” he had said. When he died, she took his gun from the house and kept it with her, the legacy of her father’s protection.

Tears filled her eyes as she removed the safety with shaky hands. Harry was here, and would need help. God help the people in this house if they tried to stop her.

“You made it out of the room,” a voice said. Hermione whipped her head around to see the angry, tear-stained face of Draco Malfoy. “You should’ve stayed there, Granger,” he said angrily. “It would’ve made things so much easier.”

------

“C’mon, Harry, it’s this way.” Pansy ran past the smoldering door into a room that looked like a miniature library. As Pansy went for the door on her left, a voice cried “STOP!”

Narcissa Malfoy ran into the room, her wand held high, and her hair wild and uncontrolled. She looked nothing like the elegant lady of an aristocratic family now; she looked terrified and insane.

“You can’t leave here!” she screamed. “He’ll kill us! I won’t lose my family!”

“Where’s Hermione?” I asked, setting my weight back on my right foot. “We’re going to find her, and you’re going to let us leave.”

“Why are you concerned with the fate of one mudblood?” she asked incredulously. “You won’t be harmed, and neither will Pansy. Please stop.”

Rage. Anger. “Pansy, find Hermione,” I said. “I’ll keep our host busy.”

Pansy looked at me for only a second before turning and bolting for the door. Narcissa sent a curse after her but I deflected it high and wide.

I fired a stunner to test the waters against my opponent. Narcissa countered with a reflective shield, sending the curse back towards me, and I rolled to the side as it sailed past. How dare this woman insult Hermione! How dare she draw a wand at me! I pulled an entire shelf of books down on top of her, but again her shield was in place, and I suddenly found myself with animated books flying at me and attacking me left and right. The little ones were annoying, but the big ones hurt.

“You’re a fool to fight, Harry,” she said to me. “You have no reason to. Why would you fight for a little girl that the Dark Lord will kill regardless? Put your wand up and end this.” My vision began to narrow as I became angrier. My scar started to throb in time with my heartbeat, and I growled audibly. Books fell burning from the air as I cast multiple flame hexes. The last hex I aimed at Narcissa like a flamethrower, scorching a trail across the carpet and forcing her back from me.

“Stop this!” She screamed, frantically putting out the flames and conjuring ropes and chains that flew towards me. “These books are priceless! They’re worth more than your miserable life, and a thousand times the life of that mudblood. You - will - stop!”

“DIE!” I shouted, slashing my wand downwards. The chains and ropes split apart as the curse tore across the room. Narcissa was too slow with her shield, and a huge gash ripped her open from her right shoulder down through her breast, abdomen and leg. She howled in pain as blood erupted from the wound, covering the carpet in front of her. Her robes fell apart, and I stared in awe at the brutality of what I had done.

"No..." I dropped to my knees as my stomach lurched painfully. "No, no, no, no..." I didn’t do that. I couldn’t have. I can’t be like him. I can’t…

But I did. I used that curse, and I don’t even know how.

I’ve killed her.

Narcissa was losing color as blood pooled around her; the trail of blood down the side of her naked, perfect body riveted itself in my mind. The smell of blood saturated the room, and I found it almost as arousing as it was nauseating. Part of me wanted to touch her, and comfort her. Another part of me was morbidly fascinated by the contrast of crimson blood on pale white skin. I watched her breasts as she struggled for air, and it occurred to me that one of her lungs was probably torn open.

Unable to look away from the beauty and horror in front of me, I watched as Narcissa Malfoy took a last, gasping breath, shuddered, and was still.

----

"W-why are you doing this?!" Hermione cried, parrying Draco's Reductor curses with quick, precise wand movements. "Y-y-you're our friend!"

"I'm not your friend, Granger!" he snarled, continuing his barrage. "I was Harry's friend, and I was abandoned for you! I have no choice anyways! I'd have to choose between Harry and my family! Which should I choose, do you think?! Shut up and die, so I can get this over with! Reducto, Reducto, REDUCTO!"

Again and again Draco's curses impacted Hermione's shield, the excess power rolling off the sides in waves. Hermione's knees buckled under the strain, but she could repair her shield faster than Draco could damage it, and remained unharmed. Neither combatant noticed that another had entered the room.

"Damn you!" Draco cried, tears beginning to fall. "Damn you, Granger! Damn you to Hell! Crucio!" Hermione screamed as the curse struck her, passing through her shield unimpeded. She wailed for what felt like an eternity as the curse played up and down her nerves like a mad pianist. No rape could be this bad; no physical violation was as intense. She felt beyond naked in the agony, her very bones seemed exposed to the air for everyone to see.

And just as suddenly as it started, it was over. Hermione opened her eyes to see that she had fallen to the ground, and Draco was now the one on the defensive. Pansy had found her, and was battering Draco’s shield with Stunners and Reductors, giving him no time to recover.

Draco had used the Cruciatus on her.

Pansy pushed with all her power on her curses, and Draco’s shield began to fail. Pansy was stronger than Draco, and far better at dueling.

Draco had used the Cruciatus on her.

Slowly, Hermione stood. She spread her legs for stability, and with both hands cocked the hammer on her father’s pistol.

With an exultant cry of “Expelliarmus!” the duel was over. Draco’s wand sailed through the air to land at Pansy’s feet.

Hermione raised her arms.

-----

The sound of gunfire brought me back to reality. Tearing my gaze away from Narcissa’s body, I forced myself to my feet and chased after Pansy.

----

Draco stared in shock at the witch who had killed him. Blood began to pump from the three holes in his chest. Hermione’s aim had been perfect, and more than one bullet had hit Draco in the heart. He opened his mouth to speak, but the only thing that left his mouth was blood.

"Traitor,” Pansy hissed at his dying face before turning to Hermione. For the first time ever, Pansy put her arms around the shaking girl, holding her close.

-----

I ran into the room to see Draco lying on the ground, dead. Hermione stood above him, shivering, her revolver still smoking. Pansy had her arms around Hermione, whispering “Its okay” over and over.

“What happened?” I asked, coming up to the girls. Hermione just shook her head, and Pansy looked at me.

“He--”

"NO! MY SON! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY SON?!" An enraged Lucius Malfoy burst into the room, and with a flick of his wand sent a lance of magical force towards Hermione. Pansy stepped into the path, her shield breaking as it intercepted the curse.

"NO!" I shouted, and leapt at the elder Malfoy. I deflected his attacks high and to my right, well away from he girls, but unlike his wife, Lucius was an experienced duelist, and I couldn’t get enough of an opening to move off of the defensive.

Hermione stepped past Pansy and fired on Malfoy, who turned to deflect the bullet with a shield. I saw my chance, and lashed out with my strongest Reductor. Malfoy gasped and dropped to his knees as his left shoulder and ribs were shattered, and Pansy quickly disarmed him. Hermione fired her last two shots into Malfoy’s chest, ending the struggle.

The hairs on my neck stood up as I felt a powerful surge of magic behind me. I twisted just in time to deflect a powerful crescent curse aimed at me and returned the curse before I even knew what I was doing. "Impossible!” a woman shouted. “I am the Dark Lord's apprentice! He instructed me alone, how could-- of course. Harry Potter." The woman emerged from the shadows of the adjoining room, covered in the blood of her former opponent: Bellatrix Lestrange.

She was the stereotypical evil witch: long straight black hair cascading down to her waist, and the steel grey eyes of the Black family. A small tinge of rainbow light played across those irises in rhythm with her magic. She wore the dark flowing robes of a Death Eater, but it was easy to imagine her in elegant evening robes at a high-class party. Covered as she was in blood, she was as stunning as she was frightening.

"Let's see, then, if you are everything He thinks you to be..." With movements faster than I could follow Bellatrix launched into a flurry of curses. Guided by foreign instincts that were fueled by desperation I echoed her movements and our crescents deflected off of each other with the terrible wail of steel on steel. Pansy and Hermione joined in with Reductor curses, and for just an instant the four of us danced in perfect synchronization.

But Bellatrix was a graceful dancer, melding power, speed and skill into a form of terrible beauty while we fought only with the clumsy potential of youth. We had started in-step; in two heartbeats Hermione had fallen with her legs removed halfway up the thighs, and I had numerous fine cuts along my legs and arms; by five heartbeats, Pansy had lost both arms at the shoulders, and I had large gashes across my limbs, and cuts across my chest and face; at seven heartbeats I screamed in pain, falling to the ground defeated as my right arm and shoulder were torn from me; we had not injured her even once.

Bellatrix kneeled over me while I was bleeding, making soft cooing noises like a mother might do for her child. Gently she caressed my face, kissing my forehead while her wand worked to slow my bleeding. I could barely think at all, blinded by pain, but I remember feverishly wishing for a mother that would comfort me like she was doing.

With a thunderous roar, the wall of the room was torn away. Floating above the hole that had been an entire wing of the manor was Dumbledore, his eyes once again glowing with power. A surge of excitement cut through the agony, and I focused all my remaining power into staying awake.

Bellatrix went for him immediately; she moved so fast that she was mere feet from his location before they crossed spells. So intense was the duel that it was impossible to make out more than a blur of lights. In less than two seconds the manor shook with the power of Dumbledore's signature blasting curse and Bellatrix went flying back through the room and into the next, crashing through the dividing wall.

In an instant Dumbledore was next to us. With a few wand flicks Pansy was healed, and Hermione was able to stand. A few seconds more and my arm was reattached.

We made no attempt to stop Bellatrix from escaping the Manor; Dumbledore took the three of us to Hogwarts as fast as he could create the Portkey. The Battle of Malfoy Manor had ended; the Malfoys had lost.

-----

I woke in the Hospital Wing to a hushed conversation between Dumbledore and Lockheart. Dumbledore and Lockheart walked quickly over to me.

"Wha... What's--?" All sleepiness was shaken from my head as I saw Lockheart bring his wand to bear against me. Without even thinking my feet had hit the ground and I flung the bed as hard as I could, sending it crashing into the surprised professor. As Lockheart pushed the bed off of him and got to his feet, I had located my wand and started towards him.

"Enough!" shouted Dumbledore, freezing the both of us by the power of his voice alone. "Since I obviously haven't mentioned it, Gilderoy, leave Harry and his friends out of your sweep. They're fine."

"I can't leave people unaccounted for, Albus," he replied without any of the usual floweriness to his voice. "It could compromise us, and we don't need that right now."

"Harry is an accomplished Occlumens," Dumbledore said unperturbed. "You would only meet with frustration. Move on." Grumbling, Lockheart gave me a half-hearted salute with his wand and turned to leave. I flicked my wand towards the bed, righting it and placing it back in position.

"What was that about?" I asked once Lockheart had left the room.

"I’m sure you recall Lockheart bragging about his 'honorary membership in the Dark Force Defense League,” Dumbledore said as he secured the room against eavesdroppers.

"Yeah," I said, remembering for the first time that I had lost my left arm to Bellatrix yesterday. "I didn't really pay him any attention, though. He seems like a fake, and he damn well acts like one." My arm was apparently healed, and I moved it around, testing its strength. Satisfied with my overall condition, I rummaged around for my robes.

"I will agree partially with you," Dumbledore said as he conjured a chair to sit in. "The books Gilderoy publishes are a front to draw attention to himself, and away from other members of the Defense League."

I stopped for a second and as the implications of what Dumbledore had said penetrated my mind. “So Lockheart is a fraud, but he’s a fraud… on purpose?”

“That’s right; he’s currently here at my request to help with the defense of Hogwarts.” Dumbledore chuckled at the look of distaste on my face. "You'll likely never work with him, Harry. Remember: Allies do not have to be friends."

I nodded while I dressed, and walked out of the Hospital wing looking for Hermione and Pansy. They hadn't been there when I woke up, and since Dumbledore hadn't come in bearing any bad news, that meant the girls were okay. Hermione was the first person I found; she was curled into a chair in the Ravenclaw common room, reading the fifth year DADA book from last year's set.

She didn’t speak when I came in; she simply moved over on the chair to give me room. I settled in beside her, and she leaned back into me. She had killed two people today, and I had killed one with the curse that may have murdered my parents. No amount of conversation would ease the pain that we both felt, so we held each other silently, offering what support we could to each other.

-----

It was a matter of harsh debate between Moody and Dumbledore why Voldemort had essentially sacrificed the Malfoy family for a shot at me and Hermione. Had it been just a test to see how quickly Dumbledore could react to my disappearance? If so, it was a costly test, as it created enough distrust in the public Floo system that Order members swore off using it ever again. No one could decide on the logic behind such a bold move on Voldemort’s part, especially since it had left the door open for Dumbledore to take the Malfoys for all they were worth.

But Voldemort is the smartest man I know, and I was quickly learning that even Dumbledore had problems staying a step ahead.

The very next day was January 14th, and the entire Weasley family was at the Burrow packing their belongings to head to Grimmauld. I was there as a precaution, as well as to spend some time with Hermione outside of the castle. Not twenty minutes had passed before the scream of Mrs. Weasley brought us pounding down the steps. She and Mr. Weasley sat against the kitchen wall, holding onto Percy. Percy was pale, and a pool of blood was quickly forming underneath him. Ginny stood across the kitchen from them, three wands in her left hand and her own twirling idly in her right.

“Harry,” she said brightly, “I’m so glad to see you. I haven’t had the chance to talk to you for months!” Ginny’s eyes flashed a bright red, and a reckless grin formed on her face.

Oh, shit. “Voldemort,” I whispered, stepping forward to cover Hermione. My scar had begun to ache again, and the unnatural anger I always felt near Voldemort was beginning to stir.

“I’m so glad that you had a chance to meet Bella,” he said, not moving except to shift his weight onto his back leg. “She was very complimentary of your dueling skills. Perhaps with my abilities limited as they are in this body, we might actually be equals. Shall we duel again, Harry? Or would it be asking too much for you to attack your friend?”

I scowled, not wanting to answer. What could I say, anyways? Of course I’ll duel you, Voldemort. Then, after Ginny’s body is paste on the walls, I get to sit Mrs. Weasley down and explain that she doesn’t have a daughter anymore. Sounds like so much fun.

Voldemort saw my indecision, and Ginny’s grin got wider. “Its okay, Harry, I already planned on providing you with suitable motivation. Ginevra Weasley is quite potent for a young girl, and is so very jealous of her newly adopted sister. Let’s visit one of her fantasies, shall we? In fact, I think your girlfriend has been here before!” Ginny’s wand barely twitched, and Hermione shot past me as if tied to a horse. She came to a stop over the kitchen table, and hovered there. At some point her wand had found its way to Ginny’s left hand along with the others. “Do you know what happens next, Harry?”

“Don’t,” I said, my voice shaking with anger. “Don’t do it. Don’t you fucking do it, I’ll kill you where you stand, you son of a bitch!”

“Harry!” I heard the shouts of various Weasleys behind me, and I ignored them. My rage was in control and the only person I currently gave a damn about was floating over the table. Hermione looked at me with wide eyes, terrified. She didn’t say anything; she just looked at me, waiting for the inevitable.

“Does this hurt, Harry?” Voldemort asked in Ginny’s voice. “Does it pain you to know that no matter how well-protected you are others you care about will suffer? Does it frustrate you to know that a small, insignificant miscalculation on your part opened the door for all of this to happen?” Ginny suddenly flourished her wand, and I heard a crunching noise behind me as the hallway walls pressed in on its occupants. “Ah, ah, ah,” she taunted, “I can’t allow interference from the other members of the family. You might actually save poor Percy from bleeding to death, and I can’t have that.

“That’s what we’re waiting for, Harry; while you and I are talking, Molly gets to hold her son while he dies. Isn’t that fun, Molly? Just like your brothers, isn’t it?” I heard the wail from behind me, and sparks began to trail from my wand tip as my magic surged with my anger. “Oh, are you ready to play, then, Harry? Here I thought you’d need a lot more pushing to get into the mood. I--” He fired a crescent curse to my side, and I deflected it by reflex. The scream from behind me told me that I hadn’t deflected it enough, though. Glancing back, I saw Ron with his right arm split down the middle, both parts connected loosely at the shoulder. He had managed to free himself from the crush of the walls, but was now quickly becoming as pale as Percy. Charlie had also gotten free from the other side, and was running back up the stairs, likely going for a window.

Voldemort noticed too, but Fred and George produced shields to block the curses aimed at Charlie’s back. “Well, it seems as though we should get to our duel before the cavalry comes.” Ginny turned her wand back to Hermione, and I raised my wand to attack.

“Ready Harry?”

“DON’T--”

“Crucio!”

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

The Cruciatus had barely made contact with Hermione when my curse hit Ginny. Her body rocked back from the impact, and the demonic red glow faded from her eyes. Time seemed to stop as I watched her arc forward and fall to the ground. My stomach began to churn at what I had done, but before anyone could act Ginny’s foot shot forward and she caught herself; her brown eyes flared red again, and she looked up.

“That’s… more than I could have ever expected, Harry,” she said in a raspy voice. “But I think you care a little too much for this girl to be using that curse. Try something more along these lines!” In less time than I could blink I had deflected two crescent curses, and stopped a third with one of my own. Just as Bellatrix and I had danced, I now danced with Voldemort in Ginny’s body. I didn’t even qualify as a novice compared to his skill, but Voldemort could just barely push little Ginny’s body to match my speed, and I had a large advantage in spell power. With a feral growl I pressed forward with my curses, gaining confidence that for this one, unique duel, we were evenly matched. My guilt and doubt was gone, erased by Voldemort’s renewed attack. All I saw now was Voldemort; all I thought of was victory.

Neither of us spoke, and the only sound was the horrible screeching noise whenever our curses connected. We fought as though we were dueling with swords: Slash and parry; thrust and deflect. The kitchen came apart around us as deflected curses tore through walls and gouged support beams. I fought directly in front of Hermione to prevent curses from hitting her, and I hoped that Fred and George would be able to shield their family. Ten seconds had passed, and we were sweaty but still at a stalemate. Twenty seconds and we were both covered in small nicks from near misses. Thirty seconds and the sound of our labored breathing nearly drowned out the curses we were casting. At forty seconds, Ginny’s curses began to weaken as her magic gave out. Sensing victory I pressed with everything I had, producing the hateful curse as fast as could. As Bellatrix had done to me, I started to score serious hits across Ginny’s arms and legs as Voldemort fumbled the deflections. The wounds became larger and larger, until Ginny screamed in pain as her right arm was torn away by the curse, taking her wand with it. With a final cry of “STUPEFY!” Ginny’s body fell to the ground, and the horrific battle came to an end.

Before I could move to stop Ginny’s bleeding, scar exploded in pain and I fell to the ground holding my head. <Do YoU ThINk ThiS iS OvER, CHilD?> a demonic voice tore through my head. <I WiLL MakE yoU SuFfER FoR EVerY MoMEnt YoU DeFY Me. DOeS ThIs HuRT YoU, HArRy? Do I CAusE yOu pAin liKE yOU cAn CAuSE Me? REvEL in It, HArRY!! SoON, PaIn IS aLL ThAT YoU WiIL KNoW!!>

There was a deep rumble that shook the ground, and then the side of the kitchen was ripped away by the head of a snake too long and large to see, and easily as thick as a bus.

“Don’t look at its eyes!” Hermione screamed behind me, but it was too late; the basilisk and I had already locked gazes.

I heard horrible choking sounds from the stairs, and swallowed reflexively. Was that how I would die? My throat felt tight as I gazed at the great serpent, and my breathing became heavy and strained. I could still breathe, though, and I backed up to the table, cancelling the spell levitating Hermione and helping her down. Throughout all of my movements, I couldn’t break eye contact with the basilisk. My sight slowly tinged red as we stared at each other, and my glasses heated up, burning my hair and skin. I nearly pulled them off in pain, when the faint crimson outline of my parents faded into view.

“Harry…?” Hermione called hesitantly. Finally tearing my gaze from the basilisk, I glanced back to see her covering her eyes.

“I’m okay,” I said. “The Stone is protecting me.”

The basilisk lunged forward at me, and suddenly a sturdy stone wall appeared, curving to enclose the kitchen and hiding the basilisk from sight. The wall shook with the impact of the great snake, but it held. Arthur Weasley lowered his newly reclaimed wand and knelt near Ginny, healing her as best he could.

“H-Harry, you take Hermione to the Floo and get out!” His voice was nearly lost in the thunder of the basilisk slamming against the wall.

“But--”

“NO! I can hold him! LEAVE NOW!”

Percy was abandoned face down in his own blood as Molly rushed over to help mend Ginny. Ron was sprawled out on the floor, his uninjured arm grasping at his throat. His face was locked in a mask of horror, and his lips were tinged blue. He was still bleeding, but the blood was the least of his concern. I knew now what the source of those choking noises was; Ron had looked at the basilisk’s eyes, and nothing I could do would save him.

“Stupefy.” A jet of red light stilled Ron’s movements, and Hermione lowered her wand with tears in her eyes. “Goodbye, Ron.” Without looking at me, she ran to the fireplace, threw in the Floo powder and shouted “Grimmauld Place!”

Fred and George ran to the fireplace and vanished in green flames as Arthur and Molly finished healing Ginny. Slowly, her eyes opened, and she looked up at her parents. “Mum.” Molly smiled and embraced her daughter tightly, and Ginny looked over her shoulder to me, crimson eyes flashing in amusement.

No. God, no…

With an explosion of blood, Molly Weasley fell away from her daughter, nearly cleaved in two. Ginny stood and faced me covered in gore and entrails, her mother’s wand held loosely in her hand. “And so it ends, Harry,” she said, her voice still raw and grating. “You have fought well, but you will die here tonight.” Ginny advanced towards me, and Arthur trembled with anguish, unable to bring his wand to bear against his daughter.

I prayed that Charlie had gotten out, and gotten to Dumbledore. I prayed that any moment there would be a fiery flash, and we would be saved. But the stone wall Arthur had conjured was beginning to crumble under the onslaught of the basilisk, and Ginny had once again taken up her dueling stance. As Arthur dropped to his knees defeated, I raised my own wand, whispering “I’m sorry.”

Without warning Ginny whipped around, and launched a crescent curse at Arthur. Defenseless and on his knees, tears falling down his face, Arthur could only stare at the approach of his death. I cast a shield as fast as I could with every ounce of power I had left. The shield formed just fast enough to catch the curse, and it discharged harmlessly around the eldest Weasley.

The bluff was all that Voldemort had left. Exhausted from our previous battle, Ginny’s magic finally failed completely, and she collapsed on the spot. I fired a stunner at her to ensure she stayed out before collapsing to my knees beside her. I don’t have to kill her, I thought with giddy relief. I don’t have to kill her. It’s over.

“T-thank you, Harry,” Arthur said, slowly getting to his feet. “Let’s go quickly; this wall won’t hold for much longer.” As he spoke, the last parts of the wall fell away, and the basilisk lowered its massive head into the room.

“Go with Ginny, Mr. Weasley! It can’t kill me!”

“Harry--”

“GO! I know what I’m doing!” God, what a lie; I had a game plan, though. As Arthur disappeared in flames, I locked gazes with the basilisk again. It hissed and bared its fangs, each of which was nearly as long as I was tall. I mustered what courage and power I had, and stood tall.

<< Catch me if you can, you fat scaly bitch! >> I taunted in Parseltongue. The basilisk recoiled in shock as I spoke, and I took that moment to fire a Reductor at the already damaged wall beside me, opening a back exit to the yard. I rushed out the hole, and waited for the sound of movement before running back in.

Voldemort had taken the bait, and had pulled out of the house to circle around. I had a few seconds to get to the top floor of the Burrow. Forcing my magic into my body, I took the stairs at top speed. As I reached Ron’s room, I felt the property shudder as Voldemort tore back into the house, looking for me. I threw open the window and fired a Reductor at the broom shed that Ron’s window overlooked. The shed came apart easily, exposing the brooms.

“Accio!” I called, too tired to keep casting silently. I could feel the basilisk moving up the stairs, but the broom was already rocketing toward the window. I jumped out the window just as Voldemort broke through the doorway, grabbing the broom in midair.

I pulled into a Sloth Grip Roll and fell into a dive, hearing the loud snap of the basilisk’s mouth closing above me. I forced the broom out of the dive, and flew parallel to the ground, gaining speed as I went. Once I was clear of the last of the giant snake’s coils I shot upwards as fast as I could. With a terrible crash the basilisk broke free of the house, and coiled to spring at me, but I was more than two hundred feet in the air and rising fast. I heard its hiss of anger as I shot off into the night, heading roughly for London.

I landed just on the outskirts of the city, and summoned the Knight Bus. In exchange for a few sickles and a very bumpy ride, I was quickly and safely deposited on the doorstep of #12 Grimmauld Place, far out of Voldemort’s grasp.

-----

Pansy, Hermione and I were all excused from Hogwarts for the next few days as the Weasleys made funeral preparations for Ron, Percy and Molly. Bill came back from Egypt to be with his family, and helped move the rest of the Weasleys’ belongings to Grimmauld. I had expected the entire family to hate me for trying to use the Killing Curse on Ginny, but it was the Weasleys who offered me comfort after the ordeal. Ginny herself ran up and hugged me when she first saw me the next morning, and refused to let me go for the rest of the day. She hadn’t spoken since she had been possessed, but she attached herself to me or Bill whenever she could.

Hermione was very conflicted over the events of the last two days. She had killed and been tortured, and she had lost three members of her new family, including her adopted mother. It made it even worse that the Weasleys had been taunted and tortured by Voldemort beforehand. Like me, she hid her turmoil behind her Occlumency, pushing it down until the pain was manageable. It made us seem alien and emotionless to the rest of the house’s occupants when we did that, so we kept mostly to ourselves outside of meal times.

“It was frustrating to be so powerless,” she said while we sat in one of the manor’s reading rooms. “I understand exactly why you don’t like anyone pointing wands at you now, Harry. I could barely believe that Draco had used that curse.

“I thought he would give up. I thought he was good.”

“No, Hermione, he wasn’t good.” I took her hand in both of mine, rubbing the top with my thumbs. “Both Dumbledore and I knew that they would turn on us; it was only a matter of time.”

“I killed him,” she said miserably. “I killed him, and then I killed his father.”

“I’m proud of you,” I said, causing her to look up at me. “I want you to know that I’m happy you had that gun, and I’m happy that we don’t ever have to deal with the Malfoys again.”

“What about you, Harry?” she asked me quietly. “Are you okay with what you’ve done?”

“No,” I answered thickly, a tangle of suppressed emotions rising up inside me. “I’m fucked up. I can use Voldemort’s curse, and I don’t know how. I don’t know the wand movements, I don’t know the incantation. But when I’m in a fight, or I’m angry, it’s there.

“I don’t like being like him. I don’t like that it feels good to use that kind of power. You didn’t see me when I killed Mrs. Malfoy; it was… awful.”

“But you fought for me,” Hermione said. “I never thought that anyone but my Dad would fight for me ever again. When my parents died, I though that I’d never really be safe again. But I’m safe with you; Voldemort was right in front of me, and I felt safe with you.”

A fierce pride swelled up inside me, pushing a lot of the guilt aside. It meant a great deal to me to hear Hermione tell me that; it made the suffering worthwhile.

I squeezed her hands before letting go to stand up. “I’m going to talk to Dumbledore about learning or developing a signature spell. I don’t know if I can yet, but if I can help it, I’m never using that curse again.”

“I need to visit your vault,” she said after a moment. “I only kept one extra set of bullets with me for the gun, and I don’t like the idea of having only six shots left.”

“Can I borrow that gun, Hermione?” I asked, struck by an idea. She hesitantly produced the small revolver, and after checking that the safety was still on, handed it to me.

“Please be careful with it,” she said. “It’s the most important thing that my father left me.”

“Since it saved our lives from Lucius Malfoy, I agree with you,” I said. “You know, in a way your father left protection for you just like my mother left for me. Maybe it’s not all mystical, but it did save your life, just like mine did.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, and then misted over. Wiping her tears away, she hugged me tightly, sniffling. When she pulled away, she looked happier, as though a weight had been taken off her shoulders. “Thank you, Harry,” she said, kissing me gently. “Thank you for saying that.”

-----

The funeral was held at the Burrow; a small service open only to close friends and family. Fred and George asked me to be a Pallbearer for Ron. On a rainy day in the field near where the Burrow once stood, I walked out to the gravesite, Ron’s coffin floating behind me. Ginny walked beside me, and Fred and George came behind. At the front and back of Percy’s coffin were Bill and Charlie. Arthur took Molly’s coffin with Hermione coming behind.

The service was simple, and focused on the high points of each person’s life. None of us were really into it, because the service was public. Everyone who wasn’t a Weasley or an Order member only knew that the Burrow had collapsed, and that Molly, Percy and Ron had been inside when it happened. It was written off as the aftermath of damage sustained when Azkaban was destroyed. Since most of muggle London needed repairs after that incident, it was a very believable circumstance.

While Arthur made his way through a cookie-cutter speech about his wife, Fred, the others came over to me. Hermione took my hand, and Ginny attached herself to my other side.

“If you hadn’t been alone,” George said, “We’d have all gotten out.”

Fred nodded. “If George or I had known anything at all about how to fight like you did, you wouldn’t have had to do all that by yourself, and we might’ve saved Mum and Ron.”

“So to prevent anything like this from happening again,” George picked back up, “We want to learn how to fight.” It wasn’t hard to interpret their meaning.

“You mean have me teach you…?” I trailed off, more than a little daunted at the prospect of teaching more than just Hermione.

“You’re a good teacher, Harry,” Hermione said, giving my hand a squeeze. “I’ve learned a lot from you so far. I know that we’ve been hedging around dueling, but I don’t want to feel helpless again.”

Hermione looked away, chewing on her lip. “Before these last few days, I would have never wanted to hurt anyone, and dueling wasn’t a useful thing for me to know. I know now that if I want to have any chance at a peaceful life as a witch, I’ll need to know at least the basics.”

“You saved my Dad from me,” Ginny whispered, surprising all of us. “I killed Mum, but you saved Dad. I want to be able to save people. I never want Him to do that again.” The moment Ginny started to speak, I had decided. I’d do just about anything to ease the pain of the tiny girl holding on to me.

“Right, then; basic dueling lessons and Occlumency practice all around. We’ll talk more about it when we get back to Grimmauld.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Bill said as the girls hugged me and the twins clapped my shoulders. “Charlie and I are still going to be out of Britain, so we’re glad you’re around.”

“It’s not a problem,” I said. “Now, I just need to talk to Dumbledore.”

As I was looking for the headmaster, a voice interrupted me. “So we finally get the chance to meet, Harry. It’s too bad it wasn’t on better terms.”

Remus walked up to me, and as I shook hands with him, I noticed that he bore quite a few scars.

“Most of them are old,” he said, noticing what I was looking at. “Some of them aren’t so old. Remember the man Hermione told you was dueling Bellatrix at the Malfoy’s? That was me. One of the perks of being a werewolf is that I’m notoriously hard to kill, but very good at playing dead. If Bellatrix had known I was a werewolf, I’d probably have gotten a Killing Curse instead of a round of torture.”

I nodded, filing that information away. I didn’t want to talk about the Malfoys with anyone else just yet, so I stayed silent.

"You remind me of Lily," Remus said as we walked in the field. He was very timid, but there was the underlying steel that came from his youth, and being in the first war against Voldemort.

"She was always looking at how to get ahead in school, to know more and know it faster. She would be pleased that has son found a way to do just that; she'd be very proud of you."

"I hope so," I said. "Still, I don't think that it's really gotten me anywhere; just because I know all this magic doesn't mean I know when and where to use it. Maybe I should have just put my head down and done my classes.

"Nonsense!" Remus said, beginning to gesture with his hands as he became more comfortable around me. "What about helping Hermione with the Troll last year, or dealing with Quirrel? No ordinary first year student could have done that, and especially not what you've gone through recently.

“You were faced with superior forces in two well-planned ambushes; you can’t ask for any better than to be alive and in one piece. The Malfoy family was set against you by Voldemort, and while I’m sure that there was a way to prevail without killing anyone, you should be thrilled that you three ended up safely home. The fact that Bellatrix Lestrange was there pretty much ensured bloodshed, so I don’t think things could have went any better than they did. If you didn’t act, it would have gone much worse.

“Harry, regardless of the where you got your abilities, without them you, Pansy and Hermione would be dead. Even if you had survived the Malfoys, everyone at the Burrow would have been killed. Last year, you very likely saved Snape’s life when you fought Quirrel. A lot of people will have their lives spared because Grimmauld is now completely invulnerable to Voldemort.

“It all fits together, so I don’t care whose curses you practice Harry. Your actions deserve high praise.”

“Thanks, sir,” I said. Remus had a way of making you feel very good about yourself. We chatted amicably about my parents and his time at Hogwarts, and I was admonished to call him “Remus” before I left.

My talk with Dumbledore had to wait until after he had dealt with the aftermath of those two days. The annihilation of the Malfoy family left an opportunity for the Order to benefit, and Dumbledore went after it full force. Using polyjuice several Order members impersonated the Malfoys in public areas, making plans to take a long trip. Much noise was made about taking Draco from Hogwarts, and payments were made for an International Portkey to Albania; one of the few countries that did not maintain representatives in the ICW or have standing agreements with international law enforcement groups.

The Malfoy manor and surrounding lands were sold to the Parkinsons privately at Gringotts, and the goblins recorded the sale and filed it in the appropriate vaults. The Parkinsons then closed the entire property off behind heavy wards, and a Fidelius Charm prevented anyone from asking questions about the purchase. The Malfoys were transfigured and buried somewhere on the grounds shortly afterward.

Nearly every galleon of the Malfoy fortune found its way into the Black vaults, using internal transfers at Gringotts. Since there was direct blood relation between the families, the Goblins didn't ask questions. When the money was moved again from the Black Vaults to various other vaults including the Potters, the amounts weren't high enough to arouse the Goblin's suspicions. Income from business partnerships and other endeavors was slowly converted to the Black vaults along with everything else.

Lockheart used his fame to great effect, arranging meetings with and selectively Obliviating everyone from high ranking Ministry officials to the students of Hogwarts; none of Lucius’ business partners would question his appointment of a middle-man in their affairs, and none of Draco's friends would ever question why he never sent them mail or visited them again.

“This is what I do,” he told me. “I run around the world cleaning up messes for people. For everything in my books that I’ve done, there are three that someone else has done that I’ve covered for so that they don’t run into problems. The Defense League hides all their illegal actions behind my enormous white smile. It’s a damn good thing the ladies love it, too; this would be a really shitty job if I had to sleep alone all the time!” Lockheart walked off laughing, heading towards his next “appointment.”

I, on the other hand, walked off to find Hermione, and tell her that the man she idolized was a secret agent and womanizer that had no issues with corrupting 12 year old students.

Are there any muggle policemen reading this? Doesn't the lack of paper trail just hurt your head? I could talk your ear off about the differences between wizards and muggles, but the short of it is that wizarding society places the bulk of accountability on individual citizens, not government bodies or banks, and most of that came from well before Voldemort’s time. You'll hear more about this in later years as I got more involved in larger community.

It was several days before I found myself back at Hogwarts, walking up to the Headmaster’s office.

"Good morning, Harry!" he said, coming down the small stairway from his personal library. "I hope that you have recovered somewhat from recent events. Before you ask, I have not yet uncovered the agent used in switching the Floo destination to the Malfoys; the switch was made as the Hogwarts pathway intersected with the greater network. It would require someone in the maintenance department of the Floo network to do it, but it's next to impossible to scour the department without drawing the attention of the department head, and by extension, the Minister."

"I take it that means we avoid using the Floo for the time being?" I asked. Dumbledore nodded, and we walked over to his desk to sit down.

"It astounds me that Voldemort would use a prominent family like the Malfoys so poorly," he continued. "What absolutely baffles me is how Voldemort entered the Burrow without tripping the wards."

"He couldn't have gotten into them? Voldemort was taunting me about a ‘miscalculation.’" Somehow, I wasn't convinced that Voldemort would be held up by the wards on a house for too long.

"I am absolutely sure," Dumbledore said. "There is no way that Voldemort could penetrate Hogwarts, the Burrow, or any other location I have secured without first tearing down the wards."

I had stopped listening as soon as he had mentioned Hogwarts and the Burrow together. Something clicked in the back of my mind, like a chess piece moving into place. "Shit!" I exclaimed, startling the professor and causing Fawkes to squawk.

"Something has occurred to you, I take it?"

"He has a way through the Hogwarts wards," I said, panic building in my voice. "The basilisk and the Chamber! Is there any reason that he couldn't come in through there?"

"I doubt that he could even think about Hogwarts while you're here--"

"But I wasn't here!" I shouted. "I was at the Malfoys! What if he possessed Ginny while I wasn't here?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes and massaged his temples, a gesture of his frustration. "How has he gotten such detailed information about our wards and where you were going?" he asked out loud. The only answer he got was Fawkes trilling supportively.

We took a trip back to the Chamber, and I “helped” Dumbledore extend his wards to more fully cover the Chamber. It was well after dinner by the time he was satisfied that this little loophole had been covered.

"There are days," he said wearily as we ascended back to his office, "That I wish I was not responsible for so much. Every time I make a mistake, every time the smallest detail escapes my notice, people die.

"What else have I missed, then?" he asked bitterly. "What other piece has fallen into place for Voldemort while I was distracted by the events at the Malfoys, then the events at the Burrow, then cleaning up after those events, then wasting an entire day re-warding the Chamber?"

"Probably the Ministry," I said before I could stop myself. Dumbledore gave me a look of the most profound annoyance, before rubbing his face and turning away.

"Yes, Harry," he answered through his hands, giving his voice an old, tinny quality. "You're probably completely correct. After nearly two weeks of being absent, I will go into the Ministry tomorrow to find that the political field has shifted slightly, and that I will once again need to fight long and drawn out battles in the Wizengamot while I try to prevent the widespread use of the Imperius curse." With a great sigh, he fell into his chair, still cradling his head in his hands.

"Go, Harry. We'll pick up again in two days, after I've checked the school over again, and assessed any possible damage to the Ministry." I stopped to pet Fawkes for a moment before leaving, closing the door quietly behind me.

I had made it halfway back to Ravenclaw tower when someone fell in step beside, me. A small but strong hand took hold of mine, and I felt the familiar weight of someone leaning their head on my shoulder. I couldn't help but smile; only Pansy was reckless enough to just walk up and grab hold of me without announcing herself. Even Hermione and Ginny were careful to make eye contact first.

"This has all gone to hell, hasn't it?" she asked as we passed a series of windows overlooking the grounds.

"I don't know," I replied. "I think that it's stretched the limits of both groups, to be honest. I wonder if anything that Voldemort gained with this is worth the loss of the Malfoys."

"It had to be revenge," Pansy said. "The Malfoys must have done something to make him angry, so he maneuvered to have them killed."

"…Which removed me and Dumbledore from Hogwarts, letting Voldemort possess Ginny, who then traveled to the Burrow where Voldemort asserted control and kept me and therefore Dumbledore busy, which resulted in Dumbledore not being at the Ministry for the last two weeks, which has definitely been exploited."

Pansy shook her head as I rattled off my assessment. "God, we're not ready for this."

We walked on in silence, and my only thought was that Pansy was absolutely right.

7. Home and Castle, Part 2

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: After six billion interruptions, this chapter is ready. Just about 13,000 words as we slip into gear and prepare to play hardball on both sides.

Thanks for the pile of reviews for the last chapter; I always enjoy everyone’s comments. Feel free to ask questions, and I’ll answer as best as I can.

YEAR 2: Home and Castle, Part 2

=========================

With January's mistake came February's caution. The Malfoy's vast fortune certainly helped in this regard. I very quickly learned the hierarchy of magical transportation, as our inability to safely use the Floo system would soon prove as crippling as removing the public subway and bus systems from a muggle city.

The Knight Bus is a privately owned business started by Ernie Prang and Stan Shunpike. Using an old double deck muggle bus, they painstakingly applied the charms to enable site-to-site apparition and spatial distortion charms. The whole thing is monstrously complex, and I seriously doubt that anyone but Ernie Prang himself could drive the thing. Given my complaints so far, they're obviously still working out the kinks in the charms, and the whole business was less than five years old at the time. Naturally, this ranks as the lowest grade of wizarding transportation, in my opinion.

Next we have --or had-- the Floo network, as the major workhorse to get from place to place. Everywhere from private locations to Diagon Alley to Hogwarts (in certain situations) was accessible by the Floo network. The Ministry charges a modest fee to any house with a connected fireplace for the upkeep of the network, and Floo powder is available in Diagon Alley for about 4 Knuts a pound, making this the most common form of travel.

For those with the skill and stamina there is Apparition, which is an internal magic that allows instantaneous travel from point-to-point. If you're a strong wizard, you can even take another person or two with you. If you're good at it, and don't need to leave now, you can slow the Apparition effect to "fade" out rather than just disappear and reappear, which has the much desired effect of avoiding the telltale "crack!" of air rushing in to fill the space that your body just vacated, or the "pop!" of air being displaced by your sudden arrival. Distance is a factor in Apparition, and the larger the load, including passengers, the shorter the distance that can be traveled. A middle-aged adult who's a very experienced Apparitioner can usually make a solo trip from London to Hogsmeade in Scotland so that they can visit their children at Hogwarts, but anything farther than that is sketchy at best. Even Dumbledore prefers Portkeys for longer-distance travel, and for any travel where he's responsible for more than himself; too much can go wrong, including (but not limited to) leaving parts of yourself or your passengers behind, which hurts just as much as getting it sliced off.

Portkeys are items specifically enchanted for single-use or multi-use site-to-site travel; the farther the destination, the stronger the enchantment needed. The average Portkey for local travel takes about ten to twenty minutes to create for the average Ministry-employed item enchanter, and the Ministry keeps a few common locations (Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, etc.) stocked, with a price tag of around 2 galleons -- the cost of convenience. International Portkeys or Portkeys to specific locations are made to order, and the cost is based on the time it takes to layer the enchantments. A Portkey New York from London takes about an hour to make, and costs 25 Galleons -- the Ministry hourly standard for an enchanter's time. Needless to say, any enchanter that could make the Portkey faster would be glad to do so... for a price. Since the enchantments are made to specifications including the number of passengers and the maximum range from its destination it can operate at, it's easy to catch any imperfections during the creation process. Add in a soft landing and no effort from the traveling wizard, and Portkeys are the luxury travel of the wizarding world. If you've got the money, it's the most secure, effortless and comfortable travel publicly available.

Dumbledore is a licensed Ministry enchanter for Portkeys, and his ability to create standard ones in less than five seconds is one of his most envied abilities: Luxury travel at a moment's notice for him and anyone traveling with him. General courtesy prevents most people from approaching Dumbledore to make Portkeys for them, but he's been known to do it on occasion, and he charges the Ministry's going rates to prevent it from becoming a habit.

When it comes to warded sites such as Hogwarts and Grimmauld Place, Floo travel and Portkeys are the only direct methods of entrance to the sites: Floo travel naturally ends with you inside the building in question, and Portkeys can be "keyed" to bypass the wards (the whole point of the name, really). Those people who Apparate need to walk in from the edge of the warded site to their destination. The Knight Bus registers to wards as one gigantic Apparition, so wards will keep it out, too. Floos can be password protected to prevent unauthorized entry, but the network itself is public.

Finishing off, the ultimate form of transport is traveling with the aid of a phoenix. Fawkes can travel anywhere in the world instantly, end of story. Most wards mean absolutely nothing to him, which is a major weapon in Dumbledore's arsenal, and the reason why Voldemort keeps his location very well-hidden. If Dumbledore is your enemy and knows where you live, you're pretty much done for. Add to this the relative immortality of a phoenix and their overall magical strength, and it’s not hard to understand why phoenixes have been seen as a manifestation of Divinity.

The Order had the great fortune of having access to not only Dumbledore's Portkeys, but also to Fawkes. Once it had been hammered home that public travel was not to be trusted, Dumbledore went out of his way to supply customized Portkeys, and Fawkes was always quick to volunteer his services. The Malfoy fortune went into the purchasing of several wizarding homes for various Order families, and all of them were warded and secured as quickly as possible. For any family that was willing to forego their dinner parties, security usually included the Fidelius.

Remus explained the charm to me one day while we were sitting by the fire at Grimmauld. “The Fidelius was designed for keeping spoken and written information secret. For every person that already knows the secret that the Fidelius is going to protect, the power drain to cast the spell increases exponentially as the spell places restrictions on every single person who could potentially speak or write the secret. After about a dozen people or so, it's well beyond the average wizard. If it's beyond twenty, even Dumbledore can't do it --so he says, anyways. What’s more, everyone who knows the secret needs to be present when the Fidelius is cast or the spell fails.

“Dumbledore and Flitwick spent two stressful years in the early 70’s modifying the charm to work on locations as well. In order to meet Dumbledore’s power constraints, the charm needed to be used on new, unadvertised places of residence; hiding the secret that "such and such a family can be found at this location" is dead easy if no one currently knows the location. Once the charm is in place, it can filter how that information is dispensed without any further issue.

“There are limitations to this charm, kind of like your mother’s protection when you’re outside this house. The charm protects against the information spreading by word-of-mouth, writing, and –most importantly-- magical forms of discerning location or direct travel that include anyone other than those who are 'in' on the secret. The designated Secret Keeper is the only person that can use the above methods freely. However, if your enemies search every house on the street, they will eventually find you; you don't just disappear or become physically unreachable, just like Voldemort has no issues attacking me once he's in front of me. The Fidelius masks everything else about the location though, including magical signatures and wards, so for anyone who doesn't know the secret it could take weeks or months of drudge work to ferret out someone's location, and then you have to deal with defenses that you can’t analyze even when you’re right inside them. Both the Ministry and Voldemort have better things to be doing than finding armored needles in haystacks.”

“Okay, I get it. You know, the only sure-fire way I can think of for someone to penetrate a Fidelius-covered wizarding home would be to drop a nuke on the area and see which houses are still standing.” I smirked at Remus’ look of horror. “Any undamaged house that registers as completely non-magical and empty will be protected by Dumbledore’s custom Fidelius. Then you have to attack each house, and try to disable an unknown series of wards that you know are there, but have to guess blindly at, all while the occupants of the house are attacking you while enjoying the protection that their wards afford them. Repeat until you find the right set of occupants, and you’re done.”

“Right…” he said, shaking his head. “Well, since the wizarding community in general takes a dim view of muggle technology and considers their weapons anathema, annihilating a city to expose wizarding homes using a muggle weapon wasn't going to happen anytime soon, and especially not from Voldemort and the Ministry.

“And you need to stop casually referring to nuclear weapons,” he warned. “Hiroshima caused widespread panic. Not only was the entire city devastated, but wizards in and around the city took it just as badly as muggles; it was the first time an ages that so many wizards had been killed or horribly injured by muggles. Some fast research on Einstein's work was done, as well as closely monitoring the radiation in Hiroshima and the nuclear tests done by various countries afterwards.

"In only a handful of years, a low-powered ward designed to repel excess heat, moving air and matter beyond a certain speed, and radiation outside of the normal spectrum was developed, and wizards around the world erected it as fast as they could around communities and isolated homes."

If only the muggle leaders knew that: The five-year rise and fall of nuclear supremacy.

"Part of the reason that Death Eaters existed in the first place was the inability of muggles to harm wizards, so nuclear weapons came as a real shock." Remus said. "The defeat of the nuclear threat was followed by a huge surge of Death Eater activity as a sort of revenge against muggles for causing such panic amongst wizarding communities. It was actually that wave of Death Eater activity that Voldemort capitalized on."

"Yeah, Sirius told me about that," I said. "Is the nuclear thing the reason that the Ministry was so tolerant of Death Eaters?"

Remus nodded. "It’s part of it. Death Eaters were around way before nuclear weapons, and it certainly helped their cause."

"Is there anything that muggles have that works against wizards?" I asked, interested.

"Well, you've seen that guns work if the wizard isn't prepared, and knives and swords work about the same, but other than that, not really. Our spells and wards can stop their vehicles, their wired and broadcast communications, their weapons, and very easily affect their minds."

"Maybe I'm going to get in trouble with this one, but aren’t the Death Eaters pretty much right, then?"

Remus looked away and scratched his chin, frowning. After a moment, he looked as though he had found his words, and turned back to me. "Alright, Harry, let's take that viewpoint. At the very worst, muggles could be viewed as pack animals: We could harness them for work, sort of like muggles do to animals. But in that case, they'd still be cattle. I know that none of us would bat an eye at a cow's death, but would you go around killing them just for fun? What would be the point?"

"Okay, I get it: No reason to hurt them."

"Exactly," Remus said, nodding. "We’ve sectioned off entire parts of the world from them; parts that they can’t see or map, even with their satellites. You might even go as far as to say we took the best parts of the world –all the mystical places of power and beauty—and abandoned the rest to the muggles. There’s absolutely no reason not to stay in our private world and live our lives and let the muggles live theirs. It's not like they can hurt us anyways."

Now that made complete and perfect sense. For the first time, I had a logical justification for the war besides a general feeling of "we're good, they're bad." It suddenly made so much sense why pureblood families would actually bother to help the muggles: They weren’t helping muggles so much as trying to purge what they saw as an immoral and unnecessary part of wizarding society. To hurt muggles in the name of 'superiority' was sort of like watching street kids torturing animals in downtown muggle London: Disgusting and completely unjustified.

“You know, in a way I’m glad that my parents are dead,” Hermione said after told her about my discussion with Remus. “It would be ten times harder to be a witch when I’d have to watch my parents get treated like cripples around most wizards and like … insects around the purebloods.”

“They’d have had people who’d respect them,” I said, gesturing to the rest of the house. Hermione smiled sadly and cupped my cheek in her hand.

“You’re sweet, Harry, but even the Order doesn’t have a problem with leaving muggles on the other side of their wards.”

That also made complete and perfect sense, though the thought was depressing.

"Speaking of my parents, are you done with my dad's gun, Harry?"

"Actually, yes," I said, pulling the gun out of my bag. "Here's the gun." I then pulled a reasonable sized box out. "That’s about a hundred bullets, give or take." Then I pulled out another identical pistol, and another box of bullets. "These ones are for me. I want you to teach me how to shoot properly."

"Where did you get another gun?" Hermione asked, her eyes going quite wide. "They're illegal; there's no way to just buy them."

"You're absolutely right," I said, grinning and twirling my wand. "I didn't buy anything. I haven't been anywhere that I could have, anyways."

"You made that?" she said, catching on right away. "That's amazing! It looks just like Dad's!"

"It's the bullets that took more time," I said, indicating the boxes. "Not so much for the number as trying to duplicate gunpowder; that took forever. Once I figured out the gunpowder, I spent a whole bunch of time working the Universals to make the stuff. There are a couple of good charms that give floating visual displays for the composition and dimensions of objects, and I just kept adjusting the Transfigurations until the readouts were exactly the same. I did that for the gun, and again for each of the bullets.

"I think I can safely call myself a master of .38 caliber ammo."

"Your permanent conjury is probably the thing I'm the most jealous of," Hermione said as she inspected my gun. The revolver was an exact duplicate of Hermione's gun, with the exception of the serial number, which I replaced with my name. "I like the idea of being able to make whatever I want, whenever I want."

"Yeah, well, it's not easy; most of the stuff I try to make looks like shit, and complicated substances like say, gunpowder, take forever to get right. If I could have just bought a gun, I would have.”

-----

As with all of my problems, I eventually took my moral dilemma to my sessions with Dumbledore, who produced the same sad smile as Hermione.

“Let’s concentrate on ridding ourselves of Voldemort first,” he said. “Then, should we still have the energy, we can try to change the world. God knows it needs changing.”

That’s three people who made complete and perfect sense, and none of it made me feel any better for the future.

Depressing lessons like these were easy to learn that month; after the Battle of the Burrow, the entire Order suddenly became very cynical and security-conscious. Moody's cries of "Constant Vigilance" suddenly weren't so annoying, as he would likely have been the only person that the Malfoy's couldn't have caught using the Floo network. Even he was lenient on the incident at the Burrow, though.

"There's only ever been one case 'sides Voldemort on possession," he said while we waited in Dumbledore's office one day. "Took nearly a year for a victim to come to us, and another three months to catch the slippery bastard. Longest 36 hours of my life: Took 'em to trial right away, got him sentenced to death, and didn't leave him alone 'till the Dementor sucked out his soul, the son of a bitch.

"You did well with the Weasley girl," he said clapping my shoulder. "Only way to kill a possessor is to kill the possessed body. You did the right thing -- don't give me that look, Potter! Listen -- I know she’s your friend, but there were lives at stake. Besides, even though you didn't pull it off, you're what, 12? The fact that the curse actually hit him must've scared him shitless.

"What you told Voldemort with that curse is that he can't pull that shit around you again, or he's takin’ a one-way trip to Hell. The next time you catch him in someone else's body, you get that curse right, and end this war for good."

Spoken with the callousness of a veteran soldier; still, Moody's little rant had me thinking. If I had managed to kill Ginny, would this all be over? Was Voldemort truly that vulnerable when in someone else's body? I brought it up with Hermione while when we met later that day to do our rounds of the castle and grounds.

"Voldemort seemed to be able to control the basilisk and another person at the same time," Hermione said as we walked down a fourth floor corridor. “If he's mostly in the basilisk, then I don't think he's really vulnerable."

"It's possible that he's actually both places at once," I said, Dumbledore's theories cycling through my head. "With advanced Occlumency, he's likely able to have two completely different trains of thought going. If he's present in the possessed body at all, it might be a window straight to him through the basilisk's natural resistances."

Hermione shrugged, waving her wand to repair minor scuffs on a suit of display armor. "Maybe, but if he's attached to the basilisk in any way, I still don't think a single Killing Curse would do it."

I nodded, and went back to scouring the floor with an area effect version of Scourgify, watching as the hall regained color and luster about five feet in front of me as I walked. Hermione was easily caught up to me in overall magical theory. Her natural ability to absorb information and crunch numbers was staggering, and I had long since accepted that she'd be another Dumbledore when she was older. I was still teaching her the things I learned from Dumbledore, but that would change soon. Hermione's ability with fourth-year material was almost to the point where she could consistently cast everything, and I expected her to test out of her practical classes by Easter break. Once Dumbledore started teaching her directly, she'd be leaps and bounds beyond me in understanding, and then it would be her teaching me.

-----

Speaking of teaching, my first ‘lesson’ teaching the others how to duel taught me a couple of lessons about how fast information travels. After securing permission from Dumbledore and a spare classroom to use, I gathered Fred, George, Ginny, Hermione, Pansy, and Luna for dueling practice. Pansy I included because she was family; Luna I included because Hermione and I liked her, and I wanted her to be able to take care of herself.

I was nervous as hell to be teaching, even just my friends. Still, Dumbledore’s words were only a mental nudge away, so I began to talk the way he started with me.

"Alright, then, let's see what I can teach you about dueling. The first thing that you need to know about a duel is that it starts way before you close up with your opponent. Dumbledore taught me there are three stages to dueling of any kind: Setup, midrange, and rapid exchange.

During setup you're a large distance from your opponent or goal, so you have time to get ready. If you're using enhancement potions, take them; if you're going to put on or activate enchanted equipment, do it; if you've got a few protective charms to layer, cast them. This sounds like what you do before a duel, but it's a lot better to think about it as if you're already in the duel. It keeps your attention on your opponent, and it hammers into your head that unless you're caught completely by surprise, you should prepare for any duel. You never go in half-arsed."

The twins and girls followed my movements as I paced around the front of the classroom. I was very caught up in my speech, so I wasn't paying as much attention to the room as I should have been.

"Midrange is inside casting range, but still well apart from each other. This is where you use any of the slow heavy-hitting curses, as well as anything that's debilitating. At this range, you should be using Impedimenta to slow your enemies down. That curse is easy to deflect or shield against, but you can adjust it to affect an area, which is where you want to pin your enemy. Once they're slowed up, use the nonliving-nonliving Universal Transfiguration on the ground to spike it up and keep them inside that area, leaving just enough opening for you to keep firing spells at them.

"You see, the goal is to keep all your opponents at midrange, where the most powerful part of anyone's arsenal can be used: Transfiguration on the surrounding area, conjuring and animating objects to assist you, or complex combinations of spells that produce devastating effects that no single spell could."

I stopped and waved my wand, conjuring a dozen temporary spinning silver discs. I quickly levitated them and shaped them into blades, and set them to whirling around my body. Using my wand, I quickly demonstrated that I could control how close they flew, and sent them flying into the door, quivering in a fairly accurate five-point star shape.

I still wasn't looking at my audience.

"I can manage that in a little over two seconds now, and it’s a real deterrent to anyone who likes to get up close. Finite Incantatem won't work on that orbital charm and there are five different variations to the spell, so unless you’re willing to play a guessing game with counter spells, you’re stuck with destroying my objects or staying out of range.

"Since we're talking about real opponents, midrange is where the Avada Kedavra gets used, too. Without getting too into this, you have to use the incantation if you want the curse to work, and six syllables is way too long to be using when you're close to opponents. Out at midrange, you basically use it like muggle artillery or like the twins use Bludgers, to keep your opponent from getting too comfortable behind any of their set defenses. Area-effect Stunners and other high-powered, high-syllable vocal spells should be used out here. In other words, all the fun stuff happens at midrange."

Everyone was still quiet, and I could see them out of the corner of my eye as I paced. The room felt a little different now, though, but I pushed the distraction away, needing to finish this and get onto spells.

"Once you close up with your opponent, you're in rapid exchange. The only spells that you'll have time to pull here are direct attacks, deflectors, and shields. Like the examples you saw last week, duelists are likely to choose one attacking spell and stick with it. For a standard duel Petrificus and Expelliarmus are more than enough; once you hit with it, your opponent's done. If it's a real fight, then you'd follow up with Stupefy. I recommend using either the Bind or Disarm before the Stunner, though; they're a lot easier to fire off quickly.

"For any practicing we do in here, it'll all be Expelliarmus. If it were a real fight, you'd likely be using Reducto, the fastest and strongest offensive curse Hogwarts teaches."

I paused for a moment to demonstrate the Disarm, Bind, Stunner, and Reductor against the wall, showing the difference in speed of my casting. The wall was in pretty poor condition after the Reductors, but nothing I couldn't repair on the way out.

"A strong Reducto will bleed through shielding charms, so you'll be hurting your opponent even if they're blocking. Hermione, you got very lucky in your fight against Draco –his Reductors aren’t so hot; Pansy, Draco wasn’t so lucky against you, and you can bet that’s why his shields started to slip. Reducto can be counter-cursed and deflected, however, so don't rely on it solely. It's better to use the bind and disarm rapidly to force your opponent to use shields, and then punish them with Reductors for doing it. Rinse and repeat until your opponent gets slow, and then end the duel with Stupefy.

"Shields are your last resort; it's what you put up when you absolutely cannot dodge or deflect. Protego's the most common, since its advanced form will reflect some spells back at the caster. There are other shields that are useful in rapid exchange, though; there are three or four others I want to cover with you. Anti-shield spells like Reducto and especially Crucio will make you wish you never heard of shields, though, so be careful.

"Knowing how to roll and dodge around in close quarters is your most powerful defense, and deflector charms become your best friends. Which one you use depends on where you want the spell to deflect, how wide you need to deflect it, and the relative power of the spell that's coming in. Hermione can tell you all about having Quirrel reverse her Binding hex right back at her; that was a strong deflector charm.

“Area-effect spells can't be deflected, but shields work against those. Spells that pass through shields can generally be deflected. There are only a couple of deflectors that work against Crucio, though, so you have to be on your toes for that one. Remember: They have to say it to cast it, so you'll get some warning.

“Only one deflector charm out there can deflect the Avada Kedavra, and by 'deflect' I mean 'nudge over a little,' so it's still mostly up to your dodging ability, but against that spell, every little bit helps. It's pretty high-powered, so we're going to skip it until way later.

"Okay, that's pretty much everything there is to say about dueling. Now, let's get some practice in on how to actually do it, so that all of this starts to make sense." Clapping my hands with finality, I turned to look at my audience... and nearly fainted.

The room was packed solid with more than a hundred students from every house, and more than a few teachers. Once I was done, everyone erupted into applause, especially Hermione and Pansy up front. I viciously forced my surprise down and pulled up a sense of calm. I must not show weakness. Not in front of the school.

"Professors, is there any place that we can use that's open enough for this many students? This room's obviously too small."

Of all the professors present, including McGonagall, the only one who wasn't shocked at my request was Snape. He smirked at me and tilted his head, looking like he wanted to laugh.

"Certainly," he said. "I think that the Great Hall should suffice, once we move the tables. Shall we?" He turned and strode out the back door of the classroom, leaving it to the rest of the professors to organize the students to follow.

-----

It's amazing what chaos can come from Expelliarmus, Protego, and Declino -- the easiest deflector charm. With just those three spells, the Great Hall was a horrible mess. Over a hundred students learned or reviewed those three spells, and then used them against a partner.

Can't you just imagine the horror? People getting disarmed from across the room from a hex that was deflected three different times; younger students cowering behind their shield instead of practicing the deflect-and-evade movement that I was demonstrating for them; If the professors hadn't been there, I would've died from frustration. As it was, the student body was so scared of Snape and McGonagall that the incidents were kept to a minimum, and people generally did what they were told –and still it was chaos.

It surprised me that Snape let me keep control of the session. It was obvious that I hadn't expected more than my immediate friends to show up, and I was perpetually confused at how so many other students had shown up.

Even though it started completely unorganized, by the time we called it a day --more than two hours later-- every student in the hall knew those three spells, and some could even use them fast enough to count. Leaving in groups, the students went off to their afternoon activities, leaving me and my friends alone and exhausted.

"One of the most important lessons known to man," Snape said to me as he passed me and my friends, "Is learning to surround yourself with people who know how to keep their overactive mouths shut. It avoids needless complications such as this was. Good day, Potter."

Snape walked off, engaging Flitwick in a conversation about the students' performance. I, on the other hand, looked back at my friends. Fred and George were as red as their hair, so that's two. Pansy and Hermione were normal looking, but I didn't need confirmation to know that those two could keep things to themselves. Ginny looked angry at her brothers, and I imagined that she wouldn't be one to advertise, if only to keep from answering questions about why she was interested in dueling.

Luna, on the other hand, was staring at Snape's retreating back, as though he had said something odd.

"Luna, did you tell anyone about my lessons?" I asked, drawing her attention back to me.

"Only the girls in my year in Ravenclaw," she said. "They were very interested to know what Harry Potter might be teaching, so naturally they asked me all about it. It was very nice of them, it's the first time they were interested in anything I said. It was--"

"-- the stupidest, most air-headed thing you could have done," Pansy finished for her. "Are you still six that you have to tell everyone around you exactly what you're doing? You're supposed to be damned smart, Lovegood! Did what Professor Snape said make sense to you, or do we have to explain to you one syllable at a time how idiotic you are?"

"Pansy, please," I said, trying to head her off.

"Come on, Harry! She doesn't need defending! This could have been a great session on dueling; did you know that, Luna? We could have learned tons, had plenty of spells to practice with. Now, because of you, we were stuck with the disarming charm, the weakest shield, and the most useless deflector, just to watch a whole bunch of first and second years stuff it up!"

"Hey, now--" George started, but Pansy talked right over him.

"You two weren't a problem! You two brought third and fourth years, and the Quidditch teams! She brought babies!"

"We're first and second years, too," Ginny said quietly.

"But we're better than they are!" Pansy shouted. "They don't even know how to clean themselves yet!"

"They have just as much a right to learn as any," Luna said unperturbed.

"But I am not a professor, and am not obligated to teach them." My voice was low, meant only to carry to Luna, but the edge in my voice caught everyone’s attention. "This was only meant to be for my friends, so that they could defend themselves."

"And if danger came to the school, what then?" she asked, her unblinking eyes staring at me intently.

"I would be with my friends and family, protecting them."

"And you'd leave the others to suffer?" Fuck you and your logical guilt trip, I thought angrily.

"I would protect my friends and family. If everyone was doing the same thing, they'd all be fine."

"Some of us don't know how," she whispered. “Are we to be punished for that?”

"That's why I invited you. You want to teach your friends, go right ahead. But the people with me right now are the only people I'm teaching."

"I'm sorry," she said, her large, glassy eyes filling with tears. "I—I just thought… I'll leave if you want." Women’s avoidance tactic number two: Offer to leave to appeal to their loyalty.

She tried to walk past me and I stepped over, pulling her into a hug. "No," I said. "You belong here."

Luna stood in my embrace, arms at her sides. I could feel her shivering, and a sense of deja vu came over me. I looked over at Pansy and Hermione, only to see them looking back. Hermione looked curious, while Pansy looked annoyed. But I had held each girl similarly, and this small, shaking Ravenclaw had obviously lost someone that she cared for. Well, I wasn’t waiting all year like I did for Hermione, and I had just the ace up my sleeve necessary to cut through all the drama.

I moved Luna back a step and took my glasses off, holding them up to Luna. "Look at my glasses, Luna. Tell me what you see."

There was a heavy silence as she stared at the glasses, and her tears began to flow like rivers. "Mum!" Luna said with a strangled cry, and she grabbed my glasses from me. "Mum, oh mum..." I closed my arms around her as her legs gave out, and I held her up as she cried. It wasn't the sniffles of Hermione, whose pain had passed and was now behind barriers of mental magic. It wasn't the prideful trail of tears that Pansy kept as she convinced herself that grieving –or even mentioning a name-- was pointless. It was the painful, wracking sobs of someone who had never properly healed and whose emotional walls had been blown apart entirely.

Fred and George had miserable looks on their faces, and Ginny looked devastated. Hermione had the blank look of Occlumency-use, and was still looking at me. I motioned to the Weasleys with my head, and she nodded and turned to whisper words of encouragement to her adopted family, who gathered around her.

Pansy slowly came up to Luna, and took her from me, handing me back me glasses. She knelt in front of the crying young witch, and began to whisper in her ear.

Thank you, Pansy. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I breathed a quiet sigh of relief, and sat down at one of the tables, fumbling with my glasses. My mother and father looked up at me with smiles on their faces, and I smiled back. My blackened palms itched as they touched the lenses, feeling a trace of the power they had once channeled into Voldemort.

They looked hilarious in a way: If you saw my hands from a distance, you might think that I needed to clean them badly. If you saw them up close, then the black flickers of flame trailing up the sides of my palms, fingers, and forearms made it look like I had decided to outdo muggle Goths and tattooed the entire bottoms of my hands.

More than any muggle church exorcist ever would, I had held the face of the Devil in my hands, and burned it with purity beyond comprehension. It hadn't occurred to me until just then how profound it was that my mother's sacrifice gave me that power. As Pansy comforted Luna, and Hermione comforted her siblings, I stared at my hands with a look of wonder on my face.

"Deep thoughts, Harry?" said a voice from beside me. Professor Dumbledore sat down at my left; Fawkes alighting on the bench on Dumbledore's other side, trilling happily.

"Contemplating the existence of God," I said, holding up my hands.

“Isn’t it amazing what something as simple as a mother’s love can become?” Dumbledore said, smiling as he looked at my hands.

“Yeah… Professor, you don’t expect me to keep teaching the entire school, do you?”

Dumbledore chuckled deeply. “Of course not, Harry. I’ll talk with Gilderoy, and see if we can’t get some dueling taught in Defense this year. You may need to show up now and again, but I would think that you’re free to teach your friends in peace.” His face became serious again, and he looked down at my hands. “Is there anything on your mind that I can help you with?”

“I… I don’t know,” I said, trying to form my thoughts into words. “After the Burrow I feel… I feel like I’m on the streets in Little Whinging again. Open, I guess; exposed.”

“Vulnerable, afraid, powerless.” Dumbledore’s eyes found mine, and I caught a fleeting glimpse of the tremendous pain that hid behind his impenetrable mental barriers.

Every time I make a mistake, people die, he had told me. Every time…

“Yeah, exactly.”

“This is the true damage that Voldemort causes,” Dumbledore said, squeezing my shoulder firmly. “Not the death and destruction itself, but the fear and despair that comes of it. For those who are weak, he is too powerful to confront. For those who are strong, why raise your voice or fist when those you would fight for perish regardless?

“You are merely human, Harry. You said to Miss Lovegood that you would defend your loved ones. If the people you love are dead, will you fight on? To avenge them, perhaps, or for others that still survive? Or, as most people do, will you simply hang your head low, and walk away?”

“That’s not what I said.” I was still staring at my hands, but I could feel both Dumbledore and Fawkes gazing at me. “Maybe it’s how it came out, though.”

“What did you mean, Harry?”

I took a deep breath, trying to re-phrase the words in my head. “If… everyone, and I mean everyone… fights for their … err, loved ones, then everyone’s fighting, right? If everyone’s fighting, then nobody’s running, and no one’s afraid.”

“Wise words, Harry; unity is indeed an enviable goal. But consider the war we now face, where families are divided, and the man behind the mask may be your own brother. What then?”

I had no answers, and so I kept looking down at my hands and my glasses, to my smiling parents and my itching palms.

-----

"Damn, my head hurts," I moaned as I dropped into a seat in the Ravenclaw common room. As I sat, I quickly cast a mild repulsion charm that Professor Dumbledore had helped me alter. The charm was keyed so that Hermione and Luna --the only two Ravenclaws I would never turn away-- could approach me. Everyone else would find me intimidating, suddenly remember important things to do or people to see, or however else their brain processed the subliminal message of "go away." I set the perimeter of the charm to just larger than the common room itself, so that anyone who chose to stay in the room would leave me alone.

The other Ravenclaws tromped into the room after me, and just as I had wanted, everyone dispersed to do their homework or talk with friends, leaving me alone in my corner.

"I would think that some of these people would thank you for that lesson," Hermione said as she came over to me, squishing in beside me on the oversized chair. "It's kind of rude to just ignore you."

"Repulsion charm," I mumbled, indicating the room with my finger.

"Oh. OH! Harry, that's horrible!" she said, smacking my arm. "Some of them must be going insane trying to find you."

"They can find me later," I said, running my hand through Hermione's hair. Any further protests were silenced as she pressed her head against my hand, not unlike an attention-seeking Mrs. Norris.

"More," she said. "Mmm.... You don't do this often enough."

"If you say so," I said with a smirk, running both hands through her hair. Last year, this would have been impossible to do; I'd have caught 3000 snags on the way through, and Hermione would be screaming in pain. This year, I have yet to see Hermione without her hair nicely combed, and usually done in a basic French braid to keep it out of the way. Even braided as it was, her hair was loose enough to run my fingers through, scratching her scalp lightly, and eliciting murmurs of pleasure from my normally reserved girlfriend.

Braided hair was an accepted norm amongst witches in the wizarding world. Every witch was expected to have long hair, and unlike muggles with long hair, it was very easy to keep your hair thick and healthy. There was a charm for nearly every hairstyle known, and quite a few styles that I don't think would be possible without magic.

A witch will generally keep her hair braided or in a bun to keep it out of the way. On formal nights out, a witch will minimize the braiding to let her hair fall down naturally, or use some outlandishly complex style designed to gain maximum attention. A witch like Pansy, who kept her hair in a short bob, was a rebel in the wizarding world in the same manner a muggle girl would be with a dozen facial piercings and tattoos.

Wizards were expected to keep their hair above the shoulders. Dumbledore's long-hair look is only acceptable if you grow the beard to match the mane. I could never see myself with a beard like that, so I imagined that my hair would stay pretty short.

Our moment lasted until Luna came over sat down in front of the chair. I let Hermione sit up, and she waved her wand to tighten the braid. I wondered if we would have a continuation of our near argument, but Luna started in on one of her fictitious creatures, and the evening passed in peaceful perplexity.

-----

“We may as well finish off the deep history of this entire mess,” Dumbledore said as we sat in his office. “Wizards have always been a somewhat ‘superior’ form of human. Mythological characters such as Hercules, Achilles, Odysseus, Siegfried and the like were all based off of wizards, though they performed few, if any, rituals.”

“But they were stronger, faster… I get it.” Dumbledore nodded, and continued.

“Internal magics were well known for thousands of years, and those with rare gifts, such as the Sight, became Oracles to the masses. Extremely gifted wizards might have managed accidental magics as you have, or perhaps even greater. That kind of power is very rare, however; there were few wizards of my caliber, or Voldemort’s, in history, and none would have had the background necessary to produce the complex effects that you might expect of me. Magic was a far simpler thing back then.

“As the ages progressed and rituals became more and more common and complex, the notion of a wizard as a manipulator of elements arose, and the job of warfare was left to the muggles as the one time champions of war turned to more mystical pursuits.

“By the middle ages, any wizard born to wizards was trained in mystic arts and rituals and would either make their own way, assist their master, or perhaps advise powerful muggles. Only the rare few muggleborn ever became true champions to muggle causes.”

“Okay, so wizards went from being super-soldiers to advisors to kings.” I said. “Seems fairly straight forward; muggles get most of their ideas about wizards from this time, then.”

“I agree. By the time Hogwarts was founded, only a rare few wizards, such as Merlin, were trusted by muggle kingdoms. Gryffindor was another; his bloodline reached as far back as the Greeks, perhaps intertwining with stories of Achilles and his Myrmidons, and Leonidas and his Spartans. He embraced the concept of the warrior-wizards of old, and sought their return. Unlike any other pureblooded wizard of the time, he wore the plate armor, shield, and arming sword of a muggle knight, and won the love and respect of all muggles in his travels. He carried none of the accepted apparel of a pure-blooded wizard of high standing, and so his reception amongst wizards was mixed.”

“Wouldn’t that have left him a little under-prepared for a duel?” I asked, deeply interested in this very candid history lesson.

"There weren't wands in that time period, remember." Dumbledore motioned to the sword sitting above the mantle in Dumbledore’s office. The look on my face as I put two and two together and realized that the sword on Dumbledore’s wall was actually Gryffindor’s sword must have been priceless. "It was a most unorthodox choice, but the sword was etched in the necessary runes and made for a reasonable staff, and so Godric was as well-equipped as any wizard was."

"Right,” I said stupidly, still getting over the implied identity of the sword. “No wands.”

"Here, Harry: Bring your wand closer, and I'll show you something." Dumbledore tapped the tip of my wand with his, and I watched in wonder as my wand split apart from the top of the handle to the tip in four even quarters and spread back like a lily. At the center of the wand was a thin wooden column running up from the handle to where the tip should be. That column again separated into four even thinner circular strands of wood running evenly spaced in a diamond formation around the center hollow and merging into a column again just before the tip. Tightly rolled and secured in the hollow was the phoenix-feather core, magical power pulsing up and down in red and gold colors.

The space between the core column and the outer shell was filled with wide paper-thin strips of wood layered around each other like long petals of a flower, each covered in various runes of power. Bands of gold connected the runes in odd formations, making each wood strip look like a chaotic mystical circuit board. These strips bent gracefully away from the core, so that as I held my wand vertically, it looked like a wooden replica of a giant flower in full bloom.

"You see, there is a little more your wand than a stick and a feather."

"Wow," I said, amazed. It reminded me very much of a computer: A central processor, circuit boards, and the ability to take input and generate a different kind of output. All of a sudden, the difficulty of Arithmancy and Runes made a hell of a lot more sense.

Dumbledore laughed out loud at my comparison when I told him. "Only you would compare wand-craft to muggle technology, Harry. I see your point, though; the only difference is that you are supplying the power as well as the input.

"A wand is a complex ritual matrix that routes your magical power along preset channels as directed by your movements, effectively enacting a full ritual inside the wand in a fraction of a second and channeling the resulting effect though the tip and toward the specified target.

"We speak very highly of the accomplishments of the Founders, but with that wand you can do in seconds what would have taken even the ingenious Rowena Ravenclaw minutes or even hours to accomplish through Old Ritual."

"That's amazing. I thought that my wand was solid wood except for a feather in the center."

"It is, Harry."

"But how?"

Dumbledore waved his wand at the chair beside me, shattering it into splinters. "How is it that we can make that chair whole again, Harry?" Right. Magic. Duh.

"So, a wand is a specific type of wood with various runes and gold pathways layered all the way through it, surrounding a core that’s taken from a magical creature, all sealed back up into a solid stick and then carved to look nice. Is that about right?” Dumbledore nodded, and I blinked a few times, still processing the information.

"Who the hell thought of all that?" I asked finally, gesturing at my flower of a wand. "Seriously, someone decided one day to peel a stick like an onion and write all over it, then seal it back up and see if it works?"

"It took a long time to develop," Dumbledore said. "The modern wand has only been in place for the last 300 years or so. Rowena Ravenclaw was one of the pioneers of Arithmantic theory, the entire point of which was the miniaturization and quickening of magical rituals, so that more immediate and effective results could be gained. What you have in your hand is the result of more than 700 years of Arithmantic evolution and some very creative woodworkers."

With a wave from Dumbledore's wand, the 'petals' curled and fused together, and the shell pulled back up, sealing again into a solid stick of wood. Red and gold sparks shot from the rounded tip, and I imagined that the wand was 'rebooting' itself. I was a little puzzled as to why Dumbledore stopped to show me this. I knew I was supposed to be getting something here, but I wasn't sure what. Well, when in doubt...

"Okay, so wands are hand-held microsecond multi-purpose Rituals that we base all of our modern magical theory around. I understand better than before, but I think I always kind of got that. Why did you show me that, and why don’t we learn that in school?"

"Students learn about it in the Spell Creation NEWT; it’s really pointless trivia before then. I’ve shown you that for a completely different reason, though. I want you to remember that the very most basic tool that all wizards rely on is itself a complex construct whose design required an immense amount of more traditional ritual knowledge and ability. Those rituals in turn were based off of trial and error, the astronomy and mathematics of the time, as well as a good strong dose of the local religions."

"Right..."

"So all the flaws and inaccuracies of those old techniques are built right into the modern system of magic that we practice." he said, gesturing around him. "Our magic is just as egocentric and flawed as the muggle sciences, and our foremost scholars are as biased as most muggle researchers as well: We assume that our system is flawless and absolute.

"Just as muggles learned from Newton's Law of Gravity, so too should wizards learn from our limitations: Just because the math works, doesn't make the theory right."

"So all our magic could be... wrong? I don't get it." I really didn't. The level of philosophy that Dumbledore was talking at was more suited to his peers, not a 12 year old. It didn’t help that I only had a passing knowledge of Newton’s work, as Astronomy focused on the practical application of the math, not its proofs.

"Not wrong, Harry." Dumbledore said, becoming more and more animated as his excitement showed through. "It works, I admit. But the fact that it works makes us assume that it's universally correct, which means that we don't check for or correct inaccuracies in the system before moving on. We allow this to happen again and again and again, and the minor problems that we couldn't see before quickly become larger and more annoying magical quirks that we try to ignore or just accept. Some become immense blocks in magical ability that we have to find ways to work around.

"Why can't I conjure wood directly, Harry? Why must I start with that indescribable substance and work from there? That type of conjury is a workaround.

"Why can't I shield against some spells? What prevents it from working? I have to use deflector charms to avoid those; another workaround.

"Why, for all my abundant magical power, can I not directly kill someone without uttering the words ‘Avada Kedavra’?

"Why, if it's so easy to kill, am I then barred from reversing the process? Why is the Avada Kedavra absolute?"

"There are so many limitations to the system, Harry; so many things that we might have been able to fix by being more open in our approach and research. It's the reason I study the Old Ways so thoroughly, Harry: I want to overcome as many of the limitations to modern-day magic as I can." For a moment, Dumbledore looked like a spry 20-year old alive with potential and vigor. I memorized this new face, the face of the real Dumbledore. Not the Headmaster; not the Politician; not the General. This was the face of Albus.

"A completely different wand matrix," he said reverently. "A set of entirely restructured spells; one charm, one hex at a time. For the last fifty years, I've been working on this, Harry: A system of wand-based magic with more possibilities than ever before!"

"You've created a new system of magic?!" I breathed, my eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. Slowly, with an air of deepest conspiracy, Dumbledore removed a second wand from his robes, looking thicker and rougher than his first one.

With a flourish of his new wand, a chair appeared beside me. Unlike Dumbledore's normal chairs, this one was crudely formed, but that crudeness only underlined the implication. The chair was directly conjured straight out of Dumbledore's imagination into reality with no Transfiguration involved.

"The power of God, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. "True creation."

There was a moment of profound silence between us, with only the flicker of firelight to illuminate our faces. Dumbledore slowly came down from his excitement, and with a slightly embarrassed look, he stowed his experimental wand. In that entire time, my expression never changed: Eyes wide, jaw on the floor, utterly floored by Dumbledore’s revelation.

Dumbledore cleared his throat to get my attention. “To finish what I started, Rowena Ravenclaw was interested in promoting and evolving magical ritual into being more practical, which had the approval of all three other Founders. Helga Hufflepuff was the pioneering force in ritual development to assist in households and in general healing and welfare; again, a noble cause supported by all, and the basis of our current potions and understanding of our magical cores.

“Salazar Slytherin wished to create barriers between muggles and wizards, and create great wizarding cities of magnificent power. Though this ambition was somewhat far-fetched, the idea of a world apart from muggles appealed to all wizards, including the other three Founders. As you can tell by the current state of things, Slytherin succeeded in this marvelously.

“Godric Gryffindor was what muggles would term a technocrat: He believed that the rulers of nations both muggle and wizarding should be the most skilled and qualified, rather than those with political and economical power. Naturally, this meant that wizards should rule over muggles, and the wisest, most capable wizards should rule over wizards. This, too, was seen as largely acceptable, and there was an initial push to place wizards in positions of power amongst muggles, as well as the formation of governing wizarding bodies that would eventually become the various world Ministries, Republics and Circles.”

“So all four Founders were cool with each other,” I said with a nod. “Why the split, then?”

“The status of muggleborn became the largest issue,” Dumbledore said, holding up his hands. “On one side, Slytherin proclaimed that the tainted blood of muggles was utterly unnecessary, and that they could champion the muggle race in peace, apart from true wizards. Should they master the mysteries and prove worthy of entrance, then and only then should they be allowed to join with wizarding society.

“On the other side, Gryffindor argued that the muggleborn had the same right and need to prove themselves as any wizard did, and that those with high potential, and the benefits they might provide to wizarding society, would be lost if muggleborn were simply turned away.

“Neither Hufflepuff nor Ravenclaw could stand the thought of missing out on something to advance their magics, so they supported Gryffindor. Slytherin abided by their decision, though he seethed with loathing for those that he viewed as lesser beings, and in need of far too much remedial tutoring to be worth the effort.”

“But he split off eventually, right…?”

“The myth,” Dumbledore said, indicating the sword, “Is that Slytherin left avowing eternal war against muggles and muggleborn until such time as their kind was extinguished.”

“… and the fact?” I asked.

“Is unknown, but I have come to believe that Gryffindor and Slytherin came to blows largely over the hand of Rowena Ravenclaw. In their magic duel, Gryffindor was so overcome with rage that he simply barreled through Slytherin’s magic, using his muggle armor to shield himself, and slew his opponent with a thrust of his sword.

“When he realized what he had done, Godric wept bitterly, and preserved Salazar’s memory and house in Hogwarts to the best of his abilities, though Slytherin’s family never truly forgave him. The grudge became mostly about the tainting of the Gryffindor line with muggle technologies, and how a simple and relatively non-lethal wizard’s duel had become a bloodbath because Gryffindor had worn his sword and armor into the duel.”

“You can’t tell me that all this hatred extends from that one fight,” I said incredulously.

“No, Harry, it is merely the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the reasoning of Death Eaters and pro-purebloods. It isn’t even in documented history, and my evidence for that scenario is reasonable, but far from compelling. But it is a start, at least for Britain’s rather bloody history between wizards and muggles.”

-----

Unlike everything else I’d heard so far, I kept Dumbledore’s research to myself. I had gotten the distinct impression that what Dumbledore was doing was somehow illegal, or otherwise socially unacceptable. I considered it the ultimate compliment that he would tell me about it, so I resolved to keep it to myself. Dumbledore would tell Hermione if he wanted to once she started to attend his sessions with me.

I did tell Hermione all about the wands, though. Advanced theory like that is what she lives for.

"It's amazingly complex," Hermione said, looking at her opened wand. "I think it's a little disturbing that even though we're studying magic at school, we don't really know what we're doing. We just wave this wand and expect it to work."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking." I said with a grin. "So naturally, I brought presents." I fished two thick tomes out of my book bag, and dropped them onto the table beside us. As Hermione ran her hand across the covers, I reversed the spell on her wand, closing it.

"These books cover the theory behind the wand matrix, as well as basic ritual procedure. Every spell we cast runs through what's in these books in a fraction of a second before we get to levitate our feather, or whatever we were doing."

"Can I read these?" she asked eagerly. "I know that you just got them, but--"

"I got them for you, Hermione," I said, cutting her off. "Dumbledore went into as much detail as I could take; I'll skim them later, just to have access to the material up here, but I brought those books for you."

I quickly found myself on the receiving end of a kiss, then a tight hug. "Thanks, Harry. You're very good to me."

"You're welcome."

-----

Lockheart jumped on the chance to run a dueling club for the school, which immediately became the most popular thing to do. I showed up now and then to help Lockheart demonstrate. As one of the few people that knew what I could and couldn’t do, he took great pains to draw out our battles into displays of skill, and not beat me down in five seconds.

My own sessions progressed a lot faster once I had my friends alone. Pansy was champing at the bit to learn the different spells, and she and the twins were vicious in their duels together, generally two on one against Pansy, who was competent enough to still be winning.

Hermione was very quick with her wand, and any hesitation about combat had been burned away by Draco and Voldemort. She usually dueled with Luna, who was nearly as nimble with her own spell work. The result, once Luna began to pick up the spells, was a wonderful display of speed and technical skill.

Ginny dueled with me almost exclusively. Her spell work was ... unnaturally good, and both she and I knew where that would have come from. So she dueled with me as a precaution, since I'd be able to handle anything that accidentally came at me. The sessions passed with no crescent curses flying though, so we both began to relax.

As the months passed, the Order began to shape up from a rag-tag social group of individuals to a real paramilitary and espionage group with a firm hierarchy. I saw less and less of everyone, and the free-for-all lessons about Death Eaters dried up. Even Dumbledore began to curb how much information he gave me.

"This is the beginning of the new war," he said. "Now, we must be careful who knows what, and how much. Only I will know exactly what everyone is doing, and I would like you not to pry for information. In fact, I may choose to pass incorrect information through you, as your closeness to me is well-known, and it will be more likely to be mistaken for truth."

"I suppose..." I said, worried. "You don't expect me to lie to my friends, do you?"

"If you have to, Harry. With the exception of Hermione, none of them knows any level of Occlumency, so a falsehood may be detected immediately. Hermione will have the necessary skills to uphold the lie, so I will leave that to your discretion."

The Order was well-entrenched in the Department of Law Enforcement, but after two assassination attempts, three nearly successful criminal framing jobs, and no obvious suspects, we had to admit we had lost the Department of Transportation. The other departments were contested, untouched, or unknown.

With the obvious loss of the DT, the Order restricted its movements fully to Apparition and Dumbledore's Portkeys. With no way to ensure when, where and how Death Eaters could move, Ministry workers like Arthur were forced to remain in very public areas and quickly Apparate out when leaving. The fact that the community in general was unaware of the danger only heightened the sense of dread.

The Hogwarts Express still ran, but it was a surprisingly special case. "The wards of Hogwarts extend to the tracks that lead into King's Cross, and to the train itself," Dumbledore told me. "It remains in use largely due to tradition, as Portkeys and the Floo network are undoubtedly faster. But a significant reason for its continued use is that once the students pass onto the train, they are officially under Hogwarts protection, and that helps to ease minds."

Hermione and I continued our job as caretakers, and Dumbledore still saw me everyday, though it was generally reduced to an hour at a time. Near to the end of the year, Hermione finally tested out of the last of her practical courses. I had expected to fall well behind Hermione in theory when she began to attend our sessions, but surprisingly enough it actually became easier to learn with another person to bang ideas off of. Advanced Arithmancy went from impossible to merely very annoying with Hermione's help, and slowly, ever so slowly, the seemingly infinite knowledge of Albus Dumbledore trickled down to us.

Whenever I wasn't doing caretaker duties, learning NEWT material from Dumbledore, or teaching my friends how to duel, I was cloistered in my bedroom pouring over several Dark Arts books I'd "liberated" from the Restricted Section of the library. Though the process was painstakingly slow, I was beginning to work on a new combat spell; one I hoped was every bit as good as Voldemort's crescent curse.

The crescent was perfect in my mind: It was a combination offensive spell and a moderate deflector spell that rolled off your wand as fast as any Reductor could, with a variable release angle that effectively required different wand commands and thus would count as a different variation of the spell for the purposes of counter-cursing. Truly, you couldn't ask for anything more from that curse, and it was exactly that kind of masterpiece that I wanted to create. I had been warned countless times by Dumbledore that the creation process could take more than a year, especially since it was my first attempt at a spell of any great complexity, so I settled in for the long haul, and banished any frustration I had far deeper than conscious thought.

There was a lot of frustration to banish; spell creation is mostly Arithmancy after all, and no matter how much Hermione helped me, I hated Arithmancy. I still do.

-----

The school year ended peacefully with no further direct attempts at Hogwarts or the Order. Fred, George, Ginny and Pansy did their final exams, receiving 'O's for the practical courses and 'A's for everything else -- Pansy is a very corrupting influence. Luna was high E’s everywhere. There were no exams for me and Hermione, just a continuation of our time with Dumbledore at Hogwarts before we were released for the summer.

Well, 'released' didn't exactly mean what it used to mean.

What it meant was that the Weasley and Parkinson families were now ensconced in Grimmauld Place along with several Order members quickly discovering that privacy was a difficult thing to obtain. Getting a moment alone with Hermione over the summer would be an exercise in frustration, as Ginny and Pansy demanded a great deal of my attention, and the Order seemed to like at least one adult minding the kids at all times.

Naturally, there were ways to get out of the house for a while, but those required work as well. I'm sure I surprised Hermione when she found me slaving away on a potion barely a week into the holidays.

"What are you working on?" she asked, coming up beside me.

"Polyjuice," I said.

"Why?"

"Like everyone else whose name isn't McGonagall or Dumbledore, I suck at human Transfiguration." Hermione's laughter filled the basement room we were in, making it seem much more welcoming.

"So this is for us when we leave the house?" Hermione asked, making the most logical conclusion possible.

"Mostly for me, but yes: Voldemort and his Death Eaters can't locate me by any means when I'm out and about, and this will minimize the random chance that we just bump into each other."

"Makes sense," Hermione said while she made room for herself at the table. I smiled and kept working; Hermione had developed the habit of just beginning to help me with whatever I'm doing without asking or waiting for be asked, and I found it very comforting.

Unsurprisingly, Pansy took to hanging out with the Weasley twins when she wasn't around me. The twins were notorious pranksters, and that meant that they were great at enchanting items, even if the enchantments were a little unorthodox. Several afternoons passed with me working on Polyjuice while the popping and whirring noises of their experiments came from the next room. Occasionally Fred or George would come into my room smoking from a failed attempt at whatever he was trying to create, and ask for specific materials, since I was generally the only person in the house that could create permanent conjurations. Well, maybe it was that I was the only person that would create permanent conjurations for them.

Brewing actually became my summer job more than anything else. Polyjuice, Skele-Gro, and the general run of healing potions were in high demand by the Order, and Snape and I pulled many an eight-hour day minding a roomful of cauldrons. Every now and then, Snape would scribble down adjustments to potion recipes for me, commenting on the change as he went.

"Potion recipes are published because they work, not because they're perfect," he said. "Most recipes have room to speed the creation process, or adjust the effectiveness of the potion. Potion-making is better described as an art with some strict rules rather than a loose science; science is the purview of muggles, who seem to enjoy dealing in absolutes."

"It's amazing that you know how to do all this," I said. Complimenting Snape was only proper; the man was shaving hours off my potion-making time with his adjustments.

"I hate potions," he said. "I've hated them for the entire twelve years I've been teaching, and if I never had to brew again, it would be too soon."

"Why don't you teach something else?" I asked. Snape gave me the long-suffering look he reserved for his especially stupid students.

"In the real world, Potter, you don't just switch jobs as fancy strikes you," he said with acid in his voice. "In the real world, those of us who aren't Dumbledore or his apprentice are stuck with whatever job we have."

"But-"

"I'm not going to explain the world to you, Potter. Unless you have issues with the notes I've given you, just brew your potions and leave me be."

Okay, so much for that.

The end of the summer saw Grimmauld set up both mundanely and magically as a military complex: War room for planning, twenty rooms set up with four bunk beds and lockers each, a kitchen stocked with enough food for two decades, a fully functional potions lab stocked to the rafters with healing potions of all kinds, Polyjuice potion, Veritaserum, potions to nullify the Imperious, and several others that Snape created whose purpose I had no clue about.

The in-house library was slowly expanded with academic and recreational books, and as much muggle and wizarding entertainment as possible was bought and shipped in, with the idea that some people might end up spending a long time in the manor.

There were several rooms set up for the individuals that were living there permanently: me, Pansy, our parents, Hermione, Ginny, the Twins, Bill, Charlie, Remus and Sirius all had rooms to ourselves. Everyone else who stayed over on occasion slept in the bunk rooms.

There is a huge advantage to knowing every single magical subject halfway into the NEWT levels, and having a girlfriend and sister who go out of their way to learn cool new spells. Adding to my advantages, I had an adopted father who was a Warder, an adopted mother who was an Obliviator, a godfather and near-uncle who were the sneakiest wizards in known history and arguably the most powerful and knowledgeable wizard in the world as my personal mentor, all of whom went out of their way to instruct me. To top it all off, I had enough inherent dueling ability from Voldemort to take apart anyone who wasn't a well-trained combatant.

Thus, it wasn't a newly 13-year-old Harry that Dumbledore invited to Order meetings, but Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. What I was to Dumbledore the General was a 45-year-old wizard in an abnormally small body, who happened to own his own Invisibility cloak.

Would you leave a resource like that sitting at home? I didn’t think so. As of the summer of 1993, Dumbledore began to actively use me as an Order agent, and I attended their frequent meetings and listened to the hints of conspiracy –or worse- that cropped up.

The paranoia wasn't unjustified, either. Moody had been using his magical eye to keep track of the Floo network, and had noticed a staggering difference in the overall structure.

"They're turning it into a bloody labyrinth!" he said one August night at Grimmauld. "That trick they pulled with the Malfoys was nothing compared to this! We're going to start losing people left and right if we can't get into that department. For all we know, they’re replacing people or using the Imperius as we speak."

"It gets worse," Arthur said, sitting down beside him. "The Department of Transportation directly controls the licensing of Portkey enchanters. They don't have the power to revoke them, as that's the DMLE's jurisdiction, but they can --and have-- indefinitely suspended any further licensing, claiming that there is no further need for Portkey enchanters."

"Which is more or less the truth," said a woman named Emmeline Vance. "The only people that have been trained and licensed for the last ten years or so have all been for private use, and the Ministry's always been divided on that issue."

"Regardless," Dumbledore cut across, "It needs to be dealt with. Elphias, is Transportation completely lost to us?"

"It is," an old man said from the corner of the room. "I nearly lost two of my friends just for asking questions there, and no one remembers the attacks. In fact, no one even remembers that my friends were there."

"Rookwood," Moody uttered hatefully, and several others murmured in agreement.

"Well the answer's obvious," Sirius said, turning everyone's head to him. "One way or another, we've got to bring the Floo network down."

Silence reigned as everyone considered his statement. Most were incredulous, but Remus and Sirius had the look of Marauders about them, and Dumbledore was thinking. I sat quietly, wondering how Hermione, Pansy, and the others were doing. While there was an air of excitement to be in on the Order meetings, they were held often enough to cut well into the time that I’d rather spend with my sister, my parents, my girlfriend, and her family.

"Is there any way we can do this without exposing ourselves completely?" Dumbledore said, looking around. "The Minister, the entire DMLE, and many, many other people need to be otherwise occupied in order for something of this magnitude to occur with no major ramifications against us."

"And it needs to be permanent," Snape commented. "Anything we do must be done in such a way that the Floo network cannot simply be reinstated; at least not for several years."

Arthur shook his head. "There would be extreme public pressure to restore the network. It would never stay down that long." I sat up a bit as Arthur's words gave me an idea.

"Professor Dumbledore, would you be willing to give Stan Shunpike and Ernie Prang a visit? Their Knight Bus idea would go a long way to keeping the average witch or wizard happy with their travel concerns if their bus was tweaked up a little, and maybe even duplicated."

"That might work..." he said, stroking his beard.

"That's good for afterwards, but is there any immediate way to completely and irreparably disable the Floo?" Snape pressed, bringing people back to the initial problem.

"I think so," Sirius said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Give us an hour or so with the control platform, and they'll never be able to use it again."

"An hour is a long time to keep the entire Ministry occupied," Arthur warned.

"I can probably time this with a full Wizengamot session to draw the bulk of the Ministry away," Dumbledore said.

"And the DMLE is easy to sidetrack," Marius Parkinson said, weighing in for the first time.

"Yeah, but the Minister and the Executive branch won't be held up in that meeting," Moody said. "Fudge won't show until near to the end of that session, and neither will his cronies. We need just about everyone important out of their offices for this to work."

"I wonder if the Minister would enjoy meeting me." I asked. Once again there was silence as everyone crunched the social mathematics of the Ministry.

"Maybe, Harry," Dumbledore said eventually. "Just maybe, we can take a shot at this.”

“Great!” Sirius said, clapping his hands. “Now, get over here, and let’s plan.”

-----

Hermione caught the look in my eye as soon as I left the war-room.

“You’re going to do something for them, aren’t you?” Disapproving.

“Or course I am.” Confident.

“Will you have to fight?” Nervous.

“Not if everything goes well, so maybe.” Anxious.

“What can I do to help?” Determined.

“Find me a decent combat spell to use that isn’t the Reductor and won’t get me arrested. If I have to resort to Voldemort’s curse, it’ll be bad.” Pessimistic.

“You can escape from there if it gets bad, right? With a Portkey or Fawkes?” Hopeful.

“That’s the going plan.” Certain.

“Good. I need you to come home, Harry. Please come home.” Affection.

“I will. I promise.” Affection.

Nothing more could be said. We both turned and walked into the living room, a handful of lies ready on my lips to pass to my friends; my first of many sacrifices.

Let the war begin.

8. Year of the Serpent -- Autumn

A/N: I love it when a plan comes together. Who, if anyone, remembers the "A-Team?" I used to watch that show religiously as a kid. It was such an interesting blend of talent in that group, and the motley crew that makes up the Order reminds me so much of them.

From here, we start the real war one covert operation at a time. As white goes first, let’s begin with the Order.

Thanks again to everyone that reviews! It’s so much more fun writing to an active audience!

~TOW

YEAR 3: The Year of the Serpent -- Autumn
================================

I kept a careful watch on the platform as student piled into the Hogwarts express. September 1st, a Friday this time, was unnaturally cool and the steam from the Express hung low across the walkways, making everyone's legs disappear from the knees down.

Wearing my school robes and carrying my book bag, I looked like a perfectly normal dark shadow in the corner, leaning against the wall of the station, waiting for his friends. My trunk, once again a tiny cube in my pocket, contained a slightly different set of equipment than the standard curriculum would ask of a third year student, however. In fact, its contents would make the average sane person question what exactly I was going to do. Cracking a smile at the thought, I looked down at my watch, waiting.

As the hands struck 10:56, Hermione, Pansy, and the Weasleys came through the platform barrier, Marius, Livia and Arthur trailing behind. Hermione made a great show of calling my name, and rushing up to hug me, while Pansy was far more reserved, since my sister would have just seen me recently. I kissed Hermione firmly, and exchanged back-thumps with the twins and a hug with Ginny and Pansy. Then, like the group of friends we were, we walked over to the train, entering the fog bank of steam.

Of note was the fact that none of us carried regular trunks anymore; the self-shrinking variety that I owned was one of the many "security upgrades" that the Order went through courtesy of the Malfoy fortune: Never leave your stuff unattended except in the most secure of areas, which meant Grimmauld or the Hogwarts dorms. It certainly made life easier for everyone involved when it came to being on the train; no clutter of luggage in the compartment meant a more comfortable ride overall. Hermione and I had our extra-dimensional book bags along, but everyone else was bag-free, and everyone was in their robes already. It made us look slightly different than the usual group, but that's exactly what people expected of us by now. No one batted an eye as we boarded the train, chatting away happily.

We moved quickly to the back of the train, taking a compartment as close to the end of the train as possible. Once we were inside, we sprawled out onto the seats, and only the slight tenseness on our faces would indicate that something was amiss.

I took a seat right by the window, and waved to my parents and Arthur, and smiling as they waved back. Hermione settled into the seat beside me, leaning on me. Pansy crammed herself between Fred and George, the three of them holding their own private conversation about the various items they were making. Ginny sat beside Hermione, digging through Hermione's book bag for one of the games or books that were packed there, and making sure to leave space on her other side for Luna if she showed up.
I glanced at my watch, which read 10:59. Perfect.

I reached into my book bag and pulled out my Invisibility Cloak. The telltale lump in the middle of the unseen mass of cloth brought a smile to my face as I remembered a very long and tiring session of human and universal transfiguration. I rose and set the lump and cloak on my seat. Hermione pulled the blinds for the compartment windows and door, giving us the moment of privacy needed for this to work.

After a quick charm to enlarge the hidden object, I pulled the Invisibility Cloak away with a hard yank, spreading it over myself as I turned. As I disappeared, a near-to-exact duplicate of me was sitting in my seat with its eyes closed and head leaned back, apparently asleep. Hermione pulled a thin blanket out of her bag and covered my double’s waist and legs, completing the illusion.

“Alright, you all know the deal,” my voice sounded from the center of the compartment. “Don't let anyone ‘wake’ me or touch me. Wood feels a hell of a lot different than skin does.” Pansy laughed and Ginny giggled; Hermione and the twins nodded. “Good,” I said. “Fred, George, you're up.”

As the train began moving at exactly 11:00, Fred and George gave in to their ‘curiosity’ and opened the door to the caboose, poking around for a few minutes and even opening the back outside door to the train before losing interest and going back to their compartment.

Invisible and virtually undetectable, I brought my legs over the back railing and dropped to the tracks, stumbling and crouching low to drape my cloak over the entire area around me. I walked slowly along the track's wooden supports to keep from leaving footprints, and carefully climbed up the service ladder to the platform.

Parents and families were now filtering away, most towards the large Floo connection at the far end, some just looking to leave the warded platform and Apparate. I wound my way around the milling crowd, and approached the three people who were still loitering and talking where I had first waved to them.

I intentionally brushed against Livia, taking her hand in mine. She, in turn, quickly wrapped up the conversation, and the four of us quickly walked through the platform gateway to find a decent Apparition spot. Three loud cracks later, the Arthur, Livia, and Marius had left the platform, headed to the Ministry to begin their work day.

-----

I detached from Livia as soon as we appeared in the Atrium. While she walked purposefully towards the lift, I headed for the stairs. Ministry workers rarely used stairs anymore. The large lift facilitated transport well enough, and with two more being planned, the stairs would likely gather quite a bit of dust. So, for an invisible infiltrator who came in with his mum, the stairs are his best friend.

I moved quickly up the stairs passing the floors and their associated departments. The Department of Magical Games and Sports... The Department of Magical Transportation --our eventual goal... The Department of International Magical Cooperation... The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures... The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes... The Department of Magical Law Enforcement... and finally, the Administration Level.

Magical travel was restricted off of the Atrium level, but there weren't any prohibitive wards. Arthur had explained to the Order that everything ran off of a hideously complicated set of sensory charms set to trigger other spells when the appropriate contingency occurred. It normally made it next to impossible to move or cast spells untracked in the Ministry building when you were outside of your designated area of work, which was a fairly potent security measure. It also meant that any Imperius curses floating around had to have been cast outside of the Ministry itself in order to avoid immediate detection.

Now, everyone imagine how easy that would become if you could manipulate the Floo network to intercept the bulk of the Ministry before they ever got to work?

Yeah. That's the kind of scary we're talking about. That's why I was now poking around the Ministry in my cloak when I should have been on the Express to Hogwarts.

Dumbledore, once he had confirmed the extent of the spells used, had wasted no time in assigning some of the deep Ministry espionage to me. My invisibility cloak protected me from not only sight, but most sensory charms as well; as long as I didn’t actively cast spells, I wouldn’t even exist as far as Ministry security went. Also, since I hadn’t ever been in the Ministry openly –so no wand-processing and magical signature imprint at the front desk-- the sensor spells wouldn’t recognize me, so the worst that could happen is an alert about an ‘unknown’ wizard mucking around, which wouldn’t implicate anyone as long as I could get away – and getting away was the one thing that Dumbledore could assure me of.

"Naturally, there's going to be a cloak or two in the Death Eaters' possession," Dumbledore had told me. "You will have to beware the possibility of running into a hidden opponent. If you do, your first and foremost goal is to remain alive and unidentified. Otherwise, your secondary goal is to obtain their cloak."

Yes Sir, General Sir.

The Administration level held all the archived records kept by the various departments. I was doing some creative altering of history today, replacing old documents with some Marauder-forged new ones. It was something of a test of my patience to wait for Ministry personnel to open the doors of the records rooms, but Emmeline Vance had assured me that every room was used frequently throughout the day -- and they were.

Large oak filing cabinets and rolling shelf units filled the records room to bursting, but I had all the time in the world to locate the personal records of Ministry employees and convicted criminals and place reports of possession of Ministry banned Dark Artifacts --Artifacts that the Malfoys had so graciously provided us.

Naturally, Ministry records of a man's previous criminal history aren't damning in and of themselves. There's a long chain of things to forge: Auror reports, Records of arrest, records of the trial and sentencing, and records of the prisoner's stay in Azkaban.

But I had all those, including an utterly flawless arrest and investigation report from renowned Master Auror Captain Alastor Moody, whose career accomplishments would never be questioned. The trial report stated that sentencing was suspended indefinitely, pending further debate. This was, according to Elphias Doge, the standard method to table someone's trip to Azkaban if enough gold changed hands under the table. It was the perfect setup: An unremarkable trial for an unremarkable person about an unremarkable Dark item that came to an unremarkable conclusion.

I snickered unkindly as I filed the last of the papers, my cloak preventing the room from detecting and logging the document additions. Martin Langford, a simple and unassuming charms specialist for the Floo Network back down in the DT was about to have his life turned upside down for the benefit of the Order. Naturally, the Order believed that the man was under the Imperius or perhaps willingly aiding the Death Eaters.

I had been working with Dumbledore nearly daily for a year and a half, though, and I was beginning to catch on to how the man thought in his various guises. There was absolutely no way in my mind that Dumbledore would send me against an Imperius-controlled or willing helper to the Death Eaters, as they'd be too closely watched, and it was far too easy for the Death Eaters to clear their tracks, since I was too green to know how to prevent it. Likewise, Dumbledore wouldn't send me against a known Death Eater or Inner Circle member, because for all my ability I was still not skilled enough at dueling or stealth and avoidance to stand a chance.

But Dumbledore would certainly send me on a simple espionage assignment with nothing more than a roomful of papers and a completely innocent and unsuspecting Ministry employee as obstacles. That I could handle with ease. So I couldn't help but laugh as I ruined this man's life, knowing that almost without a doubt he didn't deserve it. It was just like my youth was ruined, and I hadn't deserved it. Just like Hermione’s youth, too.

Hermione's tragedy was caused by factors that are unknown; the Hand of God, if you will. Well, does it make any real difference if my tragedy was by the Hand of Voldemort? We both still suffered. Now, this man would have tragedy dealt to him by the Hand of Harry Potter, and he will suffer. Life sucks like that, I guess.

Aren't I such a nice person?

Once the papers were all filed, I waited patiently for the door to open again, and carefully made my way back to the stairs. Down I went, jogging to make up time: DMLE; DMAC; DRCMC; DIMC... I stopped at the level of the Department of Magical Transportation, and carefully made my way inside.

The level was dominated by the enormous control station for the Floo network. On one side of the main walkway there was a workshop section for Portkey enchanters, and offices for the licensing of enchanters. There was also a small training area and office for Apparition, too. People who didn't earn their certificates in Hogwarts (or whatever school) could come here to practice in a controlled environment and master Apparition.

The certificate was sort of a license, but there was only a basic fee for using the training area, and no renewals were needed; it was simply a way to keep untrained wizards from leaving splinched body parts and a trail of blood all across Britain. The certificate just made it seem like there was a reward for mastering Apparition, so that students actually practiced. Just like most of the ways adults trick kids: The cooler it looks, the better it works.

As I walked towards the colossal control station, I passed the legal offices of the various broom-making companies, stopping only for a second to admire the Firebolt displayed in the window of Comet International. The Firebolt was the newest and possibly best professional grade broom ever developed.

Pansy had crowed all about the broom, and how it was the most amazingly enchanted item she'd ever heard of.

Some of you, especially the muggles, should be aware of Formula 1 racing, right? Well, you know that F1 cars have strict limitations on their engines: 2.4 liter, normally aspirated V-8's. Everything else is aerodynamics, tires, suspension, and the skill of the driver. Professional brooms are similar: there are regulated tolerances for maximum acceleration, deceleration, and turning rates; everything else is up to the designers, and you can just imagine the variety of performance charms the companies add to give their product an edge over the competition.

Among other things, the Firebolt is one of the few professional brooms without a cut throttle --that is, without any limitations on maximum speed. The broom's natural acceleration is logarithmic -- it tapers off and plateaus, so that while the broom will still constantly accelerate, the acceleration slows down noticeably after 150 mph and is practically nonexistent after 200mph. After that, unless you're travelling cross-country you'd never see a meaningful increase in speed.

The company is required to place charms on the broom that govern acceleration to ensure that it'll take more than the length of a Quidditch pitch before the Firebolt can meaningfully outstrip the speed of other professional brooms. While the broom was competitive with other pro models for Chasers, the Firebolt seemed to be the broom of choice for Seekers, the only players who would be able to make use of those higher speeds. That was certainly on my mind as I eyed the broom.

Maybe I could work with Pansy to strip out the regulator charms. If it was able to accelerate at its natural rate...

Idiot! Drool over the broom later. You've got work to do.

Shaking myself out of my stupor, I quickly made my way to the Floo offices. Langford's office was one of the first, and one of only three labeled "Charms Specialist." His door was partway open, and Martin himself was sitting quietly at his desk, reading through a scroll of parchment that must have been a half-mile long, looking at each line of text very carefully. So carefully, in fact, that he didn't notice his door open an extra couple of inches as I squeezed through.

There was a leather duffle bag in front of his desk, which was obviously what he carried back and forth to work. I quickly crouched down in front of it, and covered it with my cloak. If Martin looked over his desk, the very worst he could think was that someone had taken his bag, or that he had forgotten it somewhere.

I carefully unbuckled the top of the bag, and then reached into my robes. I pulled out a small hemispherical device covered in sinister-looking runes, with a spike at the apex of its curve. It kind of looked like a miniature Nazi helmet with alien graffiti all over it, and that was a very appropriate association in my opinion. I carefully placed the item in the bag, fulfilling part one of my mission.

Part two was the first part where I would expose myself to any real risk: Needing to make things happen covertly under Ministry sensors meant that my only assets were enchanted items and potions, as well as no major mistakes. I rose slightly from my crouch, so that my unseen head poked up over Martin's desk. He was still looking at the parchment, quite oblivious. Good; I needed him that way for a few more minutes. I carefully edged to the side of the desk, getting as close as I could. Careful to remain silent, I placed an open wide-bottomed vial of one of Snape's specialties by his feet, and scooted back, holding my nose closed.

One minute went past, then two. At almost exactly two and a half minutes of exposure to the vapors, Martin put his hand to his chest, looking as though he had trouble breathing. With a small spasm, his eyes closed and he unceremoniously dropped out of his chair, slumping to the floor. I quickly moved to stopper the vial, and then stepped back to wait for the vapors to dissipate.

It was something that Snape had created that I don't think any other Potions Master had developed: An odorless vapor that knocked you out just like a Stunner after 150 seconds of exposure, plus or minus a few seconds due to body weight and circulation. Not just knockout gas, folks, but knockout gas with a guarantee. You simply can't get that anywhere else.

I quickly went over to the now unconscious Martin and pulled his head back by the nose, opening his mouth and straightening his throat. I quickly unstoppered another potion --this one a Dumbledore special-- and dumped it down the man's esophagus.

While Martin digested that wonderful concoction, I yanked a couple of hairs from his head, and prepared my dose of Polyjuice. A moment of agony later and I was now a foot taller and quickly taking my too-small clothes off. Barely a minute later had a properly dressed Martin Langford walking down the hall with a smile, saying hello to everyone who greeted him. As Arthur had suggested, since I was biologically Martin Langford, and was well within my designated area of work, the Ministry sensors detected nothing to warrant a more thorough scan.

As Martin, I made my way to the lift, and took it to the Administrative level --another level that Martin had access to, at least as far as the records room. I quickly made my way there, and entered the room. Once again I approached the filing cabinets, but this time for more malicious intentions. I rummaged around for what I felt was a reasonable amount of time before I quickly located and removed each and every document I had placed in the room earlier. Naturally, the room logged Martin Langford as the one to remove the documents, which was the whole point of this exercise.

Before I left, I took out another of those Dark helmet-shaped items, and placed it in the center of the room. This one I activated, and then quickly left. I walked briskly away from the room, waving and smiling, but no longer talking. I'm sure I made people think I was nervous -- also part of the plan. It wouldn’t take long to figure things out once that item did its job. In only a few minutes, the Administration level would be crawling with angry Dementors.

For all the pureblood wizards reading, find a muggle or muggleborn and ask about the movie Dune. Once you've seen the movie, you'll understand and rightfully cringe when I tell you that like sandworms to a thumper, Dementors rush to these contraptions, and they're right pissed when they get there.

I was both repulsed and excited at the thought that such a small device could bring such widespread devastation. Dumbledore was banking on the swift response of the Aurors to prevent casualties, and I fervently hoped that he was right. Having the deaths of innocent Ministry workers on my hands would bother me.

Well-- a little, anyways.

Taking the lift back to the DT, I went back to Martin's office and closed the door. I quickly pulled my cloak off of the unconscious Martin and downed a potion to nullify the Polyjuice, donning my cloak as I did. By the time I was no longer Martin, I was once again shielded. I quickly put my own clothes back on, and clothed Martin in his. I then nudged my magic into my muscles and lifted Martin back up into his chair, letting him slump forward onto his desk.

As I was stuffing the papers into his duffle bag, the Ministry alarms began to go off. I quickly finished doing up the bag, and cracked open the bottle of antidote to Snape's liquid Stupefy, waving it under the Martin's nose. As Martin began to snort and wake up, I capped the bottle, and stepped over to the door—

--which exploded, pieces flying everywhere as two Aurors burst into the room, wands out and pointing at the newly awake and terrified Martin. I threw myself to the side, narrowly avoiding contact with the nearest Auror. I hoped that he couldn't hear my breathing, or the fact that my heart was now hammering a mile a minute. Even though I knew it was possible that they could move that fast, and the plan virtually required it, it was still a very close call. The seconds stretched out to eternity as I waited sweat beginning to drip down my face as the Aurors swept the area with their wands. I felt their sensory magics brush across my cloak and my breath hitched, but the Aurors never paused in their sweep, and soon turned their full attention to Langford.

“I-I didn't do it! I didn't do anything! I swear!” he shouted, backing up against the wall. His voice wavered, though; mixed in with his memories were the memories embedded in Dumbledore’s potion. They were weak things, like Hermione’s simple charms to make those muggles believe they were her parents. Martin would certainly disregard them as false in time, but with nothing but unconsciousness to compare it against, the memories created doubt.

More importantly, the memories created enough mental discord that Martin would not be able to attest conclusively to his innocence under Veritaserum, and that, more than anything else, was the nail in his coffin.

As the Aurors advanced on him, I quietly walked out the now open doorway, carefully lifting my cloak around the debris. Once out of the office, I hurried to the stairs. Aurors would be locking down the upper levels as they would quickly be swarming with Dementors.

And they did; they swarmed straight through the Ministry's lack of solid warding, and incited terror throughout the Administration Level. If the DMLE wasn't just one floor away, it would have been a catastrophe. As it was, there would be people leaving work with nightmares for weeks.

But that was all on the upper levels. I wasn't heading up; I was heading down, back to the Atrium, where travel was possible, and no one would notice or care as a Dumbledore-made Portkey went off, taking me back to the safety of Grimmauld.

Mission Accomplished.

-----

"Well done, Harry!" Sirius said as he clapped my shoulder. “Way to prank the Minister! Here: Have some Dementors in your office! Yes!” His voice gave out to laughter, and Sirius lurched to the side, holding his middle. Remus was grinning a mile wide, his slightly pointy incisors showing, as he led Sirius over to a couch.

“Very good,” Dumbledore said, nodding. “With that play set in motion, we will now be able to work toward generating the opening that we need. You have about twenty minutes to get something to eat if you wish, and then Fawkes will deliver you to the Hogwarts Express.”

I nodded and unloaded the leftover potions from my robe, leaving them on the table. I took out my wand and ran cleaning charms up and down my tunic, trousers, and outer robes, and then my body itself, regaining something fairly close to that fresh-out-of-the-shower feeling I enjoyed so much. There were already a pile of sandwiches on the table, courtesy of Dobby, the timid house elf that the Parkinsons acquired with the Malfoy estate. The fact that Dobby had helped Hermione when we were trapped there made him great in my books, and he was slowly learning that his new family of wizards was not as strict and unforgiving as his old one.

I happily chatted with Dobby while I munched on his well-made sandwiches, covering such diverse and interesting topics as socks and why heavy dragon-leather robes are a house elf's worst nightmare to wash. Eventually, Fawkes appeared in the room with a flash, and I stood as he landed on my shoulder. I waved to Dobby, and disappeared in a roaring column of flame.

-----

When the fire died away, I was once again in the caboose of the Hogwarts Express. Fawkes quickly yanked me up off the floor as the quickly moving Express sent my feet flying forward, his wings flapping rapidly in front of my face. I was a very light weight to the powerful phoenix, and I never moved more than about five feet from the middle of the car as he brought me up to speed. Once we had more or less matched the speed of the train --something I'll bet no Express passenger had ever once considered necessary in their lives-- he let me drop to the floor. With a quick chirp to say goodbye, Fawkes once again disappeared into flames, on his way back to Dumbledore.

I quickly put my invisibility cloak on again, and after a quick check to ensure that no one was in the hallway, I opened the door and exited the caboose. I walked quickly over to my compartment and looked in. There I was, still fast asleep, Hermione snoozing beside me. The others were all talking or playing exploding snap. With a wave of my wand, the door to the compartment opened, and I quickly stepped in. Only Luna looked confused as the door had opened and closed without anyone actually being there. She looked even more confused as Pansy quickly pulled the window and door blinds while Ginny woke Hermione.

With a flourish, I whipped the cloak off and with a quick mutter of “Evanesco” my double was transfigured into equal parts oxygen, carbon dioxide and nitrogen. Everyone smirked at my use of that well-known and despised spell; it was Snape's favorite way of telling you that you'd messed a potion up beyond salvation. I quickly sat down where my double had been, and shoved my cloak into my book bag. The blinds went up, Hermione snuggled backup against me, and for all intents and purposes I had always been on the train, and had another three hours to make my rounds so that everyone could vouch for me.

Maybe later, I thought, mentally and physically exhausted from my Ministry adventure. It felt like a video game, really: In and out with no hesitation, just bang-bang-bang and you're done. Only when those Aurors came in did I feel the slightest bit afraid, and even then I knew that they weren't there for me. Could it have gone wrong?

Not really. Once I was sure that Dumbledore was right about the cloak, it was a walk in the park. Well, sort of.

Remembering where I was I forced everything out of my mind and began to drift off. I didn't need anyone asking questions, and looking anything but completely relaxed and content would be just the opening my friends needed to pounce on me. All they knew was that I was getting the ball rolling for dealing with Floo Network, and that was all they needed to know.

-----

As the Express slowed to a crawl in Hogsmeade station we quickly piled out and headed towards the carriages carving pathways through the evening mist that had gathered. Lantern lights from the station quickly faded into the mist, and several students lit their wand tips to maintain sight of the carriages. Hermione and I walked in comfortable silence, holding hands. The Weasleys and Pansy had fallen into discussing their course work for the coming year. Ginny and Luna didn't have a choice in their courses, but Fred, George and Pansy did. Naturally, History of Magic and Muggle Studies were the first courses to go. That left them with a discussion of what to take.

"Hogwarts requires at least five courses in any year," Pansy said. "So, if we drop Astronomy--"

"Don't," I interjected, raising my voice over Pansy's. I steered Hermione a little closer to the others to avoid the need to shout. Pansy and the twins looked at me curiously.

"I learned the hard way just how important Astronomy is to practically everything we do. You're going to need to know how to make adjustments to every spell, potion and item you ever create -- which is what I'm assuming you're all going for."

"That's the plan," George said, exchanging a glance with his brother.

"School's mostly boring stuff," Fred said, picking up from George. "But if we only take the practical courses--"

"Which are the only fun ones anyways," quipped George.

"And split the optional courses between us--" Fred said, indicating the two of them and Pansy.

"We'd have all the knowledge we need without the homework!" Pansy finished with a flourish of her arms.

"Exactly!" the twins said together.

"Oh, that's a wonderful idea," Ginny said sarcastically. "Between the three of you, you'll be able to do what Harry and Hermione can already do by themselves!"

"Oh, come on Gin!" Fred said, wrapping an arm around his sister. "Who wants to spend their entire evening doing homework? You don't, do you?"

George clapped an arm around Hermione. "And our other sister will back us up, right?" Hermione giggled, and Ginny was already smiling. The twins' good spirits and huge grins were infectious, and even if I had been in the happiest mood possible, they could probably cheer me further.

"It's actually not so bad an idea if you're all going to stick together," Hermione allowed after a moment of George's best puppy dog eyes. Three smiles greeted her in return.

"That's the idea," Pansy said happily. "Once we're done with these annoying classes, we can get around to setting up shop as enchanters."

The joke that I had on my tongue died away as we approached the carriages. Last year, there was nothing pulling them. This year, there were large bone-thin horses with enormous leathery wings and milky white eyes. The gasps that sounded from beside me told me that I wasn't the only one, either.

"Oh! Can you all see them now?" Luna asked, speaking for the first time since the train.

"These are Thestrals," I said, having finally dug up the right memory from my time helping Hagrid. "You need to have seen and accepted death for them to be visible. I forgot about them."

"The Burrow," Hermione whispered, a tear falling down her cheek. Ginny began to shake as she approached. Luna took her hand and squeezed it, and Ginny latched on to the small Ravenclaw with both arms, holding on for dear life. The twins hunched their shoulders and tucked their hands into their robes, staring at the ground as they walked.

The somber mood lasted the entire trip to Hogwarts, the soft trotting of the Thestrals bringing bitter memories to the forefront as sure as any Dementor could.

-----

"As Professor Lockheart's busy schedule has called him away, we have a new Defense against the Dark Arts professor. Please welcome Professor Remus Lupin to Hogwarts!"

That was about the only line I paid attention to as we sat at our tables. Hermione and Luna were on either side of me, and both demanded far more of my attention. Luna liked me a lot because I never questioned her talking about imaginary creatures, just smiled and asked questions.

Hermione and I... well, we just wanted to be alone with each other for awhile.

"Fred and George went ahead with their idea," Hermione said quietly to me. "Fred's taking Arithmancy, while George is taking Runes. I think that Pansy's sticking with Astronomy. All three dropped History and Muggle Studies."

"That sounds about right," I said between mouthfuls of food.

"Do you think that they're doing the right thing?" she asked, sounding more than a little concerned.

I grunted dismissively, and hastily swallowed my food. "Dumbledore will waive them into the Spell Creation NEWT for sure. They’ll be great enchanters, especially if they go it together, and if they're looking at starting a business of their own, then even better."

"Well yes, but... what Ginny said…"

A wry grin began to form on my face. "Hermione, are you actually comparing them to us?"

"No! Well... yes, a little. I mean, if we're capable of so much, can't they at least take a few courses themselves?"

I snorted a little as I unsuccessfully tried to eat and laugh at the same time. I once again forced my food down, and looked back at Hermione. "Have I ever told you how much I hate school?"

"What? No, I thought you liked it."

"That's because of Dumbledore," I said, waving my hand. "My original plan was to coast through using my Occlumency, taking whatever courses I absolutely needed to land myself a decent job. Heck, I was even thinking of doing pro Quidditch, and I still might. If I hadn’t been offered this short-cut, I’d never have taken all 12 courses.

"For Pansy and the twins going to class every day sucks, plain and simple. To make it ten times worse for them, no one besides me and you can use that little memory trick, and by the time they’ve learned it, they’ll be well out of Hogwarts.”

Hermione had her customary look of deep thought, which meant that she was still mulling over what I'd said about Occlumency. "But... I thought that memory augmentation was a natural part of Occlumency?"

I was already shaking my head. "Dumbledore pegs it as 'Intermediate' Occlumency," I said. "Basic Occlumency is strictly defense, and maybe a slightly sharper memory. What we're doing is way past the basics."

"Oh. But... you got your Occlumency from Voldemort. I didn't have that; I just thought that it was something I was supposed to learn. How did I learn to do it if it's so hard?"

"Because you're a genius," I said, getting a smile from her. "The only people besides us that can do that are Dumbledore and --I think-- Snape. Everyone else in the Order is just basic defense, if that." That smile was getting larger. If there's one thing that truly stroked Hermione's ego, it's telling her that she could do things that other people couldn't.

"Are you going to teach us Occlumency?" Luna asked, tugging at my sleeve.

"At least the basics; wait until our first session this year, and I'll explain more."

“Okay,” she said, going back to her food. Strange, strange girl, I thought.

“I wonder why Professor Dumbledore doesn’t at least try to teach students Occlumency,” Hermione said, playing with a lock of her hair. I reached over to take it from her, making her blush a little.

“I asked him that last year,” I said as I ran my fingers across her hair. “The very short version of his answer was that Hogwarts wasn’t trying to make super-soldiers, and there’s no need to pressure the students to learn any faster than they do. He figures since I came equipped and you’re some kind of prodigy he may as well take advantage of it and teach us as much as he can, but to the rest of the world Occlumency is a decade’s hard work and ultimately not worth it.”

Hermione’s eyes were glazed over, and she had a look of complete bliss on her face while I played with her hair. Anyone else would have needed me to repeat what I had said, but Hermione proved more than capable of surrendering to pleasure and participating in an intelligent conversation at the same time.

“It’s interesting that he equates Occlumency with war training,” she said, her fingers finding yet another lock of her hair to curl and twist. “I guess at its most basic level it is, but there’s so much more that can be done with it.”

“I think it’s the ‘decade’ part that keeps it out of Hogwarts.” A quick glance outside told me it was getting on in the evening, so I let Hermione’s hair go and focused on finishing my dinner. Hermione let a sigh of frustration slip out, but she, too, quickly went to work on her plate.

“Mmm!” Hermione held up her finger to indicate she had thought of something, and quickly swallowed her food. “Do you know where Lockheart is going to?” she asked. “He came here for Professor Dumbledore, but is he finished, or did someone else need him?”

I shrugged, taking the time to chew my food properly. “Dumbledore didn’t say. I figure that Lockheart’s brand of damage control is in high demand. I’ll ask later.” Hermione seemed to be satisfied with that, so we once again attacked our dinner.

-----

All too quickly Hermione and I reprised our role as caretakers, and resumed our lessons with Dumbledore. Hermione was always present for the theory, but Dumbledore continued to coach me personally in the more physical areas, while Hermione was satisfied by my dueling instruction.

It’s really a good thing that she didn’t stay for it, because Oh God did Dumbledore turn up the difficulty that year.

Sweat poured from my head in tiny rivers as I forced every ounce of my being into my hex. A large cone of freezing air, well below arctic temperatures, rushed out from my wand's tip, meeting the hot flames of Dumbledore's Flame hex.

I was giving my hex everything I had, while Dumbledore was hardly trying. Whenever I felt I had an ounce more of effort to expend, I pushed it out, and the temperature of the hex lowered a degree or two. Dumbledore simply nudged his flames a little hotter. An enormous torrent of steam billowed out from where the spells met, coating us in moisture.

All too soon, my power gave out, and I collapsed to my knees, panting. Dumbledore quickly turned his wand to the side and banished the flames, and with two long sweeps of his wand the room was clear of moisture and back to room temperature. I barely had it in me to remove the water and sweat from my skin and robes, but somehow I managed that final spell before my fingers rebelled and wand dropped from my hand.

"Here Harry," Dumbledore said, pressing a warm cup into my shaking hands. The very familiar taste of Pepper-up Potion washed the taste of iron from my mouth. Immediately I felt physically reinvigorated; my magic would come back quickly enough, but I could do without the muscle aches and migraines, so the Pepper-up was welcome.

This spell-on-spell pissing contest was one of Dumbledore's little secrets to building magical endurance. The first time we tried this exercise I lasted less than a minute and was out of commission for hours. By my thirtieth attempt, I lasted about a minute and forty seconds, but I could get back into it after a half-hour's rest. This was the forty-third repetition, two weeks into school, and I could now last two and a half minutes against Dumbledore, and could go two or three rounds with only a couple minutes between them before I was well and truly depleted.

It helped in the power department a little, too; within those two weeks my average temperature with the freezing hex had fallen about ten degrees. Dumbledore smiled as I pointed that out to him.

“That isn’t so much an increase in your power as it is your body adjusting to using your maximum power immediately and maintaining it over a long duration. The term you’re looking for is ‘efficiency,’ I think.”

I’m sure I had a reply to that, but Dumbledore moved quickly to calisthenics, and the pain drove all thought away.

-----

The classroom that Dumbledore had given us for dueling practice was coincidentally in a hallway that was an equally short distance from both the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor towers, as well as close to a back stairway that led down to the Slytherin dungeons. It didn't take more than a couple of months for any student to get used to the ever-changing nature of Hogwarts, but my job as caretaker allowed me to see just how much Hogwarts changed, and how predictable the changes were. This room for instance was something we had used last year. This year, it so happens to be as close to each of our dorms as it can be and still be up on the classroom levels.

I had pretty much worked out that the castle could adapt within about three months to any persistent need. New hallways? No problem. Extra classrooms? Easily done. Extra public washroom facilities, fully enchanted? That one was easy; give it a week. Hogwarts was virtually alive, and the castle seemed to possess both intelligence and compassion. It wasn't hard to look out from Dumbledore's office windows, or the top of the Astronomy tower, and feel invincible.

As I promised Luna, I came to the first session prepared to begin Occlumency. Even the most basic training would work towards preventing another Burrow incident, and that was well worth the time invested. We started with a few practice duels, if only so I could see how their technique was improving.

Ginny seemed to hit her limits, which was a relief to the both of us. Like Pansy, she was a natural duelist: No hesitation and good instincts. Unlike Pansy, she couldn’t just whip Reductors out like they were Stinging Hexes, so we worked on a more technical style, focusing on maintaining midrange and incorporating as much transfiguration as possible. Ginny had no issues with diving and rolling around on the floor, so she was the only one in the group that had begun to use deflectors more than shields.

Luna and Hermione dueled in a blur of curses and counter curses, each using a repertoire that would boggle the mind of even senior year students. Was I impressed? You bet. But it was hardly a useful dueling style, and the resident brains needed to learn how to use their brawn. I paired Hermione with Pansy and Luna with Ginny for the latter duels to give them a taste of exactly why variety and rapid exchange do not mix.

Pansy was by and large the dominant duelist in the group. While she used shields more often that I would have liked, her offensive spells came out with such speed and force that Fred and George, who usually double-teamed her, spent most of their time on the defensive. As the twins tended to use shields, Pansy tended to use the Reductor. This resulted in the twins being in a perpetual state of pain, which didn’t help their dueling abilities. Once I had switched the girls and performed a few charms to dull the aching, I put the twins through their paces myself.

Fred and George were good, but they lacked the killer instinct that Pansy and Ginny had. That alone made them easy to deal with, even as a pair. They followed up on each other’s spells flawlessly, but they just couldn’t get into action fast enough to bother me. Even when I had them enhance their speed, they couldn’t remove that split-second hesitation that made them so easy to read. After going a couple of rounds with them, I decided to get to the point of the session.

"Alright, now that you've got the spells and some experience using them under your belts, I can get to the more advanced stuff." Checking to see that I had everyone's attention, as well as satisfying my paranoia that I had no unexpected students, I spent a minute conjuring some rather ugly but very comfortable chairs. "Sorry about the chairs, but I'm no artist. You need to be fairly comfortable today, as we're going to go over Occlumency.

"That's right, sit and get comfortable. Now, Occlumency to you means protecting your mind from Legilimency, Confundus charms, memory charms, straight-up Obliviations, and the Imperius. If you're decent, no one can just casually come up to you and cast those spells, and that's what you want. You'll never be immune, but you want to make sure that someone has to fight to make anything work."

"Why doesn't the school teach this stuff?" Pansy asked, kicking her feet anxiously against the front of the chair. Fred and George looked interested in the answer to the question; Hermione was barely paying attention. Luna and Ginny seemed to be counting clouds out the window. Well, time for the long answer to this one.

"Dumbledore gave a larger speech, but I'll keep it simple: Occlumency fucks you up." There: Now everyone was paying full attention again.

"Occlumency is using your magic to literally re-wire your brain, and it makes you different. I can't tell you what I'd be like without it, because I've had it since I was one year old. Hermione's completely different than she used to be. Some of that is because of a change in situation, but a lot of it is because of Occlumency. Each of you will change a bit, because you're taking conscious control of your emotions and thinking processes.

"It probably won't be too drastic, but I want you all to realize that you’ll never feel an emotion you didn’t consciously allow, it'll be harder to forget things, and you'll probably notice details and nuances that you might not have earlier. Occlumency requires patience and hours of meditation, and I think that for some of you cooling your hot heads will make you seem different on its own. People will notice, and wonder what's wrong. You'll have to brush up on your acting skills if you want to pull off being 'normal.' This is the price you pay to defend your mind. Are there any serious concerns or questions? Anyone not want to learn this?

"Good. Okay. First, let's work on blanking out your mind..."

-----

Speaking of Occlumency…

"Legilimens!" Meaningless patterns of thought rolled through my mind, but nothing concrete came up.

"Imperio!" A compulsion slid past me like standing in a river. The urge was there, like a craving for ice cream, but it was hardly overpowering.

"Obliviate!" Whoa... That spell left me feeling slightly drunk, but in full possession of my memories.

"Well done Harry," Dumbledore said as he lowered his wand. "You are definitely on your way to mastering the art. Very soon I will have to stun you to produce any meaningful effect."

"Thanks sir," I said as I slid into a chair, waving my wand in the formation of a charm designed to banish headaches. "Are you taking it easy on me?"

"Not at all!" he said with a smile as he sat on his desk. "I'll grant you that the searches, commands and alterations are trivial, but it's not the specifics of the intrusion that matter; the intrusion itself was full-force, and you seem to be reasonably resistant."

"Are you saying the spells just because we're practicing, or do they have to be vocalized?"

"The Imperius you already know the answer to; Obliviation can be silent, but requires anywhere from several moments to several hours depending on what you are attempting to do, and will be resistedevery step of the way; Legilimency can and does occur consistently with practice, just like Occlumency. So the answer to your unspoken question is that only Legilimency will be used with any success during a duel, and it's mostly used in anticipating your opponent’s moves.

"So I'm pretty solid against it, then?" I asked with a smile.

"I daresay that it's the only reason that you fared as well as you did against Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort. Passive Legilimency is exactly that: Passive. Your defenses are far too strong for that to succeed."

"That's good to hear. Are you going to test Hermione?"

"No, I will not," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "Hermione needs more time and practice with Occlumency before I attempt it. She doesn't have the raw power that you do to throw behind her defenses."

"Does it really matter?" I asked, slightly irritated at Dumbledore's dismissal of Hermione's ability.

"Yes it does," he said firmly, a burst of white-hot flame erupting from his wand, reminding me of his first example so long ago. "You are becoming comfortable with your level of ability, but it would behoove you to remember that you are unique amongst your peers in that ability. I need you to understand and accept that it will take your friends close to two decades to reach your level at the fastest possible rate. By then, you will be well beyond where you are now, though you’ll find much less discrepancy between your friends’ overall capabilities and your own."

"I..."

"It isn't fair, I know, but I need you to accept it." This was getting me nowhere, so I just nodded, and changed the subject.

“What happened to Lockheart, sir? I thought you’d asked him to be here?”

“I sent him away,” Dumbledore said plainly. “It would not do to tempt fate, and risk losing his services to the League.”

“Huh?” was about all I could manage in my confusion. Thankfully Dumbledore chose to elaborate.

“If you look through the history books, you will notice that no Defense professor has ever stayed on more than one year since the ‘50’s. In the first few of those years every professor was either killed or driven out of the school by scandal. In desperation I began to cycle the professors through different teaching positions; I taught the first set of Defense classes personally. My intent was to never allow the same person to occupy the Defense position for more than one year at a time. Though it left me with almost no time to myself, to my great relief it worked. I continued to teach and cycle professors through positions until your first year. Not only did I wish to free up my daily time to see to you, but also to fight the necessary Ministry battles that would come as a result of your return to wizarding Britain. Quirrel had also come along; he had seemed a perfect addition to the staff, and was certainly knowledgeable enough to fit into the cycling process.”

“So there’s some kind of curse on the position?” I asked, thinking it more than a little strange.

“The look you have on your face was one that I had early on,” he said nodding. “The first five fatalities convinced me of the potency of this ‘curse.’ To this day I am unwilling to allow a professor to teach Defense for more than one year at a time.”

“And Lockheart…?”

“Lockheart’s skills and cover stories are needed elsewhere just as much as they were needed here. We will manage, and I can always bring him back next year if I have to, but Remus is an intelligent man. If we can keep his status as a werewolf quiet, then the position is well-filled.”

-----

I came back to the common room to find an overly anxious Hermione nearly bouncing on the couch. Within two seconds of her seeing me she was over to me tugging on my arm. "Come on Harry! It's almost time to go!"

"Go?" I asked, more than a little tired from Dumbledore poking mystical holes in my head.

"Hogsmeade, silly! Come on, everyone's getting ready to leave!" Oh, right. It’s a Saturday.

"'Kay, 'kay. Lemme get my stuff."

"Hurry! It's almost time to leave!"

Blasted woman...

I climbed back up to my dorm room and switched from my black school robes to a dark green tunic with gold highlights, black trousers and boots, and a brown outer robe with my family name and crest in gold trim. It was by far my favorite set of robes, and if I wasn't trapped in black today, I was certainly going to wear it. A quick charm dropped my hair from mussed up to somewhat normal looking, and I fumbled around in my trunk for my gold pouch. Satisfied that I was well-dressed, I headed back down.

"Alright, let's go," I said when I got back to the common room. Hermione turned to look at me, and with a little gasp said "Wait just a minute! If you're going to change so am I!"

With a sigh, I settled into a chair for a few minutes of waiting. Hermione is a girl, after all; magic notwithstanding, girls take their sweet time getting ready. An unsurprising 15 minutes later, Hermione came back down in a light blue blouse and skirt with a tan outer robe, all with silver trim. The only indication that these robes were for daily wear was a pair of tan leather boots that hugged her calves. She put her hair in some elaborate type of braid that I couldn't place properly, and had a big smile on her face.

Grunting as I hefted myself out of the chair, I stood and walked over. I took her had and kissed it gently before holding it to my face. "I'm so sorry," I said with only a hint of sarcasm. "I had completely misunderstood the fact that you wanted to go out on a date. You're absolutely right, though; a trip through a town that will be crawling with kids wanting candy generating all sorts of annoying noise and interruptions will be the perfect place for that."

"Arse," Hermione said as she pulled her hand away and pushed me backwards. We made our way down from Ravenclaw Tower to the main gates, drawing a fair amount of attention at our decision not to go in school robes. It wasn't against the rules, though, and McGonagall smiled benignly at us as we passed. Dumbledore was also at the door overseeing the grand exodus, and he beckoned me over to him.

"The Order is well-entrenched in Hogsmeade," he whispered. "Nevertheless, please watch over the students close to you. If you have a moment, check in with Alastor at the Hog's Head Inn. He may or may not have seen anything interesting."

I nodded and walked back to Hermione, taking her hand. Most of the students were heading over to the carriages, which were the preferred method of transportation to Hogsmeade. That was the direction we were headed, but Hagrid had other ideas, and waved us over to where he was standing with two unharnessed Thestrals.

"Been waitin' fer yeh," he said as we got closer. "After everythin' last year, I bet yeh can see these beauties, righ'? Well, I have a couple extras here that don' generally get a chance to pull a carriage. Yeh can see'em, so they'll let yeh ride. Yeh figger yeh can ride 'em into town?"

"Ride...?" Hermione said, looking quite unenthusiastic as she approached the horses.

"I've never ridden before," I said to Hagrid. "Doesn't it take a bit of skill to do that?"

"Nah, these guys're real smart; jes' tell'em that yeh want to go down ter Hogsmeade and they'll get yeh there."

Hermione looked uncertain, but I was all for the experience. "Sure, why not? How do you get on?"

At Hagrid's coaxing, we each approached the Thestrals from the front, and let them sniff around us. My Thestral must have decided that I tasted good, as it proceeded to lick my face. Unlike the stink and slime I expected though, the Thestral's tongue was leathery and odorless, almost as if the flesh wasn't really alive. I hesitantly stroked my hand across its face and it butted forward gently, pushing its head against me. Then it walked forward and put its head right over my shoulder. A glance to the side told me that Hermione had undergone the same initiation, and just like me she was currently the recipient of a Thestral's idea of a hug.

The Thestrals kneeled down, making it effortless to mount them. The Thestral looked over its shoulder at me, as if waiting for instructions. "We're going to Hogsmeade," I said. "Is that okay with you?" The fanged horse shook its mane and stood, and began to move forward. A short shriek behind me announced that Hermione's steed was following mine. They walked away from the carriages at a brisk pace. The other students stared at us in awe, as we rode away on invisible horses. A mystery of Hogwarts had been solved for this generation of students, and in its place was something even cooler: Invisible Horses.

Those few students that could see what we were really riding were wearing expressions of sadness. They would have known that Thestrals would only allow those with direct experience of death to ride them.

The Thestrals picked up speed, from a trot to a full gallop. I had my hands in my horse's mane, and my legs hooked around the shoulders of its wings. The muscles that powered those wings gave the Thestral a broad back, and sitting up near its shoulders was nearly as stable as a saddle on its own. I instinctively crouched down and put my head near its neck, just as I would for a broom that was picking up speed. Apparently that was what the Thestral was waiting for, as its wings began to beat from behind my legs, and in less than two strides we were airborne.

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked from behind me. I looked back to find that Hermione's Thestral had followed suit, and she was looking at the rapidly receding ground, thoroughly petrified.

"Crouch over the neck and hold on to the mane!" I shouted to her. "Stay near to them, please," I whispered to my steed.

My concern for Hermione was muted by the view I was privy to. The landscape was breathtaking; rolling green hills that surrounded the loch whose shore Hogwarts was built on. To the south and west a massive, seemingly endless forest sprawled across the land. I had seen this all before when I was up on my broom, but it was a completely different feeling when I wasn't busy flying. As a passenger I had time to look and be impressed. Looking over my shoulder I could see Hermione with her head buried in her Thestral's mane. Hopefully I could convince her to look around on the way back.

For all its beauty, the flight was short. We arrived in Hogsmeade in about 5 minutes, well before the carriages would get there. I jumped off and hit the ground shakily, and faced my Thestral again. "You'll both wait for us, won't you?" After another lick and 'hug,' I walked over to Hermione's steed as she was struggling to get off. The Thestral made things easier by kneeling, and Hermione quickly jumped off and fell to her knees. I helped her up, and she clung to me shivering.

"Th-that was the s-scariest thing I-I've ever done. We're taking the carriages on the way back!"

"Not a chance!" I said with a huge grin on my face. "That had to be the most fun I've had in ages! You have to take the trip back with them. This time, if you hold your head up, you'll see the most beautiful view."

"You think I care about the view?" she asked incredulously. "That... That was..."

"Be nice," I said, silencing the rest of her complaints. "Say goodbye to your Thestral, and ask it to wait for you."

"Um... Well..." Hermione approached her Thestral's head again, and was immediately attacked by a leathery tongue. The Thestral then clamped its head around Hermione's shoulder, and puller her in close. It didn't look like it was going to let her go. Its front legs were stomping like a petulant child.

"See, Hermione? It likes you. You can't hurt its feelings by not riding back, can you? Come on." Hermione slowly put her hands around the Thestral's head and neck, patting it uncertainly.

"Um... It’s alright, I'll be back... If you wait for me, I'll ride back with you. It's okay..." After several moments of Hermione comforting it, the Thestral calmed down enough to let her go, after once again attacking her face with its tongue. She came over to me and took my hand, her brow creased in thought.

"They're... nearly human in their intelligence," she said eventually. "Why do they let us ride them? They don't have to."

"If we were in the muggle world and I had a car, wouldn't I give you a ride?" I asked, squeezing her hand.

"Well, yes, but... how can we be sure that they want to do it?"

I stopped and hung my head over her shoulder. "If I do that to you, does it make you think I like you, or hate you?"

"It makes me think you're being lazy," she said with a laugh as she pushed me off. "I guess so; it would be easier if all these creatures spoke like we did, or had a language we could learn or speak."

"Come on!" I said, taking her hand again and pulling her along. "We have a village to explore! Let's see what's here."

-----

Aside from the candy store, joke shop, and the Three Broomsticks, which was the children-friendly tavern and eatery, Hogsmeade was its own small town. Being isolated allowed wizards to flex their creative muscles, and houses existed that were molded entirely from a single stone, or grown from a tree. Most houses were of the more standard varieties, but it was obvious who was good with Transfiguration or Conjury.

There were small shops that covered the basics. School supplies were their most popular items to sell, but you could buy robes, jewelry, potions supplies, household trinkets, or pretty much anything else you wanted, if you knew where to look. Diagon Alley had more to offer, but Hogsmeade was well-stocked with the basics.

Hermione naturally gravitated to the book store, and I happily obliged her. We spent the next two hours 'skimming' through books page by page, committing to memory as much information as we could without actually having to buy the books. Hermione had been somewhere between amused and scandalized at plundering knowledge like this, but the gain was far too tempting for her to resist.

At my urging, we went to the Hog's Head Inn before we settled down for lunch. The Inn itself was dark and gloomy, perfect for those who wanted to conduct shady business. There would be no such business today, though. Regardless of what he wore, the glow of the bright blue eye of Alastor Moody was unmistakable, and everyone in the pub was as well-behaved as they could possibly be. I noticed him immediately, and we made our way across the room to him.

"Mr. Potter," said a gruff voice behind me. I turned to see a rougher version of Albus Dumbledore: No glasses, plain robes, scruffier hair and beard, but the same unmistakable blue eyes. He had his hand out to me, and a small smile on his face.

"Mr. ... Dumbledore, I think?"

"Very good. I am Aberforth Dumbledore, Albus' brother. Welcome to my Inn." I shook the offered hand, and gestured to Hermione.

"This is my girlfriend, Hermione Granger."

"Pleased to meet you," she said, taking Aberforth's hand.

"Charmed. I gather you're both here to see Moody, so I'll let you get to it. If there's anything you need in Hogsmeade, let me know, and I can probably make it easier to get." With that, Aberforth walked beck to the bar, favoring his left leg slightly.

"Good that you met Abe," Moody said as we sat at the table. "Hogsmeade doesn't have an official leader, but Abe's as close to a mayor as this town has."

"Cool," I said, leaning my chair on its back legs. "Anything interesting show up?"

"Nah, it's quiet." Moody paused to take a swig from his flask, and covertly placing a perimeter of silence around us. "I'd say it was too quiet, except that I know where the bastards are working. Fifteen new adjustments to the Floo network in this town alone Potter. That's fifteen back doors; fifteen families --or more-- that could already be enemies."

"Is there a way to adjust the Floo network from the outside?" Hermione asked, leaning in as she spoke.

"Nope, can't happen without being at the control station. Speaking of which, good work Potter, everything went smashingly and we're set to move into place; just waiting on the bureaucracy now."

"Thanks," I said. Hermione shot me a look of curiosity, but remained silent. Moody fished around in his robe for a moment before pulling out a handful of small wooden balls as well as a crumpled piece of parchment.

"I want you to toss these into the Floo connection at the Three Broomsticks. The destination doesn't matter, but be discreet."

"No problem," I said as I snatched up the items. Moody removed the silence charm, and the conversation quickly turned to the wards around Hogwarts, with Moody making some rather blatant mistakes that I didn't try to correct. Hermione picked up on that very quickly, and seconded the information. Good girl.

On our way out, Hermione slowed our pace towards the Three Broomsticks. "Do you know what those things that Moody gave you are?" she asked quietly.

"Nope," I said, shaking my head. "Don't want to, either."

"Aren't you worried at all about what you're going to do, then?" Time to avoid that question.

"Moody is closer to Dumbledore than I am. If I can't trust Moody, I'm well and truly fucked."

"Harry--"

"Later,” I whispered. “Much later, back in school, and preferably in Dumbledore's office." Hermione closed her mouth, swallowing whatever she was about to say. The rest of our trip to the Three Broomsticks was silent.

Finding a moment alone with the Floo was as simple as the Repulsion charm I generally used in the common room. Very shortly, no one was looking or caring about the Floo except me and Hermione. With a flick of the wrist and an intonation of "Diagon Alley" Moody's balls were on their way to their new owners.

I chuckled a little, a completely inappropriate vision of Moody's testicles dancing around the floo pathways coming to mind. Pity the person that gets THAT present.

Finding us both a table near the front of the building, I cancelled the Repulsion charm, and ordered lunch. Hermione was quiet, which meant that she was unhappy. I took both her hands in mine, and squeezed, getting a ghost of a smile for my efforts.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean for this trip to be a business trip. I wanted it to be an adventure, kind of like it started out."

"It's been fun," she replied quietly. "I enjoy spending time with you. But it's like there's two of you. There's the Harry I know..."

"... and there's Agent Harry Potter," I finished. "Yeah, I feel the same. We'll talk tonight, I promise. Please smile for me; I want to you enjoy yourself."

That won a larger smile; it stayed as we ate, and then walked around the village.

-----

Hermione was a little shaky as she dismounted her Thestral close to the castle. Flying just didn't come naturally to her, though she did keep her head up on the trip back. We wasted very little time making our way to Dumbledore's office, intent on a conversation that we had delayed for the entire afternoon.

"I think a different location is in order," Dumbledore said after he took a look at us. "Please remain through the evening as I intend to run a meeting tonight. We’ll make sure you return before students are up and about in the morning." Five seconds later, we took a smooth Portkey ride to Grimmauld’s living room.

"So, I ruined a man's life on September 1st," I said casually as I dropped onto a couch. Hermione blinked a few times and sat more elegantly next to me. I proceeded to relate my Ministry excursion to her in general terms, my hands going a mile a minute as I spoke.

"Well, it sounds like a very well-orchestrated frame job," she said when I had finished. "I don't understand what’s got you worried about it, though. If this Langford is willing to help Voldemort, then he deserves what he gets."

I nodded. "Sure, if that's the case. But I don't think it is." Hermione frowned at the smile on my face, which must have been fairly self-depreciating.

"I don't understand," she said with a shake of her head. I think that she was getting the idea, though. I saw the tiny worry lines begin to form around her eyes and eyebrows, and her eyes widened a little.

"I think you do," I said as I leaned forward, the smile still etched in place. "Martin Langford was an innocent law abiding citizen, and I ruined him with the help of Dumbledore, Moody and Snape. There is absolutely no way that Dumbledore would send me untested against a more serious threat."

"Why?" she asked with a whisper, reaching for my hands with hers. To support me, I realized when she took hold. Her hands weren't shaky or making the little circles that a concerned girlfriend might make; they were strong and massaged the tops of my hands in long comforting strokes. I had suspected that Hermione would support me through anything, but it was a very comforting feeling to have proof; so comforting, in fact, that I lost myself in the feeling and missed her question.

"Why?" she asked again, and I closed my hands around hers to convey that I had heard her.

"I guess... well, Dumbledore would tell me that the sacrifice is worth it to get access to the Floo Network. Moody would tell me that whatever happens to Langford is nothing compared to what would happen to him if he really was involved with the Death Eaters. Snape... well, Snape would probably berate me for even caring."

"And you?"

"I enjoyed it." My smile was bordering on maniacal, and I leaned in towards Hermione. "I really enjoyed the rush of adrenaline, especially when the Aurors were so close. It was just like the Burrow all over again, when I escaped the basilisk on my broom. It didn't matter to me that I had hurt someone in the process, it just felt... good."

"Kind of like when you ran off to fight Quirrel?"

Exactly right, Hermione; exactly right. I nodded, not really having anything more to say on the matter.

"It's alright, Harry. I'm not going anywhere." We sat in silence as I exulted in the feeling of comfort, and Hermione seemed to want to knead the bones out of my hands. I had expected a few more questions, but apparently I had needed to vent and be reassured, rather than do any reassuring myself.

"Can I ask you about something different?" Hermione asked, squirming around in the seat to get comfortable.

"Sure," I said with a shrug. "What's on your mind?"

"Does Dumbledore... like me? He seems to be a little distant during our sessions."

"He likes you just fine," I said, leaning back into the couch. "He's just a little frustrated that he has to stick to theory with you.

"Don't say it around him, but I think he's gotten used to me as a sparring partner and sort-of staff member. He can't do that with you to the same degree, so he has to tone it down."

"And he thinks this is a problem?" she asked, her tone making it plain that she was gearing up to take great offense. I thought this rather humorous of course.

"Absolutely!" I said starting to laugh. "Dumbledore loves to show off! He can't do that around you as easily, so he's miffed!"

"Oh!" Anything she might have said was gone with that. It just wasn't possible for her to take offense to the idea that Dumbledore wanted to teach her more than he was. If anything, that probably won Dumbledore a few points.

"Well, is there some way I can catch up, or something?" Her question trailed off as I was already shaking my head.

"It'll take you about twenty years to reach my power level, and that's with you pushing for it all the way, so it'll be about ten years at least before you can cast some of the stuff Dumbledore's teaching me, and even I'm decades away from being able to use his top-gear spells."

"I really hate waiting."

"I hadn't noticed," I said innocently, which caused her to giggle.

After a moment of silence in which Hermione leaned into me and all but demanded that I stroke her hair, the subject was changed yet again.

"What do you see yourself doing after school?" she asked, half-asleep from my ministrations.

"Be something other than a caretaker," I said, eliciting ringing laughter from my girlfriend. She reached back with her arm and tickled my knees, making me yelp and shuffle my legs around. I responded as all boys do by tickling her sides. Soon, it was an all-out war to see who would be first to get to the other’s feet.

I won.

“Seriously,” she said as we both righted ourselves and she brought her laughter under control. “Have you considered what you’re going to take for NEWTs?”

“Well, let’s see,” I said, counting off on my fingers. “I can pass Conjury in my sleep; I’m far enough into Spell Creation that I may as well finish off the exam material; Dumbledore will have me well past Hit Wizard training, so the rest of Survival and Magical Conflict should be a joke; I need serious work to manage Wards and Spell Placement, but I know the basics; with all the unofficial rules and shortcuts from Snape and Dumbledore, Alchemy should be easy; and I don’t think I can live close to Pansy and not be able to pass Item Enchantment. That’s the whole list of standardized NEWTs.

“If I do a Magical Study on Internal magics, a generalized Cultural Study, and a generalized Geographical Study, then I’ll grab a NEWT in all three thesis areas.”

“You’re going for nine NEWTs?” I could hear the awe in Hermione’s voice. It told me that even she hadn’t wanted to be as ambitious as that.

“Sure, why not? It keeps all my doors open from a professional standpoint, and 12 OWLs and 9 NEWTs would tell the world that I have at least pre-professional competency in every major magical area and a broad understanding of the magical world.”

“And being so closely linked to Dumbledore…” Hermione trailed off as her eyes lit with the ambition that had been absent since her first year.

“Harry, if I try for the same thing, will you help me? I… I’d like to have that kind of accomplishment under my belt, but I don’t think I can do all that without help.”

“Think I could?” I said with a chuckle. “We’ll get each other through it. Maybe we’ll break a record or something.”

Hermione smiled and bent her head back across my chest. I lowered my face to kiss her, and she pressed up to deepen it. At some point her hands made it into my hair, and mine were trailing across her body and down her thighs. The next thing I thought about was that it was incredible that she could turn right around and straddle me without falling, and that fingernails down the back was an amazing feeling, nearly as intoxicating as a rather well-endowed girl pressing into your front and devouring your lips as you tried to devour hers.

Then her magic trickled to the surface, coursing across her skin and arcing across mine like an electric field. I brought my own magic to the surface, and heard Hermione’s gasp and moan. We stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, rocking against each other, our magic pouring across our bodies in waves. I have no doubt whatsoever that we would have ended up naked and making love, but Hermione still wasn’t used to using her magic unfocused, and so she wasn’t prepared for the drain it would cause. After five minutes of this most indescribably erotic sensation, Hermione collapsed against my shoulder exhausted, and quickly fell asleep as I rocked her.

I carried Hermione to her bed, and the rest of our time at Grimmauld was spent with Hermione asleep and Sirius telling me stories of my parents. While Sirius talked, I gathered what few thoughts I had for the inevitable conversation with Hermione on what had just happened, and how she felt about it. I knew that she would notice the one thing that marked this event as truly terrifying for both of us: It was the first time in years that either of us had lost control.

-----

“My son has secured the vacant Specialist position for the Floo Network,” Elphias said as we started the Order meeting in Grimmauld’s kitchen. “He’s in and not being monitored as far as he can tell.”

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said, a smile playing on his lips. “And Langford?”

“Convicted,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the Aurors in the Order. “His sentencing, naturally, is suspended pending further debate.

“Thanks for the donation, Harry,” he said, smiling at me.

A knowing grin passed between me and my adopted father. “Anytime,” I answered, getting chuckles from around the table.

Dumbledore coughed, drawing everyone’s attention again. “Very good. Alastor, how goes the tracking of the network?”

“Poorly,” the aged Auror grunted. “But it’s a start. I have a couple of locations to look into, and time will tell if they’ve got two or twenty.”

“It’s as good as we can expect,” Dumbledore said. “Anyone else?”

“I have been approached by Rabastan Lestrange with 5000 galleons and a very lengthy order of medicinal potions, as well as… others,” Snape said quietly. Conversation ground to a halt as everyone stopped and stared open-mouthed at the Potions Master.

“They still trust you?” Moody said incredulously. “I can’t believe it!”

“We still have a spy!” Arthur said exuberantly. I caught Snape’s wince at that comment; apparently he wasn’t looking forward to ‘returning to duty.’

“We will take that as it comes,” Dumbledore said with an air of finality, preventing any debate. “Severus, can you complete the order?”

“It will take time,” he said, “but it’s not impossible. The faster I finish, the more likely they will believe me still loyal to the cause.”

“I’ll help if you want,” I offered, and Snape nodded immediately.

“That would cut the time down immensely.”

“Done and done,” Dumbledore said, moving us along. “Alright then, I’ll likely have new assignments for you all shortly; Moody, keep monitoring. Severus, please probe the student body gently; we’ll need to know who to pass information through.

“Harry, come with me; it’s time to plan your meeting with Minister Fudge.”

9. Year of the Serpent -- Winter

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: There are a few answers to questions in this chapter, as well as a little more light on what internal factions exist within the Order. I think that everything is set out properly, though, and I certainly enjoyed writing it. As usual, please direct any comments or questions can to me in either reviews or private messaging. I promise to respond to anything longer than three or four words.

YEAR 3: The Year of the Serpent – Winter

===============================

“Harry, can we talk?” Hermione’s anxious voice shattered the blissful silence. Not five minutes after Dumbledore had finished with me, and Hermione had come looking for me.

“Give me a moment to sort my head out,” I said, keeping my eyes closed. Dumbledore had left me in one of Grimmauld’s numerous sitting rooms, and I savoured the darkness that I found behind my eyelids. Dumbledore’s plans were complicated and riddled with tight timelines; it was unsurprising that I had quite the headache when he had finished speaking.

“Take your time,” Hermione said. I sorted the plan out as best as I could, and then shoved it all back into my subconscious to deal with later. Opening my eyes, I was surprised to see that the light was out. The pale moonlight of early evening mixed with the artificial glow of the street lamp, bathing the room in a peculiar mixture of silver and yellow.

Hermione walked over to the small table I was sitting by, and took the chair on the opposite side. Her hair was in complete disarray and her robes were still creased and wrinkled from sleeping in them, but her eyes were bright and aware, and they had locked with mine the moment I had looked at her.

“I’m done,” I said as I straightened my chair to face her more directly. “I’m all yours.”

“Do you know what happened to us earlier?” Straight to the point, huh? Obviously not happy about it.

“Not in the slightest,” I said honestly. “Best I can figure is that your magic came up unconsciously. I brought mine up because I didn’t know what you were doing, and when they joined… well, you know.”

Hermione looked down at the table. “I know more about it. I brought my magic up… because I was scared.”

I was shocked. What the hell? “Scared? Of me, or…”

“No, scared of where we were going. I brought it up because I didn’t know if I could stop you without it.”

“You could have just said…” The shock quickly faded, and a great wave of anger began to roll. Calm; keep calm, and ride out the conversation.

“I know. I didn’t want to stop kissing you, just… still your hands a little.”

“Okay…”

Hermione had a ghost of a smile on her face as she spoke. “I’m not really upset, more like embarrassed. I can think of so many ways that we could have avoided that.”

I couldn’t help but comment on that. “I hope you don’t think poorly of me if I say I’m rather glad it happened. That was… something else.”

Her smile regained some of its humour, and she looked back up at me. “Yes, it was. I guess I don’t mind that it’s happened either, but I’m not anxious to do it again, at least not yet.”

“That’s fine,” I said, reaching for her hand. “I can revel in that memory night after night if I want, at no further cost to you.” She blushed at my insinuation, but she was nodding nonetheless.

“Thanks Harry. I’m going to get ready so we can get back to school.” She stood and kissed me, though it was chaste compared to what we’d experienced earlier in the night. She left with a smile, and I smiled back.

Oh fuck, I was angry. Very, very angry.

I wasn’t angry at her caution about physical intimacy; Hermione wanting to take it slow was no huge surprise to me. I didn’t particularly want to speed things up either. No, I was angry because of the cause of it all. Hermione said that she had brought her magic up in case she had needed it to deal with me.

To me, this was a half step away from her actually bringing her wand to bear. A magically enhanced Hermione would be more than capable of snapping my neck if I wasn’t ready –and I certainly hadn’t been. The notion that she had willingly charged her body with the intent to use it against me made me both livid and a little nauseous.

I was sure that she hadn’t understood how I would take her admission, which was why I was quickly forcing my anger down and away. Down and down, more than a decade into my psyche’s records, buried with my childhood.

This was the second time Hermione had nearly used magic against me. First was when I confronted her about her parents; now this. I would forgive her, of course; I already had. I recognized that this issue was more my paranoia than Hermione’s mistake, but it was there, and I needed her to respect it.

If she does this again, that’s it, I thought heatedly. Just once more and I start looking for a new girlfriend.

That, too, I buried. There was no point bringing it up or handing out ultimatums. It would only anger her and complicate matters further. I’d deal with the issue more discretely, and hope for the best.

With a long sigh, I pushed myself out of the chair, and headed back downstairs. I had just less than a month to prepare myself for meeting Minister Fudge, and considering what was at stake, I wanted to have as much foreknowledge as I could. For that foreknowledge, I needed to talk to Arthur Weasley.

-----

“It’s not as if I talked to him on a daily basis,” Arthur said as he nursed a glass of wine in the living room. “The Minister did meet with Department heads and division heads rather often, though. My division is a part of the DMLE, so I saw him a little more often than some other divisional heads might.”

“Out of curiosity, Mr. Weasley, what divisions are there in the DMLE?”

Arthur stopped to swallow a mouthful of wine, and continued. “Well, there’s the Aurors naturally. There’s also the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, which are your Hit Wizard reserves and other volunteer professionals such as Healers. That division is quiet now; we haven’t called up the Hit Wizards for anything but their mandatory training for years now.

“There’s the Improper Use of Magic division, which deals with the legal side of using magic while underage, in front of muggles, and so forth.”

“Yeah, they’re useful,” I muttered. Arthur smiled and chuckled at what must have been a department joke.

“I know that you’ve gotten away with underage magic quite a bit, but it’s kind of like what I’ve noticed with muggles and their ‘speeding tickets.’ You don’t catch everyone, just enough that the rest of the community doesn’t overdo it. Besides, they definitely concentrate more on the ‘magic in front of muggles’ part of their job.

“Moving on, the Wizengamot has their administration offices in the DMLE, but they’re not really a division; they’re kind of like their own department.

“And finally, there’s my division, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. I deal mostly with preventing enchanted muggle items from leaking into the muggle world, and from dangerous muggle technology from entering the wizarding world. It’s an interesting job, that’s for sure.”

“I’m sure it is,” I said, keeping my face both neutral and interested. Here in front of me was a man I did not want to advertise to about the existence of my pistol. I’d better tell Hermione to keep a low profile on hers, too.

I thought it best to change the topic quickly. “Getting back to the Minister, what can you tell me about his attitude, or what he likes or doesn’t like?”

Arthur rubbed his face and sat back, which was his ‘deep thought’ ritual. “Well, he enjoys his position, that’s for sure. Anything you say or do that makes him look better he’ll appreciate. He’s also a smart man, and if you scratch his back, you won’t have to ask him to scratch yours. He’ll figure out something that you want and give it to you with a smile. It’s the one thing that he’s good at: He pays his debts quickly an in useful ways, no matter how small the debt.”

“That’s interesting,” I said, thinking. That could be very useful to me. “Thanks for the information, Mr. Weasley. I’ll probably have more questions later.”

“Anytime Harry,” he said, settling into his chair and summoning a copy of the Daily Prophet. I headed back upstairs to Hermione to pass along the information. I came to an abrupt halt, however, when Snape’s dark form emerged from the shadows of the second floor.

“Weasley has failed to tell you something that you will find useful,” he whispered to me, leaning in close. “The position of Minister still maintains many executive authorities that it was given by the Wizengamot during the first war with the Dark Lord. There is virtually nothing that Fudge cannot legally decree on his own, and if you gain his favour, you can ask for nearly anything your heart desires.” With a wicked grin, Snape fell back into the shadows… and melted into them.

It struck me consciously for the first time that Snape was probably closer to Voldemort in ability than any other Order member except Dumbledore. Even Alastor Moody couldn’t pull stealth magics that gracefully. Something about the way Snape used his magic reminded me of my encounter with Bellatrix. I didn’t know about the rest of the Order, but my concerns about Snape’s capability of being a spy had just evaporated.

I filed the information away with the rest, and banished the ghastly memory of Snape’s pale face, greasy long hair, yellow teeth, and bitter odour from my mind. Having that man within two inches of your face was a small nightmare in and of itself. Seriously, just a few simple charms, and he’d look and smell just fine.

Ah well, I thought. The muggles had Einstein, and we have Snape.

-----

Helping Snape brew potions was nothing more strenuous than what we had accomplished together over the summer. While Snape was never friendly to me, we established a very efficient working relationship. I quietly helped him nearly every evening, and it got to the point where we would both have ingredients prepared before the other needed it, and any special apparatus set up before it was ever requested.

Every now and again, Snape would make an offhand comment about potions or Alchemy that I filed away in my head. While Snape’s shortcuts might lose me marks on the Potions OWL or Alchemy NEWT, they would allow me to create some potions faster, some stronger, and some with enhanced properties. He was abrasive, unhygienic and anti-social, but he was a genius, and reminded me of the unhappier Hermione that I had helped recover.

I never approached Snape about his problems, but I kept any comments that he made about them locked away for the day when I had enough information to approach him, or at least Dumbledore.

-----

Speaking of Dumbledore, have I ever mentioned that Dumbledore knows Aikido?

Well, maybe it’s not Aikido, but that’s close enough a description. Worse, Dumbledore throws down, not away, so you can’t just roll out of the fall. I learned very quickly to come to my sessions with a charm already cast to buffer against physical collision with static structures. Not only did it make the landings softer, but it also made diving and rolling on the stone floors a painless experience.

This charm quickly debuted in my own sessions too. Once everyone understood that the floor didn’t hurt anymore, everyone started dodging and rolling a lot more. Finally, finally they all started to look like duellists.

Pansy’s voice sounded across the room. “Damn it Granger, pick a spell and stick with it!”

Since I refused to duel Hermione, Pansy made it her mission to remedy Hermione’s tendency to switch attacking spells in rapid exchange. Hermione would alternate between Stunners, Binds and Disarms, which wasn’t bad in and of itself; avoiding the dreaded counter curse is a good thing. But she liked to throw in a few of the faster Transfigurations and Elemental hexes, whose casting times, while quick, were way slower than a Bind or Disarm.

Pansy kept her rapid exchange style to the very simple model that I had previously outlined: She kept up a constant stream of Binding hexes that quickly forced Hermione to abandon any thought of deflection or counter curses and erect a shield. Pansy then unleashed a brutal stream of Reductors that reverberated through Hermione’s shield and forced her to drop it and roll or deflect the next Reductor. Pansy then went back to her Binding hex, and the process repeated. In less than three minutes, Hermione was a quivering wreck on the floor.

“Moral of the story is this,” I said as I helped Hermione up, healing her bruises and a couple of mild bone fractures as best I could. “Variety means absolutely shit when you’re less than ten feet away from your opponent. At that range, the fastest draw tends to win, and if Pansy’s Body Bind outpaces your defences, then who the fuck cares what you’re casting, she still wins.

“Is this getting through to you yet?”

“I know,” she gasped in between pants. “I just can’t stay far enough away from her to make it work.”

“Hmm…” I said, thinking aloud. “You’ve all been working on rapid exchange so far. Maybe a demonstration of midrange is in order.”

“Come on, Harry!” Pansy shouted, falling into her duelling stance across the room. “Let’s go a round! I’m tired of fighting her!”

I nodded and everyone stood at the side of the room. Ginny took Hermione from me, and I walked to stand across from Pansy. We nodded once at each other, and begun.

Pansy was already at midrange, and I intended to keep her there. I released a huge cone of flames from my wand, forcing her back and away from me as I had done to Narcissa. Pansy predictably tapped into her magic and jumped back several feet, producing the buffer charm in mid-air to soften her landings.

I abruptly stopped the flame hex and summoned three desks that were stacked against the wall behind Pansy. She yelped as the desks crashed into her from behind and rolled up and over them, flipping a stunner at me as she landed. I reversed the direction of the desks and sidestepped the stunner, and then I focused my magic on the floor beneath her feet, confident that I had more than enough time to cast.

Pansy snapped a Protego shield off to intercept the desks and rolled to the side – or tried to, as a hand formed from the stone underneath her and seized her by the ankle. With a shriek, Pansy slashed her wand in a jagged motion in front of her, causing the air in front of me to swirl and discharge its static electricity into anything warm and fleshy.

What Pansy hoped for is that I’d put a shield up to protect myself and give her time to shatter the stone hand. Her one and only chance at victory, or at least prolonging the duel, was to close the distance between us where her speed at casting would work to her benefit. I, of course, had no such plans.

I jumped back and fired a medium-powered cone of freezing wind through the statically charged air, blowing the entire mess over to my sister. With her wand already aimed down at her leg in the motions of a Reductor, Pansy screamed in pain and fell backwards as the arctic blast combined with her own static discharge swept over her.

She shot a wide volley of Reductors at me, but at nearly fifteen feet away, it was all too easy to avoid the curses. All the while, my wand was in motion, and soon my stone hand became several. After a brief wrestling match, the floor held Pansy down at the shoulders, wrists and legs. I fired a quick Disarm for formality’s sake, and the duel was over.

“That’s a decent midrange duel,” I said as I freed Pansy and returned her wand. “Like I said in our first session, the fun stuff happens here. Rapid exchange is just tooth and claw with no flair. Twenty to fifty feet out is the best place to be if you’re looking to show off or use high-power spells.

“In fact…” I trailed off as a thought struck me. “I have to ask Dumbledore if I can show you something. I’ll be right back!”

When I returned, I pulled my trunk out of my pocket and enlarged it. From inside I carefully removed Dumbledore’s Pensieve, and placed it on a desk. While the others watched the rune-etched stone basin with interest, I placed my wand at my temple and closed my eyes.

With the memory manipulation of Occlumency, it’s possible to ‘bundle’ your memories into packages, and transfer those packages from your head to your wand. While my friends simply saw me touch my wand to my head and pull away what looked a tangle of glowing white thread, the process was rather long and involved inside my mind.

Twirling my wand to keep the memories tight against the tip, I slowly brought them to the Pensieve, where I let them ooze down into the basin.

“This is a Pensieve, and you can look it up later.” I said curtly. “I want you to touch the mess I just put in there; it’s a memory of one of my recent sessions with Dumbledore. You’ll see it first-person, just as if it was your own experience. Since you’re all a little more sensitive to mind magic now, you’ll probably ‘hear’ my train of thought while I did this. Don’t fight it, or it’ll end the experience for you. Let’s go.”

One by one, everyone put a finger into the small pool of my memory. I touched it too, replacing the small void in my mind from where I had removed it. After only a moment’s disorientation, the memory began to play.

-----

“Again!” Dumbledore barked, bringing his wand to an upright position.

I copied the position, and after a quick bow, we began again. Immediately, I launched myself to the side, my magic making my legs tingle. My wand was whirling through motions as I travelled, erecting both the impact buffer against static objects as well as a charm designed to prevent moving physical objects from touching me.

My prudence repaid me immediately as more than a dozen stone arms sprouted from the floor grabbing at my legs and body. Within inches of their goal, they encountered the invisible barrier of my charm. I rolled through the patch of flailing limbs, firing a long tongue of scorching flames in an arc behind me.

Dumbledore merely twitched his wand, and the flames died more than ten feet from his location. A second motion had pieces of the walls explode outwards into several four-foot tall stone golems, all rushing my position. A third and the room went utterly silent. A fourth and Dumbledore vanished behind a Disillusionment Charm.

I jumped above and over the golems and their stubby arms and quickly erected both a Bubblehead charm and the strongest temperature-regulation charm I could, because I had a good idea of what his fifth motion was going to be.

I closed my eyes as the room itself exploded into flames, every inch of stone, wood and air on fire. With my eyes shut against the blinding light, I continued to move, erecting a dome shield behind me as I ran. I smiled grimly as I felt the concussive force of Dumbledore’s blasting hex behind me, more than likely destroying my shield. I learned long ago that staying in one place against this man led to a 2-second defeat. Speed and unpredictability served me better.

Around and over my wand went as I layered several Disillusionment Charms in the hopes that together they might equal what Dumbledore could cast instantly. The oxygen in the room lasted only seconds, and we now duelled in a fire-lit room with walls, floor and ceiling of pure flame as the stone and wood continued to burn, compelled by Dumbledore’s magic. Gouts of fire flared at the window and door, demonstrating that the room was not completely airtight.

Silent and invisible, we both were still for a moment. Dumbledore would sense any magic I performed that wasn’t a personal ward or internal. I didn’t know any wide-area elemental spells that Dumbledore couldn’t immediately counter. However, I didn’t need to see him to ‘win’ this bout.

I had all the protection against flame and physical damage I needed, so the rest was just a gamble on how well I was disillusioned. I fired a blinding flash of light at the ceiling, which would cause Dumbledore to avert his gaze at least for a second. In that second, a Reductor destroyed the door.

I wasn’t going for the door, though; I ran full out towards the window, fortifying myself as I went. If Dumbledore bought the door ruse, I would make it out the window. If he didn’t, this was likely going to hurt.

With the momentum of a small car, I crashed through the glass as if through paper, shards rebounding off my charms and magically hardened skin. I curled around in mid-air as I began to fall, erecting my strongest Protego. The expected summoning charm dissipated harmlessly off my shield, causing me to shake my head in wonder. Only Dumbledore would just expect to be able to summon a living being; to everyone else on the planet, failure was certain.

I was falling, but thanks to the Burrow, Moody’s cries of “Constant Vigilance,” and Pansy showing me a workaround on how to shrink already enchanted objects with no container, I came prepared. I drew a tiny piece of cloth from my pocket and quickly enlarged it to its real size. Throwing the newly restored blanket off, I mounted my Nimbus 2000 and sped off, disillusioning the broom as I flew.

I periodically renewed a spherical shield charm; it was weak, but it would be enough if Dumbledore decided to try summoning me again. It wasn’t likely, though: Even if he could see through my disillusionment, which I was certain he was able to, I was well out of range for him to easily designate targets when summoning, and since neither me nor my broom were willing or unattended objects, summoning by name would fail.

I guided my nearly invisible self over the gates and away from Hogsmeade. After nearly a minute of flight, I felt the tingle that told me I was finally out from under the Hogwarts wards. I checked for anyone nearby, and seeing no one, I landed in an open field.

Praying that my training had paid off, I gathered my magic and pushed, aiming for Diagon Alley. Like most Apparitioners, I didn’t hear the crack of my departure. All I heard was the rapidly diminishing sound of Albus Dumbledore cursing.

Upon arriving in front of the London side of the Leaky Cauldron, I transfigured my hair to a dirty blond color and my eyes to a light brown. I couldn’t affect my scar, but my hair was long enough to hide it. With one last spell to adjust the color of my outer robes to a nice non-Hogwarts blue, I walked though the Cauldron’s door, dropping the disillusionment charms on me and my broom once the door closed.

I got a wave of greeting from Tom, and a few friendly nods from those around me. I had learned while staying here last summer that seeing a disillusioned wizard coming in from London was nothing new, and so it made the best cover for my escape from the Headmaster. Sitting in a corner table, I ordered a Butterbeer and waited patiently.

No more than three minutes later, a burst of flame erupted from just above me, and the strong talons of Fawkes closed around my shoulder. The stunned tavern patrons looked on as I held on to my Butterbeer and broomstick and the world around me became a column of fire.

When the fires receded, I was sitting in my customary chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk, the Headmaster himself smiling at me. He erupted into laughter when he recognized the label of my Butterbeer, holding onto his desk for support.

“That was amazing, Harry!” he said when he had caught his breath. “To escape Hogwarts…!

“I had to send Fawkes to find you!” We both laughed as Fawkes puffed up his chest and strutted back and forth on my shoulder. I reached up to stroke his head and neck, and Fawkes put a wing around my head, pulling me into his warm body with unbelievable strength.

I couldn’t help but smile. Fawkes could find anyone he knew intimately, no matter where they were. Having been so close to him for so long, I wasn’t too surprised that he could locate me. In fact, knowing that a phoenix could locate and retrieve me nearly instantly was a very comforting feeling.

“The only suggestion I have is for you to find something other than Incendio to cover your retreat,” he said a little more seriously. “That was still more than close enough to counter-curse, and then stun you while you reeled with the backlash.”

“Wasn’t there a way that you could see through my disillusionment?” I asked, curious. I fully remembered Dumbledore telling me how useless my Invisibility Cloak would be against him.

“Certainly there was, but not quickly enough that I would risk it giving away my position.” Dumbledore looked at me meaningfully from overtop his glasses, and I sported a huge smile as I realized the implications.

In his usual indirect manner, Dumbledore had just told me that he respected my duelling skills enough not to take reckless chances. Coming from Dumbledore, that was an amazing compliment.

-----

“Holy shit,” the twins exclaimed simultaneously as the memory ended.

“That was amazing,” Pansy said, hugging my arm. “You got away from Dumbledore! That’s unbelievable!”

I tried not to blush at the praise. “Yeah, well, I showed you that because it was the most successful duel I ever had with him that didn’t go even once into rapid exchange. We both stayed away from each other and used indirect combat spells. Granted, I was more dodging and saving my arse while he was using indirect combat spells, but it’s all the same.”

“See, that’s what I’m trying to do!” Hermione said, pointing at the Pensieve. “I want to duel like that, not just fire and deflect spells up close!”

“Then you need a better keep-away game,” I said, also motioning to the pool of memories. “Rapid exchange is the worst place to be for most people, but it’s also the most do-or-die area, which is why I’m focusing on it first.

“It doesn’t take more than a few Elemental hexes or transfigurations to be effective at midrange. Don’t forget that Death Eaters have no issues using the Unforgivables, so they have very potent midrange casting.

“In most of our other duels, I’d be up in Dumbledore’s face as fast as I could get there, because that’s where I’m strongest. Magically enhanced speed and strength, joint-locks, ground rolls, sidesteps, punches and kicks, deflectors, and a slightly modified Stunner are all I use when I’m in there.

“A modified Stunner?” Hermione asked excitedly, and everyone else looked interested as well.

I shook my head. “It’s one of Dumbledore’s spells. If he lets me, I’ll show it to you, along with that stone arm animation.”

“Why would you need to modify the Stunner?” Luna asked.

“I’ll show you. Try to stun me.”

Luna nodded, and quickly fired a generic Stupefy at me as I worked the counter curse. The spell was barely in motion in the air when the crimson trail of her Stunner faded to white and the spell snapped back into her wand. She yelled out and dropped her wand, and looked at her hand as it twitched.

“Sorry, that was probably a little strong,” I said. “Anyways, that’s why counter-curses suck, and why they’ll nearly always finish a duel. If your opponent knows what spell you’re about to use and gets the counter off, you’re done. You probably wouldn’t drop your wand, but you wouldn’t be able to get another spell off for a second or so, which is pretty much suicide in rapid exchange.”

“But how would they…” Hermione trailed off as I tapped my head, smirking. “Legilimency,” she whispered.

“Yup! So, how’s everyone doing with their meditations?”

-----

The session ended in Occlumency practice, everyone working with renewed vigour. After working everyone until we needed headache potions, we all went down to the Great Hall for dinner.

I was trying to work out a diplomatic way to approach Hermione and not end up in an argument. I needed her to understand that this ‘no magic’ thing that I had wasn’t going to be a passing phase. As fate, or maybe Hogwarts, would have it, I didn’t need to. Luna Lovegood, bless her innocent and inquisitive soul, solved my problem for me.

“Harry, why don’t you ever duel with Hermione?” she asked, looking at Hermione with her misty blue eyes.

“Don’t want to curse her; don’t want her to curse me,” I said in-between bites of food. “Healing spells, sure. But that’s different.”

“So, you don’t ever use magic on her?”

“What are you looking for, Luna?” I asked, confused. “Aside from a healing spell now and then, I haven’t cast anything on Hermione. Hell, I don’t even charge up when I’m around her, ‘cause that’s just as offensive.”

Luna looked unsatisfied, but she didn’t press again. “Okay. So, why?” she asked.

I shrugged, swallowing my food. “I guess I just want one person that I can absolutely trust to never hurt me. I’ve never had that.”

“What about your parents, or Professor Dumbledore?” she asked me, regaining her normal mask of innocent curiosity.

I scoffed. “The Dursleys hated and hurt me as much as they could get away with, which wasn’t a hell of a lot. Dumbledore put me with them in the first place, and while I’ve come to terms with that, I don’t doubt that the man would send me to my death if he thought it best. I trust him to make those kinds of decisions, but that point is that he would make that decision at all.

“I’m looking for someone who would never see me as expendable. Someone who would never consider hurting me in any way, and trust me never to hurt them. Someone who would appreciate that I would do the same for them.”

Hermione’s fork clattered against her plate, the volume making me think she dropped it. I didn’t register it consciously, though, as my attention was on Luna.

“Dumbledore’s in charge, so I can’t ask that of him,” I finished. Luna gave nodded at me and went back to her dinner, which was her way of conveying her satisfaction. I smiled and turned my attention to my own food, only peripherally aware that Hermione had stopped eating.

It wasn’t until we were on our way back to Ravenclaw tower that I noticed something was wrong. Despite the fact that we walked in step and held hands, Hermione wouldn’t look in my direction.

“What’s wrong?” I asked quietly, slowing us down a bit.

“I forgot,” she said quietly. I tilted my head sideways, silently asking her to elaborate.

“What you were talking about with Luna. I forgot how you would take it if I… when we were on that couch, I… I wasn’t…”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, pulling her into a hug. “We’re good. It’s my problem more than yours, and we were more than a little preoccupied.”

“Yes, but I could’ve… I promise you that I won’t use magic against you, ever. I swear.”

“I… thank you.” Wow. Started and finished in thirty seconds; that has to be a record for ‘relationship issues.’

“Thank you for not getting mad,” she said, smiling. “Let’s keep going.”

As we walked, I thanked whatever God existed that I had held my anger in. I could only hope that all of our future disagreements would be as painless as that one.

-----

While that was a very pleasing if unexpected outcome, my lack of relationship problems with Hermione seemed to come back to us in classic karmic fashion.

I suited up with the rest of Ravenclaw’s team as we prepared for our first Quidditch match of the season. Gryffindor were skilled opponents, so the locker room was sombre as we each fell into our zone. With our bright blue robes and game faces on, we took to the skies to the cheers of the crowded stands.

I loved Quidditch. Not only was it immensely fun, but it brought the parents and families into the school, which was uncommon enough to be a real treat for the students. Ravenclaw and Gryffindor colors seemed to overflow their sections, and even a few of the Hufflepuff and Slytherin students and families sported the color of their favourite team.

The cheers of the crowd thundered around us as the Quaffle was tossed, and the game began. I grabbed the Quaffle and fired a pass to Davies, who was further down the field already. I was so focused on avoiding Katie Bell and getting down to the Gryffindor hoops that I hadn’t noticed the cheers quickly become screams.

Katie did, though, and crashed right into me. “Look!” she said, forcibly turning my head. Both Bludgers were not chasing players, as they should have been; instead, they careened full-speed through the stands, smashing into random adults and students in a gory mockery of pinball.

I changed my broom’s heading with a twist of my hips and rocketed toward the stands, my wand coming to my hand as though it had always been there. A glance to either side told me that both teams had marshalled behind me, and we charged the stands in an arrowhead formation of red and blue.

I heard the roar of Dumbledore’s voice, and while I didn’t recognize the spell, the effect was immediate. The entire stand melted from underneath the screaming crowd, dropping them nearly 50 feet in height. The stand had become a large mattress of sorts, assuring a minimum of injuries. More importantly, Dumbledore had given the teams a clear shot at the Bludgers.

I let loose with a flurry of Reductors immediately. Fred and George were the next to respond, and just an instant later, the air filled with white-violet streams of jagged light as both teams opened fire. The Bludgers had no chance to descend even ten feet in pursuit of their victims before nearly two dozen curses reduced them to dust.

A man appeared at the top of a nearby stand, wand at the ready. He grinned manically at me, and then turned his wand to the stands.

“Avada Kedavra!” he shouted, and a man in the stands below him toppled over, dead.

With a scream of rage, I sped towards him as fast as I could, but pulled up short. In the man’s left hand was one of the helmet-shaped items that I had planted at the Ministry, and the glowing runes announced its activation.

Oh, shit! I put my wand to my neck, charming my voice. “DEMENTORS ARE COMING!”

“They will find you dead!” the man screamed at me. “Avada--”

An enormous clap of thunder swallowed his words, and a blinding flash of light forced my eyes away. When I looked back, the man’s charred corpse was falling from the back of the stands, small pieces breaking off in a trail behind him as he fell. From the stands across the field, Dumbledore stood with his wand out and eyes glowing. The crowd was now silent and still, their sense of panic overtaken by awe, and everyone stared at Dumbledore. Dumbledore, however, looked at me. I took a deep breath, and began speaking again.

“EVERYONE NEEDS TO CLEAR THE STANDS AND MOVE AS QUICKLY AS YOU CAN TO THE CASTLE. DON’T DELAY FOR ANYTHING, BECAUSE IT WILL ONLY TAKE THE DEMENTORS A FEW MINUTES TO GET HERE.

“ANY ADULT THAT CAN CAST A PATRONUS SHOULD MAKE THEIR WAY TO PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE; WE’RE SURE TO NEED YOUR HELP.”

I cancelled the charm on my voice and flew down to Dumbledore. To my surprise, however, he waved me off. “See to the evacuation, and guard the pathway to the school,” he said. “The Dementors will arrive here first, and I will cover our retreat.”

I nodded and flew off, looking for the Quidditch teams. They had grouped together in the air, and Roger and Oliver were talking quietly.

“Roger, Wood, can you get the teams to cover the path to the school? The students and parents need some cover.”

“Oliver was nodding, but Roger was hesitant. “Harry, I can’t even begin to cast a Patronus. How are we going to be of help?”

“Early warning, mostly,” I said, anxious to fly up the path. “If you have to, use the strongest Incendio you have; Dementors like the cold, so fire really bothers them.” I barely waited for the captains to agree before I rocketed north, flying up along the path.

“Harry!” someone called from below me. I angled my Nimbus into a spiralling descent, coming to a hover about five feet off the ground. Hermione ran to me, carrying a distraught Luna Lovegood.

“Daddy,” she whispered. “Daddy… daddy…” Her face was wet with tears, and her eyes were wide enough to pop out of her head. I had never seen Mr. Lovegood at a Hogwarts Quidditch game before, so I assumed that her panicked state had little to do with her father’s health and more to do with wanting him present.

“Harry, can you take Luna back to the castle?” Hermione asked, muffling a sigh as she put the thin girl down. “She’s been like this since the Bludgers went crazy, and she won’t walk on her own.”

I nodded impatiently and motioned for Luna to mount my broom. Luna, however, didn’t seem to know I was even there.

“Luna, climb on,” I ordered, and I pulled her closer to me. This time, Luna went through the mechanical motions of mounting the broom, but as she sat up her arms fell limply to the side. I cursed profusely as I clamped an arm around her to hold her in place, and shot towards the castle, rising only high enough to avoid clipping people.

The temperature around us was dropping quickly, and I knew that our time was nearly up. “Someone take her from me!” I called as I reached the castle gates. “I need to get back out there!”

“Here,” a terse voice answered, and a pair of rough hands lifted Luna off my broom. I turned and couldn’t hide my surprise to see Snape cradling Luna in his arms, his dark robes nearly enveloping the small Ravenclaw. Without looking at me or saying anything further, Snape turned and walked down the hall, I presumed to the Hospital Wing.

I turned my broom and shot back down the pathway, pushing thoughts of Snape from my mind. The Patronus Charm, the only charm that would repel Dementors with certainty, required thoughts of happiness, comfort and love, and Snape inspired none of those things in me. I could feel the Dementors coming now, their aura of despair beginning to hammer at my senses. Occlumency helped, but it took real focus to cut through the gloom, and I didn’t want to prolong my exposure.

Dumbledore had been wrong, I thought as I saw the dark forms approaching the line of people from both sides. The Dementors were following their prey, not the beacon. Worse, I had completely forgotten that they could fly, and panic began to eat at the edges of my concentration.

“Incendio!” I shouted, aiming a scorching line of fire at the ground as I flew. A barrier of fire would give people more time to escape, and perhaps a little more incentive to hurry as the flames chased them. I heard the hex repeated by others, and looked behind me to see that the other Quidditch players had begun to mimic my tactics, cutting the Dementors off from the people. Hermione was still on the path, and she took a stance on the opposite side from where I was flying.

My first Patronus Charms produced a heavy bank of fog, and I directed the fog parallel to my fire line as best I could. There were far too many Dementors for mere mist to work, though, and I was likely the only person who could cast the Patronus at all this far back, so I focused on the most profound memory I had: My mother mouthing the words “I love you” in the Mirror of Erised. “Expecto Patronum!” I cried, pushing as hard as I could.

The mist that formed this time quickly coalesced into the shape of a stag, my father’s animagus form. My mother’s presence manifested as white flames that burned in the stag’s eyes and danced along its antlers. It charged immediately at the dark figures approaching, flying through the air as easily as they did.

The initial line of Dementors scattered at the charge of my stag, but there were now dozens that were closing in. My fog banks had nearly dissipated as the Dementors’ aura annihilated them, and my corporeal Patronus could only intimidate so many at a time.

I cast and recast the charm, and though it made me dizzy, I continued to layer dense fog between the Dementors and the running crowd, and now there were three stags chasing the dark robed spectres around with flaming antlers. The Dementors had ceased approaching, more occupied with avoiding my Patroni; for the moment, this side of the path would be secure.

I sped to the other side to where I saw Hermione standing. The Dementors were closer here, less afraid of fire than they were of the Patronus Charm. Hermione was clever with her spells, though, and created enormous walls of fire, forcing the Dementors to fly over, where the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams fell upon them with curses and hexes of their own. Several adults had stopped along the path to add to the barrage, and the repeated call of “Incendio” and “Reducto” became their mantra to counter the Dementors’ aura.

My fog was harder to cast here, and I just barely coaxed another stag to form without blacking out. The fire and my Patronus soon the Dementors on this side retreating from the line, letting Hermione and the others breathe a bit easier. My Patronus charms were dying on the other side, however, and I had very little left in me to give. Having reinforced Hermione’s side, I sped back to my own, wondering if I could even cast the charm again. Panic and determination warred in my mind, as I knew of nothing else I could use against these monsters. If this side fell, I would find Hermione again and stand with her. If I had to fight these things by hand, I’d keep them away from her.

A silvery shape flew past me, singing a formless, ethereal song. Another soon came, and another. I looked south to the Quidditch pitch, and a tear rolled down my cheek as relief flooded through me. The end of the line was now visible, and at its end walked Dumbledore, with no less than twenty-two corporeal Patroni swirling around him, each a silvery likeness of Fawkes. The glowing phoenixes surrounded the line in an ever-expanding perimeter, forcing the Dementors farther and farther. I took the opportunity to rest, and rose higher into the air, looking back at the Quidditch pitch.

The writhing mass of blackness there told me that Dumbledore hadn’t been wrong at all; there must have been hundreds of Dementors gathered at the pitch. For all our efforts and all my panic, the Quidditch teams, Hermione and I had only been fighting against the stragglers. Several manifestations of Fawkes, along with the assorted Patroni of several other adults and professors held the larger group of Dementors at bay, though barely, and small flits of flame erupted throughout the end of the long line as the real Fawkes transported those who had collapsed in the miasmic despair generated by the horde of shadows.

With Dumbledore’s powerful voice driving people forward, the line finally made it to the large front doors of Hogwarts. The various Patroni were beginning to die out, but as they did, the last of the crowd stepped inside the castle, and the great doors swung shut. Only Dumbledore remained outside.

I pressed my face against the window, watching as the last of Dumbledore’s silvery phoenixes faded away. I could feel the power radiating from his form, even through the glass and stone. As the large mass of Dementors surged toward him, Dumbledore raised his wand, and I heard the sound of the wind gather around him. “Oh, hell yes,” I said loudly, nearly vibrating in my excitement. Hermione looked at me questioningly, as did many others. I had watched his duel with Bellatrix, though; I had felt his near-instant defeat of Quirrel. I knew well what was coming.

With a shockwave that shook the castle to its foundations, a wave of concussive force sped out, forcing the entire mass of Dementors back away from the castle. Then, Dumbledore raised his wand high above his head, and the tip fired up with an unbelievably bright blue light.

As the adults around me gasped, I watched mesmerized as streams of lightning erupted from that light, searing unerringly into the nearest Dementors and sending them screaming to the ground. More and more arcs of lightning formed, and attacked the flying spectres in a wider and wider radius. The entire castle echoed with whispers of amazement as the sea of shadows found it impossible to approach Dumbledore without falling, impaled by lightning.

The Dementors could not be killed in this fashion, I knew all too well from Dumbledore’s instruction. They could be hurt, though, and the Dementors brought down by the powerful bolts of electricity crawled away like moving shadows on the ground, eager to escape the pain. On and on the procession went, Dementors approaching, falling to the lightning, and crawling away. Through it all, Dumbledore never seemed to tire and the spell he used never wavered. Soon, fewer and fewer Dementors dared to approach, and Dumbledore increased the range of his attack, driving them farther away.

The whispers around me had gotten louder now, especially from the adults. The most prominent whisper was not in awe of the spell, however, but a name:

“Grindelwald.”

As the whispers continued, I gathered that the spell Dumbledore was using saw use against his historical foe as well. Given the reverential tones that the adults used, it was this spell more than any other that the elder wizards thought of when the name Dumbledore came up. I could hardly blame them, either.

A piercing cry from above turned my attention from Dumbledore to the skies. Fawkes had appeared, and dove towards the gathering of shadows trailing fire in his wake, blowing the entire mass apart as a fiery comet might shatter an asteroid. As the Dementors scattered, trails of violet energy streamed from each cloaked figure, connecting them. These trails of energy spread outward from some unseen source, enveloping more and more of the Dementors, and bringing them closer together.

I wasn’t the only one who noticed, either. With a suddenness that surprised everyone in the entrance hall, Dumbledore appeared in the fiery wake of Fawkes. “Everyone to the Great Hall immediately!” he boomed, and people streamed into the hallways before him. I approached him to ask what had happened, and he grabbed me and forced me along. With screams and wails, nearly two thousand people crammed into the Great Hall, looking at each other fearfully.

“Dome shields, quickly!” Uh oh, this isn’t going to be good.

I pulled Hermione to me, and cast my shield around as many people as I could. Arthur, Marius and Livia all were casting their shields elsewhere, and several of the other adults managed shields of their own. Dumbledore’s dome shield took in nearly half the Hall, eliminating much of the potential confusion as people arranged themselves to fit underneath the available domes.

“I don’t like this,” Hermione said anxiously beside me. “This is just like-”

With a deafening roar, the castle shook and rocked, throwing everyone to the ground. Every window in the Great Hall shattered, and huge pieces of stone rained down on the shields and crushed the tables like kindling. Our dome shields bucked and flickered as hundreds of pounds of rock tested their strength.

Yes, Hermione, this is just like when Azkaban fell, I thought. I couldn’t answer Hermione, though; I was too busy maintaining my dome against the bombardment, and she’d never hear me anyways.

As it was with the Burrow, the blast lasted only a couple of moments, and as the dust began to settle, I stared in amazement at the now un-enchanted, but generally intact ceiling.

Hogwarts had held, thank God.

The debris continued to settle around our dome shields slowly, and several minutes passed in tense silence. No further collapse seemed imminent, however, and everyone began to stand.

Unable to wait any longer, I let my dome collapse and stood to survey the damage. Cracks, shattered glass and missing stone were everywhere in the Great Hall, and I could only imagine the damage to the front of the castle. Dumbledore dropped his shield next, and already his wand was in motion. I watched his movements as he mended cracks and levitated stone back to its general location where it fused once again with the walls and ceiling.

“Nothing special about what he's doing,” I whispered to Hermione as I helped her up. “Let's get going.”

The three of us quickly mended the stonework and glass windows of the Great Hall. Despite the shock of the attack, adults and students alike couldn't help but applaud as Dumbledore restored the illusion of the sky with what seemed to be a casual wave of his wand. At Dumbledore's nod, Hermione and I left the hall, carefully venturing to the front of the castle to survey the remaining damage.

It was to my immense surprise and relief that the castle front still stood. The walls, while cracked and missing in some places, were relatively whole. Cautiously, we made our way to the front entrance, and walked outside.

The Quidditch pitch was gone; a massive crater was there, quickly filling with water from the lake. The rolling hills that kept Hogsmeade just out of view of both the castle and the pitch looked as though a giant dragon had taken enormous bites out of them, nearly eaten completely away. What little of them that remained offered the comfort that Hogsmeade was likely still in one piece. The same was not true for the castle and its surroundings. I noted that the fractures on the front of the castle moved in a spiral formation, something that was physically impossible.

“It's from the wards,” Hermione said quietly, noticing my confusion. “The patterns indicate the way they failed against the blast, and then came back. The blast basically traced the lines of weakness in the physical wards.”

I nodded at her, but my mind was certainly not on the wards. They had held, obviously, since the castle and most of the grounds were still here. Even the forest was largely unaffected, though there were enormous patches of trees that lay against the ground. I scanned everything as quickly as I could, assessing the damage that would need to be repaired. The castle had lost several of its smaller towers in the blast, but that seemed to be the most intense damage.

It didn't escape my notice that the center of the crater had been where the Dementors had gathered, affected by that violet energy.

Hermione hadn't finished with her observations, however. She tugged on the sleeve of my robe, bringing my attention back to her. “This must be what happened to Azkaban,” she said with urgency. “V-Voldemort must have used whatever this was to destroy the island.”

Again, I nodded, having nothing to say to that. I did file that detail a little closer to conscious memory than the wards, though; this was something I would need to discuss with Dumbledore. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I motioned towards the castle. It was time to start putting things back together.

With the help of the staff, and especially Dumbledore, whose magic was needed to set the collapsed towers right, the castle was rendered stable by late evening. The kitchens had been largely unaffected, and an enormous Hogwarts feast helped to calm everyone's nerves. With the students' dorms repaired and the largest holes in the castle patched, most adults felt secure enough to leave their children at the school and check their homes for damage from the force of the blast.

The Daily Prophet reporters that had been present for the Quidditch game were working through the crowd furiously, getting eyewitness statements and opinions. It was inevitable that the reporter would eventually get to me, as I was repairing one of the internal castle walls, near to the Great Hall.

“Do you have any comments about the attack, Mr. Potter?” she asked. A sickly green quill floated near the parchment she held, ready to quote my answer.

“Seems like whoever attacked Azkaban knows how to blow up Dementors,” I said over my shoulder, continuing to work on the wall. Several gasps and whispers told me that I had a larger audience than just the reporter. “I wonder if the Ministry knew that was possible,” I mused to myself, feeling more than justified in venting my displeasure. “Still, there's a big difference between attacking Azkaban and attacking Hogwarts,” I said, turning to face the reporter directly.

“... and that would be?” she prompted, while others listened.

I raised my hands to indicate the castle around me. “Hogwarts is still here.” A resounding cheer came from the Weasley twins, quickly echoed by the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams. The fervor proved to be infectious, and soon the whole crowd was cheering the castle's survival, dispelling the last vestiges of loss and depression.

----

My quote made it to the front page of the Prophet in a stunning example of media sensationalism:

BOY-WHO-LIVED TO THE DESTROYER OF AZKABAN: “HOGWARTS IS STILL HERE!”

The article went on and on about the attack and my frantic defense of the crowd as they ran for the castle, and included the speed at which the castle was repaired, heaping most of the praise on Hermione and me. A fair amount of the article praised Dumbledore whose multiple Patroni and unbelievable command of elemental magics prevented all but the most minor of casualties.

I thought it unfair that those who had been injured or killed went unmentioned. One man died in front of me, followed shortly by his murderer, who had been responsible for the attack in the first place. There were one or two sentences about Dumbledore “exercising his right to dispense justice,” but that was it. It wasn't until Dumbledore's meeting with the Order that night that some of the more insidious details came out.

-----

“We lost four students to the rogue Bludgers,” he said as he leafed through the papers in front of him. “We also lost six adults to the Bludgers, and one to the Killing Curse. Another, the presumed attacker, I killed personally. There were no other permanent injuries.

“All of the deaths were muggleborn.” There were grumbles and nods at this statement, as it confirmed the nature of the attack.

I sat in a chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk in his newly repaired office, the glow of the fireplace and the gentle trills of Fawkes creating a feeling of warmth and comfort. Despite the nature of the meeting, the feeling of safety in the office had not diminished. Beside me sat Sirius and Remus. Sirius leaned back in his chair, and had one arm slung over Remus' shoulders and another over mine. Remus sat comfortably, seeming to listen more to Fawkes than to the Headmaster. Marius and Livia Parkinson sat to my other side, hand in hand, and Livia frequently squeezed my knee, offering her support as only a mother could. Across the room from us sat Snape, his face utterly impassive. In between was a mixture of people that I knew and other Order members that I had never met.

“The explosion completely destroyed the Quidditch pitch,” Dumbledore continued, “Most of the front grounds, and large tracts of the forest, all of which will likely be impossible to recover. With the enlargement of the lake, a new pathway will need to be laid to Hogsmeade.” He then turned to me. “Harry, you had an observation?”

I smiled, along with a few others. My observation was obvious in my response to the reporter yesterday, but I wasn't surprised not to see any mention of it in the paper. “It was very obvious to me that the center of the explosion occurred exactly where the large grouping of Dementors was. Yesterday, I saw large tendrils of purple-colored energy holding them together, and they seemed to gather around this in a tight group. Shortly after that, the explosion occurred.

“My assumption is that this is the same phenomenon that destroyed Azkaban Island.”

“You'd be right,” Moody said, drawing everyone's attention to him. “The Unspeakables found out about a hundred years ago that for whatever reason, Dementors in prolonged contact with each other would annihilate one another explosively. They created devices that would attract Dementors to be very close together, and the Dementors themselves would take care of the rest. On low power, the devices served to keep the Dementors close to Azkaban. On high power... well, you know.

“It was a fail-safe that was instigated just over two decades ago in the first war; a self-destruct for Azkaban in case we needed to eliminate the prisoners being held there.”

“This information is a little late, Alastor,” the Headmaster said, letting his irritation show.

Moody shrugged. “Wasn’t important until now. I figured that when Azkaban went up, either the Aurors did it in response to the break in, or Voldemort possessed an Auror with the knowledge and did it on the way out.”

“Everyone got out,” Sirius said with finality.

“Okay, then, Voldemort did it,” Moody continued unperturbed. “There aren't widespread reports of damage this time, so there were probably less Dementors here.”

“Or Hogwarts’ wards contained the blast,” Marius said. Dumbledore and Snape were both nodding.

“The wards extend through and past Hogsmeade,” Snape said to Moody. “There were probably just as many Dementors here as in Azkaban, but the nature of the warding would have prevented the damage from spreading.”

I could see that there was an unspoken argument building between Dumbledore and Moody about what each would consider ‘relevant information,’ so I took the chance to move things along. “What I want to know is why Voldemort would waste the Dementors on an attack like this.”

“To lower morale and stall for time,” Snape answered immediately. “We are now cloistered at Hogwarts and Hogsmeade bracing for any follow-up strikes, and repairing the grounds, castle, and wards. Until Hogwarts is back at full health and capacity, we cannot afford to leave it more lightly guarded.” Several people nodded at this, and I reluctantly began to nod as well.

“This will delay your meeting with the Minister,” Dumbledore said unhappily, looking at me. “It will delay all the plans we had set for the elimination of the Floo Network, which will allow the Death Eaters to fortify it against us.”

“I'd rather not let Mad-Eye off the hook so quickly,” Remus said, a growl rumbling behind his voice. “Why were there so many Dementors available to use if they had all been destroyed at Azkaban?”

“Because they can't be destroyed,” answered a chorus of voices. Dumbledore, Moody and I had answered at the same time; I was guessing, Dumbledore probably had a more complete explanation, and Moody spoke with certainty. Naturally, all eyes once again gravitated to Moody.

“After they annihilate, they dissipate and reform elsewhere,” the one-eyed ex-Auror said. “It doesn't take them too long to find their way back to Azkaban with the devices attracting them.”

Snape looked at Moody darkly. “If the Malfoys had two of those devices, then there's bound to be more. Now that the Death Eaters have figured them out, this could happen again.”

“Won't happen,” Moody said, shaking his head. “There were only ever five devices created, and only three were in operation at Azkaban. Malfoy had two, so they used one in Azkaban to detonate it and took the others. The Department of Mysteries has another one, and the DMLE has the last one in case one of the devices at Azkaban malfunctioned.

“I still have my clearances, so I checked yesterday. The DM and DMLE devices are safe and sound, and the Aurors still have the device that was activated in the Ministry.”

“So they used the device that I planted in Langford's bag?” I asked. Moody nodded, and I sat back to think.

“You seem certain that these devices can't be duplicated.” Sirius stated in a tone indicating that he wouldn't mind trying.

Moody chuckled at the Marauder, shaking his head. “Son, I could leave all five of the devices in Albus' hands here, come back in a decade, and he still won't have made any headway! Those devices are impossible to replicate, and no, I won't tell you why.

“What I will tell you is that a device activated on high power is ruined, and usually destroyed in the blast anyways. That's three down, and two accounted for. We're good.”

Several questions flew through my mind, but I asked the one that I would most likely need to answer for Hermione. “If these devices are so rare and potent, then why did you have me activate one in the Ministry? Or was that ‘high power’?”

“Shock factor, and yes it was,” Moody growled. “Azkaban is still a fresh wound, so anything to do with it would move quickly through the Ministry, like trials and such. Besides, there was no way the Aurors would have let the Dementors destroy the Ministry; too many Aurors, and only seconds away.”

“Enough,” Dumbledore said, cutting off any further debate. “We have repairs to do and new plans to make. Alastor, make sure that those remaining two devices are destroyed. I don't care what the Ministry or the Unspeakables have to say about it. See to it, or I will go myself.”

One glowing blue eye met two smoldering ones, and Moody slowly nodded. “I'll take care of it,” he said quietly, and Dumbledore turned away.

“Sirius, Remus, do you have plans for an open assault on the Floo control station if it becomes necessary?”

Sirius, Remus and I shared a look that expressed the same reaction: Holy shit.

“I'm pretty sure that we can come up with something on short order,” Sirius said slowly. Dumbledore didn't do more than nod curtly and move on.

“Severus, your potions?”

“Nearly complete with Potter's help,” he said. Snape avoided looking at me while he said this, but his inclusion of my name was enough to make me smile, and raise Sirius' eyebrows.

“Good.” Dumbledore stood, and handed me a roll of parchment. “This is the list of repairs in priority. Anything not on the list can be handled at your discretion.” Dumbledore then turned to address the room. “If there are any other concerns, please remain. The rest of you know what you're doing, and I will see you soon.”

-----

I received a mixed bag of reactions when I relayed the meeting's contents to my friends. Their protests drowned me out when I told them about Moody knowing about the Dementor devices. Pansy was the most vocal, describing Moody in expletives I'd never heard of before. Hermione just shook her head and hugged me. The twins looked angry, and Ginny sat in a corner, looking at her feet. “Why would he not tell them?” Luna asked.

“He’s a fucking Auror,” Pansy snarled. “His oaths to the Ministry are obviously more important to him than we are.”

Fred and George looked at each other darkly, and began to trade off ideas to pay the ex-Auror back. “I think that next time we practice our summoning spells…”

“We aim at his eye-”

“And leg-”

“And Evanesco his clothes-”

“And stick his wrinkly arse to a desk-”

“Floating upside-down in the Great Hall-”

“On a triple-dose of Veritaserum-”

“And a few strong Babbling Hexes-”

“In front of a Prophet reporter-”

“The Prophet wouldn’t print it,” I said, bringing myself into their conversation. “They avoided mentioning anything I said about the Dementors exploding in their articles.”

“The Quibbler would print it,” Luna said, coming over to where I was standing. Hermione shot me a look and I gave her a slight nod. Luna had come to Ravenclaw tower last night with nearly no recollection of her panic. In fact, Luna seemed more attentive than ever, and never once drifted into her talks of fanciful creatures. Given that Snape was versed in Occlumency, I suspected that he was also skilled in Legilimency. My opinion that Snape had done for Luna what Dumbledore had done for Sirius I kept between Hermione and me; no need to draw unwanted attention to Snape.

“Why would that rag print a story like this?” Pansy asked, making her opinion of the wizarding tabloid well known.

“My father’s the editor,” Luna said, her voice taking on an edge. “If I ask nicely, I’m sure he’d print it for us.”

I knew better than to expect Pansy to apologize, but I did note the shift in her facial expression as she moved the Quibbler from her mental list of ‘uninteresting’ to ‘interesting.’ The twins similarly looked as though they had just discovered exactly what they needed for their plan.

“If he kept secret anything that could have helped at the Burrow, I’ll kill him.” That statement, delivered in a low, threatening tone by Ginny, turned everyone’s head. Ginny raised her head and looked at me, and in her brown eyes smoldered a seed of the most intense hatred. No one else in the room caught that tiny crimson spark that lit behind her eyes. What scared me was that Voldemort hadn’t caused that hatred, though he certainly did his damage; anything to do with Voldemort triggered my own rage. This hatred was entirely Ginny’s own, and I wondered for the first time, but not the last, if Ginny Weasley was mentally stable.

“Before you all go Moody-hunting,” I said, taking a lighter tone, “You’ll want to hear the rest of my story.” I then told them about Dumbledore’s ultimatum to Moody, their momentary stare down, and Moody’s submission. Everyone, even Ginny, smiled at the thought of Dumbledore charging through the Ministry, blasting everything in his way while he searched for those devices. In fact, Ginny’s smile was wide with satisfaction, and I could guess why.

Before yesterday, the legend of Dumbledore’s battle against Grindelwald was only that: A legend. The current students of Hogwarts saw Dumbledore as a kind and patient teacher, as well as an organized Headmaster. They respected him because their parents did, and because of the natural tendency of society to honor those who had lived so long. Dumbledore earned his fame more than two generations ago, and though the wizarding community considered him a great man, the awe that surrounded him had begun to fade.

Then the Dementors came, and Dumbledore had almost single-handedly turned them away. An entire generation of students and hundreds of adults looked out from every window they could to see the near-mythical spell that had laid Grindelwald low. After the explosion, they watched in rapture as Dumbledore casually strolled through the wreckage, raising castle towers and restoring enchantments laid by the Founders themselves with what seemed to be little more than a gentle swish of his wand. No one questioned whether or not the school would remain open, or if it was safe to leave the children.

Dumbledore was there.

“If you still want to do something against Moody, you might consider talking to Sirius and Remus,” I said, looking mostly at the twins. “If there’s anyone to bang ideas off of, it’s the last two surviving Marauders.”

The twins’ eyes lit up simultaneously. “You know, we forgot about that!” Fred said excitedly.

“Since we’re talking about them, we have something for you,” George added.

I saw him pull out a scrap of parchment, and knew exactly what that was. “The map? Sirius was sure it was lost.”

“Not lost, little bro,” Fred said as he put his arm around my shoulders. “We nicked it from Filch’s office before you took over.”

“It’s been put to good use since then,” Pansy said, drawing quirky smiles from both Fred and George.

I arched one eyebrow at that, but I let it slide. Pansy could take care of herself. “I’d like you three to give that map to Sirius and Remus. Perhaps Padfoot and Moony can help make copies of the thing, and we can get a better grip on security around here.”

Upon hearing their agreement, I scribbled a quick note to Sirius and sent both the note and the map off with Hedwig, who was pleased to have some mail to deliver. As I watched her fly out the window and veer off to another tower further along the castle, Hermione came up beside me to rest her head on my shoulder.

“I hope that they don’t get into trouble with Moody,” she said quietly. I chuckled, thinking it very likely that Moody would be the one doing the embarrassing.

“Well, Dumbledore warned me that ‘allies’ and ‘friends’ are mutually exclusive terms,” I said, shrugging my unburdened shoulder. “I don’t completely blame Moody for not telling us, but I think that that’s the kind of thing he should have said right after Azkaban went down, not just after we lose several muggleborn and just about lose Hogwarts in a similar assault nearly a year later.”

“I don’t like the wizarding world,” Hermione said miserably, pressing against me harder. “I hate that I’m looked down on even though I’m doing so much better than them.”

“I don’t think that you’re looked down on, Hermione.”

She squeezed my arm, but shook her head, rolling it against my shoulder. “It’s not good enough, though. Even if I’m the exception, how long will it take before it’s not an issue?”

I sighed, not having a good answer. “All I can say is what Dumbledore told me: Let’s take care of Voldemort before we try to change the rest of the world. Because God knows it needs changing.”

“It does.” Hermione was silent for a moment, before looking up at me. “Do you think Luna’s alright?” she asked.

I turned to face her and wrapped my arms loosely around her. “I’m more worried about Ginny,” I said truthfully. Hermione crinkled her eyebrows, and I related to her what I saw and felt in her eyes when she threatened to kill Moody. “I’m really afraid for her,” I said. “I’m scared to go to Dumbledore with it, though. He’s in his General mode right now, and I’m worried that he’ll do something heavy handed like Obliviation or major Legilimency work, and that’s not going to help Ginny in the end.”

“Maybe we can let it sit for a bit, then,” Hermione suggested. “If she’s not homicidal right now, then we should have time to deal with it. We’ll just have to keep her close.” I nodded, and the two of us looked back out the window, surveying the much larger lake, glittering mysteriously in the light of the rising moon.

-----

October and November passed in a mind-numbing routine of repairs to the grounds and castle. While the teachers tended to their classrooms and helped here and there, they were ultimately responsible for the students. It fell to Hagrid, Hermione and I to accomplish the feat, and it left us exhausted every day. The list became shorter and shorter, however, and by the end of November, the repairs required by Dumbledore were completed. There were still repairs to do here and there, but they were aesthetic, and of the lowest priority.

Of all the things that we encountered during our repairs, the forest was by far the most memorable. Most creatures were docile, especially around Hagrid, but there were always a few that acted up. My favorite was Bane. Bane the centaur insulted Hagrid in his usual belligerent manner when we first entered the forest. Bane the centaur flew twenty feet into a tree after Hagrid had lifted him off all four feet by the neck with one hand and given him a good shaking. Bane the centaur never bothered us again.

Hagrid enjoyed Hermione’s delight at the strength of his spells. While he lacked Dumbledore’s experience and gracefulness, I wondered if Hagrid was actually any less powerful. The Daily Prophet wrote their noise about how well Hermione and I repaired Hogwarts, neglecting to mention Hagrid at all. We depended on Hagrid’s potent spells to move most of the stone and rubble and replant the crops, though, and Hagrid delivered with a smile. Once the repairs were completed, Hermione and I cooked a thank you dinner for the half-giant, and passed a Saturday evening in his hut, laughing and trading stories.

Ginny and Luna became inseparable after the attack on Hogwarts. Pansy played the part of den mother very well, keeping the twins and the girls on track, be it for school or fun. Pansy also kept an eye on both Ginny and Luna at my request, looking for anything out of the ordinary in their behavior. Her fixation on Fred and George meant that she spent a great deal of her time with them and a lot less time with Hermione and me. While I enjoyed Pansy’s banter, and Hermione had come to like my adopted sister as well, it was a relief to be able to walk the halls of Hogwarts as a couple without an entourage.

With the repairs finished, Dumbledore’s sessions resumed, and routine dominated for the remaining month of term. I didn’t bother to ask when my meeting with the Minister would be; it would come when it did. After my fight with the Dementors, I was more than happy to spend my time working quietly with Hermione.

-----

Three a.m., Sunday, December 24. I remember that time all too well, as Fawkes woke me with his light and sound show. I hurriedly put a set of school robes on, and found myself deposited in the Headmaster’s office in a shower of flames.

“I’m sorry to wake you, Harry, but I need your services.” Dumbledore stood behind his desk, three letters in his hand, and a forth floating in front of him.

“What do you need, sir?” I asked, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

“We have lost three Order members to the Ministry’s Aurors, and they’re being held in the jail cells with in the Ministry itself underneath the trial rooms. Direct transportation is impossible, but Fawkes can get them out if he has a way in.”

“Fawkes needs me to be there to get in and find them, so that he can find me and then get us back out,” I said, catching on.

“I need you to sneak in there with your Invisibility Cloak,” he said, nodding. “Once you are in, you need to locate the cells and be near to them when you call for Fawkes. You needn’t call loudly; he will hear you regardless of your volume. Fawkes will then remove the individuals to my office, where I will look them over.

“Do not test for identities, just have Fawkes bring them. I will deal with such things here.”

“This sounds a little trickier than the Floo mission. Did you just want to borrow the cloak?”

Dumbledore was shaking his head as I spoke. “No, Harry, your cloak has properties to it that will only work for its rightful owner. I have abused that trait already: Do you remember when I sent you through Severus’ black flame ward to confront Quirrel?

“No regular Invisibility Cloak would have protected you like that. I am sending you because with that cloak you are invisible to most wards and barriers. As long as you are stealthy, there is nothing the Ministry can do to detect you, and so your success is more a matter of time than luck.”

Oh, wow. “I thought that you could see through items like these,” I said.

“I am not the Ministry.” The sly smile of Albus crept onto his face as he said this, and a very interesting thought came to mind.

“You didn’t happen to develop a spell to keep an eye on my father, did you?”

Albus’ laughter was all the answer I needed.

Dumbledore sobered before sending me, and walked over to put a hand on my shoulder. “Harry, one of the members you are rescuing is Sirius. He is the most important to remove, because his status as a fugitive will doom him to execution, or the Kiss if they can find a cooperative Dementor.”

Equal parts shock and anger rode up and down my spine as Dumbledore said this. Damn you Sirius… “That’s a wonderful thought, sir,” I said sarcastically. “How did this happen?”

“Sirius acted as a caught prisoner to allow Remus, Arthur and Marius to leave peacefully. While I agree with his choice of action, we must respond quickly to avoid a fatality.”

“I’m assuming that I shouldn’t let anyone see Fawkes go in and out?”

“Naturally,” Dumbledore said, nodding. “While Fawkes’ ability to travel is not unknown, I am unlikely to be associated with these escapes unless someone sees a phoenix flitting about. Be careful, Harry.”

“I will, sir.” Dumbledore placed both hands on my shoulders supportively, and then passed a roll of parchment to me that had been enchanted as a Portkey. A quick flash later, and I was back in my bedroom at Grimmauld, preparing to leave. After dressing properly, I braced myself for what I felt was the hardest part of assignments like these.

I carefully opened Hermione’s door and walked quietly to her bedside. I stroked the side of her head, and she moaned and crunched her eyes shut, squirming, before she opened them lazily.

“Harry…?” she mumbled. “What’s going on?”

“I have to go,” I said quietly.

Slowly her train of thought caught up to her as sleep faded away. “Go? Where?”

“I’m off to the Ministry to rescue my Godfather and a couple of others that got caught. I won’t be long.”

“Won’t be… are you going alone?” she whispered furiously. “Harry, wait! Take someone-”

“I can’t,” I said, pulling her into a hug, careful to keep the blanket between us. “It’s stealth only; I’ll explain when I get back.”

“Be careful,” she said, squeezing me tightly. A tear rolled down her cheek to stop where it met mine.

I rubbed her back in large circles, “Don’t cry,” I said, rubbing her back. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Hermione reached up to cup my face between her hands, and pulled me into a lingering kiss. I buried the shock as I felt the blanket fall unsupported down to her waist.

“I love you,” she said as she pulled away, making no move to cover herself. Her words stole any erotic thoughts from my mind, though, as this moment and my memory of the Mirror linked inextricably.

“I love you, too,” I whispered heavily, and I lunged forward to hug her fiercely, overcome with emotion. Hot tears fell down my face, and Hermione gasped as they hit her bare back. I stayed there fore several moments, lost in the feel of joy and the warm, smooth skin of Hermione’s back. My rapture quickly faded however, as thoughts of Sirius and the urgency of his predicament washed over me.

Taking a shaky breath, I pulled back and smiled as best I could. “I have to go now. I’ll be okay, probably even more so now.” She smiled at me, wiping her own tears away.

“I love you,” I said, testing the words as they left my mouth. It felt amazing to use them for anyone; I had never said that before to anything but a reflection of my own mother.

“I love you too,” she answered, and smiled widely as I walked out of the room, and quietly closed the door.

10. Year of the Serpent -- Black Christmas

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: I hate having to post this note, but I’ve been warned ahead of time that it might be necessary. For those waiting for the physical culmination of last chapter’s “I love you,” here you go. For those leery of intimate relations at the age they’re at, kindly remember that not only are Harry and Hermione 20+ in their personal maturity, but neither of them follows rules if it doesn’t suit them, and both have taken worse risks with their lives thus far. In this story, it fits well. It also happens to forward my (very evil) plot. Mwa ha, ha, ha…

This chapter was written on my skin with a knife. I swear I’ve never been through such a painful writing experience, not even for the most gruelling essays in university. Matt (mathiasgranger) assures me that the chapter is ‘fine,’ so I hope you all enjoy it. I’m just happy to get this part of the story out, and focus on Chapter 11 and TMF Chapter 3, both of which are coming along much more quickly.

Enjoy the plot twists!

~TOW

YEAR 3: Year of the Serpent - Black Christmas

==================================

I walked down to the basement, recovering my focus as I went. Another trip to the Ministry meant no wand-based magic, and so I needed the best substitutes I could get. I silenced the heavy wooden door of the potions room to mask the creaking, and walked over to the full cabinets there.

One moment later, I had two vials each of Polyjuice, Veritaserum, Snape's vapor stunner, and the antidotes for all three. I also took to larger vials of a very potent acid, just in case. In the absolute best case, I might be able to get into the area in the same manner that I infiltrated the DT, but I wasn't holding my breath.

Long leather belts hung on the side of the potions cabinet, each fitted with small pouches along its length. The brainchild of Remus, these belts saved a lot of hassle when it came to accessing potion vials, or anything else small enough to fit in the belt's pouches. I made a mental note to approach Pansy and the twins with a proposition to expand the pouches on one of these belts. Though it cost me a fortune, I'd gladly trade in the cube-trunk for belt with the same expanded space --far more accessible.

I estimated that your average Ministry enchanter could probably get a belt like that enchanted in about twenty hours or so of work, so it would be a 500-galleon order, give or take; more expensive than my trunk by far, and not really worth the expense to the general public. More than worth it for me, though.

I strapped one of the belts on overtop of the one holding my tunic tight, and sorted my potions into the pouches. Once finished, I took a deep breath to steady myself. I glanced quickly at my watch: 3:45 a.m., just over two hours before the human machine of the Ministry grumbled to life.

More than enough time, I thought and hoped. Donning my Invisibility Cloak, I pulled the hood down and opened the front, allowing the cloak to fade into sight. As the silver sheen of its magic dimmed, the cloak settled into a pure black color. On its front sat two golden lion heads clasped together by a silenced link of golden chain. The cut and length of the cloak made it a suitable replacement for outer robes, and though it was a rather antiquated style of dress, some wizards still used it. Glancing in a nearby mirror, I thought that the cloak looked rather nice against the deep green tunic I wore, the tunic's gold embroidery complimenting the lion heads and chain. May as well look the part of the hero; every little bit helps.

It wouldn't be my cloak providing me invisibility today. After my duel and escape from Dumbledore, I quickly realized the mobility that multiple Disillusionment Charms would give me; no longer would I have to cover my entire body with my cloak, and simply wearing it would offer protection from the Ministry's security. My spell work was more than robust enough to last a few hours, so I charmed myself with every precaution I could think of: multiple disillusionments, silencing auras around my feet and hands, strong cleaning charms to kill any scent that lingered on me, and both buffer charms against physical objects.

Properly equipped and enchanted, I took Dumbledore's Portkey, unfurled the parchment, and the room around me faded into a blur.

-----

Fireplaces along the walls lit the Atrium in a dark, glimmering light, seeming to be a dungeon more than a social hub. The ceiling was lost to shadow, and the monolithic golden fountain glittered in the firelight, sending golden flecks of light out to kiss the walls.

A golden witch and wizard stood near the top of that fountain, arms open in greeting and acceptance. The smiles on their faces, that promised happiness and fulfillment when viewed in the light, looked sinister and menacing now. The smiles that expressed such joy in the smaller statues of a house elf, a goblin and a centaur looked like grimaces of pain. They looked as though they were dancing, and it was easy to believe that they danced for the wizards' amusement, rather than mutual happiness.

Most wizards would look upon those statues and see a beautiful work of art. Those more politically inclined might choose to see it as the social ideal for which to strive. What I saw painted a far darker picture, one of conquest.

Enough water erupted from the statues and surrounding circles of spouts to create a dull roar as it cascaded down to the collecting pool below. With the fountain covering any noise I might make, I walked swiftly past the security checkpoint and the oblivious night guard, and headed for the stairs. The detection wards hummed around me, but the magic of the cloak was far too slippery for them to take hold, and I moved through them like a sleek fish through water.

Below the Atrium rested only two levels: the Department of Mysteries, and the courtrooms. Three silver grates told me that the new lifts were complete, and I saw the beginnings of two more as well. Lazy, lazy wizards.

Reaching the stairs, I quickly descended to the courtroom level: A bleak hallway interrupted twice on each side by iron doors. Blue balls of fire floated above each door. A statue stood hidden in the shadows at the end of the hall.

I nearly cursed aloud. I have to go through the courtrooms to get to the jail cells. Fuck!

Close inspection of the doors revealed a complicated enchanted locking mechanism. Even with my wand, forcing this door open was simply not an option. Several runes on the sides of the door spoke of a 'guardian' as well, and I eyed the statue at the end of the hall with trepidation. My cloak protected me against most wards and methods of detection; I wondered if it would protect me from this.

Not wanting to contemplate the answer to that question, I walked back to the stairs. If any way existed to open these doors, it would be in the Wizengamot offices in the DMLE, 9 floors up. This would have been good information to have, Dumbledore, I thought angrily. This entire rescue just got a lot riskier.

Flight after flight, I marched up the stairs. My watch now read 4:03; less that two hours left before avoidance and stealth became far more difficult. It will be difficult anyways, I mused. The DMLE would not be empty like other departments, nor would the Wizengamot offices be unprotected.

The DMLE was bustling with activity, alive and well lit. The atmosphere seemed cheerful compared to the gloom of the other abandoned floors. I felt even more like a trespasser as I carefully sidestepped a man carrying file folders and made my way down the floor. ‘Rhythm is a Dancer,’ a song Hermione had recently taken to listening to, played over and over in my head as I patiently timed my way around Aurors and other Ministry workers.

It felt inappropriate to call the DMLE anything but a 'floor,' because that's what most of it was. There was a small maze of wooden office desks segregated by rather ornate six-foot wooden walls, a wizard's version of a cubicle farm. There were different sections for different parts of the Department, with wide walkways spaced throughout. The entire floor seemed geared for quick exit in case of an emergency, and everyone was within earshot of someone shouting.

The Wizengamot offices stood out by being the only offices, aside from the Department Head's, completely walled off from the rest of the floor. Walking up to them was a breeze. Getting inside, however...

The door to the offices was locked, naturally, and heaven forbid that I'd have been supplied a key or anything. I stared at the door for an agonizing minute before I decided that no matter what the risk, I needed others to open the door for me. I glanced quickly around to make sure that there were some, but not many, people nearby. Seeing that a minor audience was present, I gave the door a swift kick.

The thump drew everyone's attention, and I moved quickly to the side of the door, near to the doorknob. Predictably, the Auror that came to investigate threw the door open wide and stood back, wand at the ready. I walked right in front of that wand into the hallway beyond the door, and waited in the Auror to get over his nerves. After five minutes of fruitless searching, the Auror gave up and shut the door, locking it with an audible click.

Sighing quietly in relief, I turned and looked for Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore could deal with any damage to the office or out-of-place items; in the worst-case scenario, it would cast him in the light of a victim. His office door, while locked, was just an office door with a simple lock, and I had other means to open it.

I took my glasses off and bent one of the earpieces straight before inserting it into the wide keyhole. One of Sirius' many skills was picking the simple locks of the inside doors used by Hogwarts, as well as most buildings in the wizarding world. While I hadn't practiced much, I had all the time in the world, and it was only one tumbler. After less than a minute of poking around, the lock clicked into place for me.

Carefully opening the door, I crept inside and looked around. The office was what you might expect from a government officer: Two large bookshelves filled with tomes on law and procedure that flanked a false window depicting a vast desert on the far wall. A comfortable sofa rested against the sidewall closest to the door, and the large oak desk sat opposite. The wall on the hallway side was blank except for a large picture of Dumbledore and his brother, along with a third man I didn't recognize. I closed the door behind me and quickly went to the desk, rummaging through its drawers.

I smile ruefully as I filtered through the contents of Dumbledore’s desk. If this had been a muggle office, I'd never have been able to break in; locks upon locks, from the front doors to each single desk drawer would have prevented it. Still, had this been a muggle office, I could have Alohomora'd my way through pretty much anything.

Magic revolves around ideals and intent, you see. I can assure any muggles in the room that both mechanical and electronic locks respond to Alohomora, since the magic sees no difference between them; no matter how technologically sound, to mystic forces a lock is a lock. Picture in your mind David Carradine running his thumb over one of those swipe-locks and having the door open; I can do that, you know.

It was in the third drawer that I finally found what I was looking for: a small iron key with similar runic markings on it as the courtroom doors. I finished going through the drawers out of prudence, but I found nothing else of interest. Satisfied that I had what I needed, I closed the drawers and left the office, turning the bolt of the lock again behind me.

I bent my glasses back into shape as I walked, and carefully approached the door to the DMLE floor. This lock was a bolt-lock, and I threw the latch slowly to prevent any noise. The large wooden door didn't have a window, so I had to take on faith that I could avoid the suspicion of this door opening on its own. Taking a deep breath, I turned the knob and opened the door slowly, trying to make it seem as if it had just fallen open on its own. As soon as there was enough room, I slid through the opening, and took off down the floor before Aurors began to gather.

The ruckus that began to generate behind me faded into the background as I reached the stairs and made my way down. While I had been successful, the Aurors were likely to be on alert now, and that meant that I had very limited time to act.

Reaching the courtrooms again, I slid the key into the first door and turned it. The groaning of the door as its physical locks gave way made me wince, but the runes glowed once briefly and the door opened. More grinding of stone echoed down the hall, and I turned and watched as the statue at the end of the hall came to life and left its recession to stand up.

It was a golden depiction of a tall, robed man. Real flames gathered in his right hand, and large silver-feathered wings rose from his back. The flame alone marked this as a wizard's representation of the Archangel Michael.

The statue stood at attention at its end of the hall, however, seeming to be content to watch. I uneasily walked in the courtroom, and made my way across the risers. The door opened to the highest level of seating, which ran the entire perimeter of the room, with special sections designated for court officials and the parties at trial. There were twelve concentric risers, each one lower than the last, encircling the pit where the accused would sit. In the middle of the room was a huge grate, and as I approached it, my skin blanched and I recoiled in horror.

There were no single cells like a muggle prison might have; there was a large pit underneath each courtroom, and the prisoners inside moaned and wailed, covered in their own filth. The two or three people moaning in the pit were completely unknown to me, and it was clear from their unclean state that they had all been there for some time. Fighting down the nausea and disgust, I crept back out of the room, closing and locking the door.

God, please don't make me search every room, I thought. The smell of grime and shit from the first pit was staggering enough.

I closed and locked the door to that courtroom, and tried the next, praying that I had chosen the right one. The faces of several skeletons and the emaciated bodies of those in the pits told me that I wouldn't find what I was looking for here. As I walked toward the door, the statue of Michael appeared, blocking the exit.

Its head turned left and right as it scanned for my presence. I wondered what I had violated, but I had very little time to think on it. The statue began moving in my general direction; it seemed off-center in its tracking, as though it sensed something but not very well. The key, I realized as it adjusted to face me more directly. It must sense the key. I waited until it had come down to the pit before I gathered my magic to me. The statue slowed to a crawl as I pushed myself to maximum speed, running back up the risers and out the door. I slammed it shut and locked it quickly, and allowed myself to power down as I turned my attention to the remaining two doors.

A metal hand closed around my arm -- or tried to -- as 'Michael' walked right through the wall of the courtroom as if it was water, stepping back into the hall. The guardian seemed to have compensated for whatever issues it had with sensing me, and now I was in serious trouble. I pulled my arm away from the statue's grasp, and while my buffer forced the guardian's hand wide, I could feel the drain it caused on the charm's power. I flexed my magic fully and kicked against its knee, and nearly howled in pain as my foot made contact. My heart sank to my stomach as I hobbled away from the statue; it was too strong to attack.

Again, I called on my magic, pushing myself to my greatest speed. I flew up the stairs, looking to gain some distance from the guardian. Perhaps I could settle it down, or make it look for me in the wrong place. The statue was fast on its own, however, and made up for any difference in speed by travelling through the stone, forcing me to dodge its grasping hands emerging from the walls several times on the way up.

I stumbled out into the Atrium, running through the dim firelight towards the fountain. The guardian came up from the floor near to the stairs, ripples travelling through the stonework like water. It slowed considerably as it neared the fountain; the heavy enchantments on the golden figures and the water itself seemed to confuse it. It was hesitant, almost unwilling, to approach the fountain completely, but it was content to circle it, looking for me. I moved as it did, and the sluggishness with which it tracked me told me that its earlier inability to pinpoint my location had returned.

The sound of footsteps drew my attention to the stairs as I circled away from the statue. Two Aurors appeared, their bright blue cloaks trailing behind them. One began to make its way towards the guardian, while the other raced down the stairs.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...

As soon as both the Auror and the fountain were between the guardian and me, I ran for the stairs, silent as a ghost. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw that the statue was responding to the Auror. Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't botch this up. I flew down the stairs to the courtrooms, only to find one of the far rooms was open. Perhaps the Aurors were checking on their prisoners. I prayed that this was the case; if it was, I only had to fight one Auror before calling Fawkes. If I was wrong, I had to open the other room, and then fight two Aurors and the guardian.

“… Wouldn't be too worried about it, cousin,” I heard coming from the open courtroom. “Death Eaters like you won't be getting out of these cells like you did Azkaban. You'll likely die in that cell.” The voice was decidedly female, and while it carried an edge to it, there was a waver to the voice as she spoke.

“I didn't do it!” was the impassioned answer. Sirius. I ran into the room as fast as I could. “I swear to you!” he continued, “I've met Harry since then; he knows! It was Peter that betrayed them, not me!”

“You aren't the man I remember as a little girl,” the Auror said with bitterness in her voice. “I'll always remember you the way you were before all this happened; before you turned to your Dark Lord.”

“Nym-”

“DON'T USE THAT NAME!” she cried, firing an unknown hex down through the grate. “YOU DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT TO CALL ME BY THAT NAME, YOU MURDERING PIECE OF SHIT!”

Boosting my speed and strength, I ran to the side of the Auror, and pulled her wand from her grasp, dropping it through the grate. My next action, however, was to fly through the air at an alarming speed, propelled by a punch that nearly broke through my buffer charm. The woman, her hair shortening to spikes and turning blood red, seemed to be growing as her muscles rippled, adding layers of thickness.

“A metamorph,” I mumbled as I got to my feet. “This just keeps on getting better.” There was a nagging sense of familiarity to her, though. She did remind me of a student I saw at Hogwarts in my first year, but this feeling was… closer.

“No Death Eaters are going free tonight,” she said forcefully as she touched the clasp on her cloak. A bright light emitted from the clasp, and my Disillusionments and charms tore away from me like paper. My dark cloak shimmered with silvery streaks of light, telling me that the Ministry remained blind to my presence. I brought my magic up as strongly as I could, and I ran towards her, my anger beginning to pulse.

"Think you're good enough to stop me, shape-changing bitch?" I taunted as I closed in. She responded with a textbook roundhouse that I ducked. I fired my leg out in a broad sweep, sending her to the ground.

She kipped up immediately, but whatever her comeback was, it faded into a grunt as I slammed my fist across her face. As she staggered back from the force of the blow, I stepped into her, my hands going to my tunic. I didn't need a long fight; that was suicide. Not only was my opponent likely more experienced than I was, but she could immediately compensate for any difference in strength, and maybe speed. Then there was the matter of the backup that I knew would come quickly; and so, I chose the only way out I had available. Her strong arms grabbed me at my elbows, but all movement stopped as I pressed the barrel of my pistol to her forehead.

“Can you change enough to survive this?” I said while my eyes bored into hers. I pressed hard against the barrel, forcing her back and down until she was on her knees. There was no struggle from her; apparently, this Auror recognized what a gun at point blank could do.

Color slowly faded away from her irises and hair, until both were stark white. "Please," she whispered quickly, her face a mask of fear. "Please, no." Her muscles began to recede, melting away to their natural levels. I slipped an arm around her to keep her from falling back. Part of me suspected a trick, some sort of ruse to disarm me, but her eyes conveyed the truth of her fear to me. For all her training, this Auror had never come so close to death before, and she was terrified.

“What do I do with you?” I asked her, my anger fading as I spoke. “I can't leave you here; and I don't want to kill you. Who are you?”

“Tonks,” she whispered. “N-N-Nymphadora Tonks.” Tonks. Again, that feeling that I should know her.

“Harry?” Sirius called from the pit. “Harry, is that you?”

“Yeah,” I said a little louder. “Are the other two with you?”

“We're here!” another voice called.

“Harry, Nym doesn't know everything, but she's family. Don't hurt her.”

Tonks was still staring at me with wide, pale eyes, her focus shifting from me to the pistol pressed between her eyes. Well, here goes. “Tonks, look at me.” Her eyes shifted to lock onto mine. “Do you know who I am?” I felt the slightest of nods against the gun. “I need you to trust me when I say that we're on the right side of things. I'm going to take you to Dumbledore; he'll explain everything. I want to take this thing away from your head, but I don't want you to let go of me. Will you trust me?”

I watched with no small amount of fascination as the paleness began to drain from her eyes as I talked. Her eyes seemed to have refocused, as though she had finally found what she sought in my eyes and face. Slowly, her eyes regained a bright violet hue, while her hair went a flamboyant pink, and the spikes softened and grew into shoulder length cut. “Yes,” she said quietly, her eyes never leaving mine. “I trust you.”

I pulled the gun away from her head and pocketed it, and rubbed my thumb across the mark it left on her forehead, smiling apologetically. Tonks closed her eyes and brought her head to my shoulder, pulling her arms around me in a tight embrace.

“Fawkes!” I called. “Get us out of here.” A brilliant flash signaled the arrival of the phoenix, and he immediately set to work transporting Sirius and the other two from their cell to Dumbledore's office in Hogwarts. I began to relax a little, when the sound of combat erupted from the hallway.

Stepping into the room with its heavy footfalls was the guardian, its body twisted and torn, and its right arm missing. A powerful curse slammed into it from behind, and it toppled face-first into the risers, sliding down noisily across them to rest near me in the pit. The statue twitched on the ground for a moment, and then lay completely inert. I quickly looked back to the doorway to see who had brought the guardian down. No Auror would have done that, but the person standing in the doorway was no Auror. We stared at each other in shock and surprise, green eyes to grey, and our voices barely managed to whisper.

“Bellatrix.”

“Harry.”

The crackle of flames and a warm sensation above announced Fawkes’ return, and I felt his strong talons close around my shoulders. I never took my gaze away from the woman who stood in the doorway above me, who so easily had taken apart what was to me an impossible foe. Bellatrix kept her wand at her side as the flames grew around me. Her eyes spoke of a longing that I didn't understand, and it reminded me of her gentle ministrations after our duel, as she had tried to heal the wounds she had inflicted. A small, unfathomable ghost of a smile crossed her features as the flames reached my eyes.

Again, that sensation arose: the feeling that I should know Bellatrix better than I did; the same feeling that I got from Tonks.

Why?

I couldn’t even begin to guess at the answer.

When the flames died away, the face staring back at me from nearly the same angle was Dumbledore's, his bright blue eyes and large smile warm and inviting. That smile faded away as he took in the look on my face, and the extra passenger I had brought with me.

“What happened?” he asked, coming from around his desk to help me stand. “Tell me everything.”

-----

“So Dumbledore trained you?” Tonks asked, coming over from where Dumbledore was speaking with the other three. I nodded, and she plopped down on the chair beside me with a frustrated sigh. “Explains a lot,” she muttered. “Been through two years of Auror training, and a kid beats me. If you're as good as Old Man Black over there says, though, I shouldn't have bothered fighting.”

“You're good,” I offered, doing my best to smile supportively -- which probably failed due to exhaustion. “I couldn't believe that you threw me around like that, it scared the hell out of me.”

“Oh really?” Her eyebrow arched up along with her voice. “Is that why you called me a ‘shape-changing bitch,’ then, because you were scared? You sure had me fooled.”

“I'm trying to be nice here,” I grumbled, Turning away to stare out the window. The sky was beginning to lighten with the coming dawn, and I couldn't help but yawn as I saw it.

“Sorry,” she said. “Just tryin’ to... well, just tryin’ to break the ice, is all. I only knew you from a couple glances in your first year; that was my seventh, in Hufflepuff.”

“Girl with the rainbow highlights?” I asked, vaguely remembering a rather odd head of hair from across the hall. She grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

“That was me! I had a thing for rainbows then, and school colors are dead boring after so many years of it. We all figured you were going out with that Granger girl. She seemed nice enough, but of course I never knew her.”

A genuine smile fought its way onto my face when she mentioned Hermione. “Yeah, I'm with her. We hooked up officially that summer, and then... well, the next year was full of bullshit. Just like this year, I guess.”

“She a keeper?”

“Hell, yes,” I said. “She's the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. I might just be insane by now if she wasn't around.”

Tonks laughed lightly, looking over to where a flash of fire had erupted. Dumbledore was now talking to Sirius alone, the other two transported away by Fawkes. “This is all messed up,” she said brightly. The tears forming in her eyes told me exactly how fake that brightness was. I reached out tentatively to her, and she fell towards me, letting me gather her into a sideways hug.

Tonks introduced me to a completely new form of crying. Maybe it was due to her being a Metamorphmagus, but she either couldn’t, or chose not to, sob. Tears ran from her eyes, and her breathing was fast and ragged, but not once did it hitch, nor did her shoulders bob. Her hair darkened to a deep blue, with even deeper shades coursing through it randomly.

“It'll be alright,” I said quietly. “I'm so sorry that I had to fight you. I can't tell you how horrid I feel about that, especially since you're family.”

“It's not that,” Tonks said, her voice strong and steady despite the tears that still rolled down her face. “You did what you had to do, and I could see the change in your eyes as soon as you knew I wasn't an enemy. You were thinking something along the lines of ‘Thank God, I don't have to kill her,’ right?” I nodded, and she smiled a bit.

“Yeah, I thought so. You're one of the personality types that we study as Aurors. I'm surprised that you're like that, though; usually its older blokes that get that way.”

“Fighting Voldemort while he's possessed your friend's little sister will do that to you,” I said quietly.

“Oh, fuck; you're serious? Well, that'll do it, I guess. Anyways, it's not you.

“I'm worried more that my career is over before it's started. I'm all for Sirius getting out, I'm happy. It's just that I'd like to have actually worked as an Auror for a while. I tried so hard to get in.”

“I'm pretty sure that Dumbledore can make everything work,” I said, squeezing her shoulders. “He's done a lot for me, and I'm sure he's not going to let you suffer.”

She nodded against me, but didn't answer. The amount of liquid that had come from her eyes was truly disturbing, but I schooled away any reaction. Shape-changers of any sort are different in inexplicable ways, and none of them really mattered.

Dumbledore interrupted our moment to talk about Bellatrix again.

“I can't express the trepidation I feel that she came so close to you, Harry. If I had been any slower at the Malfoys...”

“I think we'd have been okay,” I said, thinking back to that fight. “She was trying to heal me just before you came. I don't know why, but I'm pretty sure that she was genuinely trying to save my life.” Dumbledore looked resolute, though.

“Whatever Bellatrix Lestrange may be, she is dangerous. Whatever she sees in you, it isn't worth the risk of exposing yourself to someone who could so easily kill you, and has all the motivation in the world to do so.”

Despite the logic of Dumbledore’s words, I was quite prepared to defend Bellatrix to him; Tonks looked as though she had similar thoughts, surprisingly. I was about to reply when Sirius put his hand on my shoulder from behind, and talked over me. “Is there a chance that we can all get back to Grimmauld? I'd love a comfy bed right about now, and I'm sure that these two can use the break, too.”

Dumbledore looked pensive a moment before he nodded. “Yes, I believe you can. I shouldn't need any of you; I can cover for Nymphadora myself, and I had best make a trip to my office and see if anything needs a well-placed lie or rumor.”

Tonks was the only one to be surprised at the Headmaster's rather statement. “The wizarding world isn't ready for half the things that Dumbledore could tell them,” I whispered to her. She just nodded mutely, her jaw still slightly open. Five seconds of Dumbledore's time later, the three of us appeared in Grimmauld, and Sirius kept his hands firmly on Tonks’ shoulders.

“Hermione’s probably waiting for you,” he said as he led Tonks toward the kitchen. I had started walking up the stairs to Hermione’s room as soon as my feet had touched ground, so his comment was likely more for Tonks’ sake than mine.

-----

Hermione looked as though she hadn’t been sleeping well, which sent pangs of guilt burrowing through my stomach. Her eyes blearily opened as I gently shook her, but as soon as they saw me, they sharpened into focus. Without a word, her arms shot around me, and she pulled me into a massive hug.

After she calmed down at my murmured assurances, she reached up to remove my cloak, and then reached for the ties to my tunic. She methodically stripped me down, and pulled me into bed. I was far too tired to care that we were both naked; with Hermione stroking my hair gently, I faded off in minutes.

-----

It was the most luxurious feeling to wake up next to Hermione. The sensation of soft, flawless skin pressed against mine was intoxicating as I came awake, rubbing against her. She had the most serene look on her face as it rested lightly against my shoulder.

She woke to me rubbing her back slowly, and greeted me with a beatific smile. "Good morning," she said quietly, stretching her body, and pressing harder against me. "It feels wonderful to wake up to you."

"My thoughts exactly." She moved herself to be flush against me, and both of us did our best to ignore my arousal. It wasn’t easy, though; eventually, Hermione simply raised her leg and trapped it between her thighs.

"It doesn't matter," she said when I found it difficult to look her in the eye. "I'm so far past ready for you now."

My confusion must have been evident on my face, because she quickly jumped to elaborate.

"I mean, I know it was just a couple months ago we were just talking about that, but it was... I ..." Tears began to pool in her eyes as she tried to marshal her words. "When you woke me up to say... goodbye, I knew... I knew it was going to be like this. Always, I mean. You’re always going to disappear like this until the war is over, and I thought 'What if you don't come back?'”

“Hermione…”

"I couldn't stand thinking like that; it made me miserable. I don't know how I got back to sleep."

"I'm sorry. I know that it's not fair to you."

Hermione didn't answer that, she just held me tighter. My hands ran up and down her back and sides, sometimes going down her hips and thighs as far as I could reach. Slowly, she brought her arms around to my front, and began to rub up and down my chest. At some point, we searched out each other’s mouths, and her hand slipped down to grasp me tightly. I kept my wits enough to fumble around for my wand, locking the door to the room.

Hermione attacked me with a passion I didn’t think possible, her hands moving over me as if trying to memorize every detail. My hands traced along similar routes, blackened palms tracing along the perfect skin of her legs and back, gently massaging her breasts as she moaned quietly.

I was hesitant about making love; all my feelings of vulnerability aside, Hermione had just been after me in recent history not to move so fast. Hermione thoroughly quashed my reservations by taking initiative, and I submitted to her rather forceful ministrations quite willingly. There was nothing fancy to our lovemaking: A quickly muttered contraceptive charm, and a small grimace of pain from Hermione near the beginning, followed by a period of quiet timelessness where we moved against each other, punctuated by kisses and caresses. It was only after our third time, when our desires had been thoroughly satisfied and the healing charms we knew would no longer cure the soreness that we decided to stop.

Oh, I can hear the hollering from the room now: “Premarital sex and underage yet? How scandalous!” Every prude and pureblood reading this can grow the fuck up; you’ve all been very comfortable with Hermione and I risking our lives with Death Eaters, even back then, so you have absolutely no ground to stand on.

As the room darkened with the approaching evening, we were once again still, holding each other under the bed sheets. Hermione had been dozing in and out, content to close her eyes and curl her hands through my hair. I did much the same, though my eyes stayed open more than closed, admiring the beautiful woman next to me. I had never really thought much about sex, or any of the assorted emotions that went with it. To Hermione, our coupling likely was an extension of our earlier declaration of love, as well as a celebration of sorts that I had survived another risky venture. To me, it represented something fulfilling, a physical manifestation of positive emotions, if such a thing could exist.

My thoughts trailed back to the gang members in my old childhood haunts: They would always brag about their sexual conquests. I had thought it rather strange that these conquests all involved alcohol or drugs, or one girl with multiple boys. Back then, I classified it as a ‘street-thing,’ something that occurred to people that were underprivileged or somehow denied a normal life. My time with Hermione had taught me otherwise; now, after having experienced it myself, the thought of getting up and leaving, thinking nothing of the person you had just been with, knowing that they likely thought nothing of you… I nearly cried, then and there, and I reflexively held on to Hermione tighter. A small wave of satisfaction rolled through me when Hermione’s hands tightened possessively around me as well.

Some things in life are worth any price.

“I should ask you how the rescue went,” she said eventually, her eyes still closed.

“Well, all things considered.” I relayed the basics of my trip, up until my fiery escape with Fawkes.

“Bellatrix was there,” she whispered, and a shudder ran through her body.

“I really don’t understand her,” I said, staring at the ceiling. “One moment she’s trying to kill me, the next she’s healing my wounds. Now, she looked… happy to see me. I don’t get it.”

“She nearly killed us.”

“Yeah, she did,” I sighed. It would always come back to that, I decided. No matter what I thought on the matter, Bellatrix had no compunctions killing anyone else, and I had a whole list of people I needed to keep away from her.

-----

Dinner brought us down to the land of the living. Sirius and Remus wore large grins, and Tonks changed herself into a perfect likeness of Hermione and batted her eyelashes at me. Pansy and the twins wore identical, predatory looks. Ginny’s face was relatively indifferent, though she did smile at Tonks’ imitations.

Luna, who had joined us over the holidays, simply stared in her normal fashion, her mouth curled into a very slight smile.

Wanting to forestall any annoying comments, I clapped my hands in wide theatrical fashion, and watched as everyone scrambled to rescue their plate of food before it rose to the ceiling. With everyone else occupied, I held out Hermione’s chair, and began to load up plates of our own.

“You’re getting rather good at that,” Luna commented as she stood on her chair to reach her plate.

I made a noise of agreement as I swallowed a mouthful of food. “Enjoy the show, it’s the only spell I can do that with; anything larger than those plates, and I’d still need to vocalize it.”

“It’s still an amazing accomplishment,” Remus said, having finished nearly half his dinner already. I had expected him to be the fastest to retrieve his plate; a non-verbal, non-focus levitation spell stands absolutely no chance against a werewolf’s strength.

“Mmm-hmm,” Sirius agreed, far too engrossed in eating to give a more elaborate response.

Tonks features melted back into her own as she brought her plate back to the table. “You know, I’m actually jealous,” she said. “I’d have done pretty much anything to get one-on-one lessons with Dumbledore, look how far you’ve come.”

“Ah.” I put my fork down and ran my hand through my hair. “It’s actually not that simple, and I’d forgotten that you don’t know the story.

“Voldemort attacked my family when I was one; my mother died because she wouldn’t abandon me, and that sacrifice created a backlash that caused Voldemort to ‘die’ when he tried to kill me. It also brought our, err, ‘souls,’ if you will, into direct contact. The short of it is that I adjusted to meet the onslaught, and it left me with the magical capacity you might expect of someone forty-five years of age, give or take, along with a few other perks. Dumbledore’s trained me to harness that, but Voldemort gave me the edge.”

“Holy shit.” Tonks’ exclamation was the most pronounced, but several others said it at the same time. “Small wonder you’re as good as you are, then,” she continued. “Any chance you can give a girl a few pointers?”

“He helps us when he can at Hogwarts,” Pansy chimed in, gesturing with her fork. “Dumbledore trains him, and then he trains us. Mostly dueling, but there’s some other stuff as well. Why don’t you just pop in on the days we’re training?”

I opened my mouth to retort, but closed it quickly and nodded instead. I thought Pansy a little quick to give out invitations, but I’d likely have suggested something similar and Tonks was already voicing her agreement, so I rolled with it. Dinner then passed relatively quickly, and while Tonks, Remus and Sirius stayed in the kitchen to share a drink, the rest of us claimed our favorite seats in the living room.

“Mum and Dad will be here tomorrow,” Pansy said as she flopped onto the couch, Fred and George sitting on either side of her. “It’ll be nice to be a family for at least a day.”

“Yeah, it’ll be good.” I picked Hermione up and sat in a large, squishy chair, sitting Hermione across me. Luna and Ginny sat next to us on the loveseat; Ginny stared out into space, while Luna kept her adjusting her attention between Pansy and I.

“I like your eyes, Pansy.”

Pansy looked at Luna, startled by her out-of-the-blue statement. “What, exactly, do you mean by that?”

“They used to be light grey, like your parents. Now, they’re turning quite green; it’s actually very interesting, I’ve never seen eyes do that before. Daddy’s never printed an article on changing eyes before, maybe this is something undiscovered…?”

Pansy shot a panicked look at me that I immediately returned. We both were thinking the same thing: I was the only person I knew in wizarding society with green eyes; any changes would have to have been due to my blood. Faster than I’ve ever seen her move, Pansy was off the couch and up the stairs, heading to her room, obviously looking for a mirror.

Hermione poked me in the arm to get my attention. “Do you think it’s because of-?”

“My blood, yes.”

“But why? Wasn’t it her and her family that was adopting you?”

I found myself unable to answer Hermione’s question. There wasn’t anything formal to what Pansy and I had done; a simple sharing of blood, a token gesture to her that I was, indeed, her brother. “We weren’t specific,” I said eventually, my brow furrowed with thought. “It shouldn’t have mattered, though; the sharing of blood between two people only momentarily mingles their magic.”

“Remember that we were able to depend on that mingling for your mother’s protection to recognize Pansy a blood relative and protect this house,” Hermione said. “That would mean that she might be your sister now, more than you are hers.”

“Isn’t that just semantics?” I asked. “I recognize the existence of the blood tie, yes, but why would it affect her?”

“The magic requires a blood relative to you through your mother,” Hermione persisted. “That means that your blood may have altered her enough to qualify under Dumbledore’s charm.”

“Wouldn’t it have begun to affect the change earlier then?”

Hermione went silent for a moment, before she began to paraphrase from our lectures with Dumbledore. “Mystic alterations to the body based on a ritual pact or oath develop in the eleventh month after the pact has been activated, with final culmination after a full year has passed. The nature of the pact is apparent in the alterations present.”

I found myself nodding along as she spoke, continuing her reasoning where she left off. “The pact was activated last Christmas, so it’s been a year, then. Since the pact in this case concerns both blood relation and protection, it would at least partially manifest itself as an adjustment in appearance so that we more closely resembled each other. Would the protection part manifest as well, I wonder?”

“Probably not,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “That part was specific to you, and it seems to have manifested in its own way.” She turned my hand over, exposing the blackened palm. “I think that the fact that you’re inherently stronger magically than Pansy is also contributes to the fact that she’s changing to fit you, rather than you changing to fit her.”

“Will she be alright?” Luna asked, her normally placid expression showing a hint of concern. I thought it the sweetest thing that despite Pansy’s abrasive attitude, Luna cared about her.

“Unless I have any mysterious diseases, I think she’ll be fine.”

“Let’s hope it ends at your eyes,” Pansy’s voice echoed down the stairs as she descended. “If I get your cheeks, I’m committing suicide.” I put on my best indignant face, and the room shared a laugh as Pansy settled between the twins again.

I eventually shrugged my shoulders. “If Hermione’s right, then it’s been a year, and slightly green eyes are all you’ve got out of the deal.”

“And if she’s wrong?” Pansy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Then you explode.” I took a thrown pillow to the face for that comment, one that I happily returned. After several minutes of flying pillows, conversation turned back to tomorrow’s gathering, and the prospect of presents. It wasn’t long, however, before the fiery entrance of Dumbledore and Moody interrupted us.

After exchanging pleasantries, Moody clomped through to the kitchen, his artificial leg and walking staff making a unique clip-clop sound. Dumbledore stayed behind long enough to listen to, and agree with, Hermione’s theory on Pansy’s new eye color. “It’s the most logical explanation,” he said. “It would take far too much work to rule out every possibility, but given such a blatantly obvious source, I think we can afford to be a little careless, just this once.” Pansy sniggered at Dumbledore’s grin and the lightness in his tone. He was in a good mood, so a little more of Albus showed through today.

“I take it everything went well at the Ministry, then?” I asked.

“Covering for Nymphadora was actually very easy,” he said as he sat on the armrest of my chair. “During her entrance, Bellatrix killed every Auror between the Atrium and the courtrooms. While it is a tragedy in its own right, it also eliminated any chance of refuting Nymphadora’s story. In the chaos, no one second-guessed my presence, or my story that Nymphadora exited the Atrium to inform me.

“My office is intact, and the key was replaced. Nothing is out of the ordinary so far as the Ministry is concerned, and so all suspicion concerning office break-ins and the missing prisoners has been diverted to Bellatrix.”

“Sounds good,” I said, allowing myself a small smile. “What will this mean for the Ministry’s reaction to this?”

“I’m glad you’re thinking ahead; yes, this will likely make future entry slightly more difficult, but the damage is actually less than I was preparing for.” I tilted my head, and Dumbledore continued.

“Initially, I was planning on a ‘mysterious disappearance’ for the prisoners: You were going to get in and out undetected, with the prisoners in tow, leaving the Ministry with a mystery to solve. An unknown enemy that can break into those cells would have had the Ministry on high alert, and while that would slow us down, it would serve to limit the effectiveness of the Death Eaters’ movements within the Ministry.

“With Bellatrix there to take the blame, the Ministry will focus more prominently on the escaped Azkaban prisoners, perhaps going so far as to ward against their entry. This would be a very beneficial situation, as it would not impede us at all, while forcing the Death Eaters to work by proxy alone, using the Imperius and their altered Floo Network.”

I felt confident enough to take a stab at the game plan. “So, the idea is to let these measures go into effect, if they do, and let the Ministry cool down for a couple months. Then you go ahead with the Wizengamot session while I meet with the Minister, and Remus and Sirius take a shot at the Floo network?”

Dumbledore nodded. “That’s the general idea, though Sirius will likely be warded against. I have Arthur and Marius working on streamlining that process, and Alastor has just informed me of the destruction of the last two Dementor control devices. All in all, despite our setbacks, we’re still in a good position to accomplish our goals by stealth.”

“Here’s the big question,” Pansy said, drawing our attention to her. “How many people are already under the Imperius?”

“Not too many,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head slightly. “I’ve subtly probed around as much as I am able, and aside from some obvious plants in the Department of Transportation and a few general clerks, I haven’t found many. It is my hope that Voldemort is being overly cautious with how fast he’s moving in his takeover.” The grace with which Dumbledore delivered that statement had Pansy nodding before he was finished. I felt his grip tighten on my arm, however, and he quickly excused himself to the kitchen afterwards, citing a need to talk with Sirius.

I kept my face happy and the conversation light after that, waiting a full fifteen minutes before I walked into the kitchen, looking for Butterbeer. Dumbledore and Moody were whispering quietly at the end of the table; Tonks, Remus and Sirius were doing much the same closer to me. None of the five adults looked happy in the slightest. After securing my Butterbeer, as well as one for Hermione, I walked over to Dumbledore.

“What’s really going on?”

He looked at the kitchen door for a moment, before leaning closer to me. “The use of the Imperius has spread more than I would admit to your friends,” he whispered. “Moreover, I have rooted out the beginnings of a completely different movement within the Ministry, one unaligned to the Death Eaters or to us. My instincts tell me that it bodes poorly for the community overall, but I have no proof yet.”

I let my breath out, blinking a few times. Another faction? That can’t be good.

“What does this mean for our plans?”

“It changes nothing, at least not for you,” Dumbledore said. “The Floo Network must come down, now perhaps for two reasons. Once that is complete, then we might find ourselves in a slightly better position to observe the movements of this new potential adversary.

“Say nothing to your friends; this is information that I do not want passed around.”

With a nod of acknowledgement, I headed back out to the living room, schooling my face into a smile. I handed Hermione her Butterbeer, and perched myself on the armrest of her chair, as Dumbledore had done. I couldn’t help but yelp in surprise when Hermione pulled me into her lap, and the rest of the room shared a chuckle as I adjusted my legs to fall over one armrest, draping my head back across the other. Hermione’s hands felt warm against my stomach, and I felt quite at peace.

“So, what did Dumbledore really have to say?” Pansy asked, giving me a knowing look. Here’s the part I hate the most…

“Nothing much more than he said out here, really,” I said with a shrug. “Gave me an idea of what I might say to Fudge, and how much I could reveal I knew to him without looking suspicious. I’m with Dumbledore a lot, so I’d need to know at least the basics, but shouldn’t know details.”

It was a truthful statement, even if it was a lie. Pansy bought it without question, and Luna and the Weasleys never pressed for information. Hermione, however, had a neutral-but-interested expression on her face, and her eyes were ever so slightly unfocused – evidence of Occlumency use. I felt inordinately proud of her in that moment: I had just spouted one of the smoothest lies I’d ever produced, and she’d caught it immediately.

Evening became nighttime, and soon people were trickling to bed, enthusiastic about the arrival of Christmas day. I was one of the last to head to bed, after telling Hermione about Dumbledore’s concerns. Sirius and Tonks had left for the night, citing a craving for the greasy fare that Tom served at the Leaky Cauldron.

“Are you staying tonight?” she asked.

“If you want,” I yawned. “I just want to sleep, though; still sore from earlier.”

She nodded, smiling. “I know; me too.”

Silence. Then:

“Are you happy?” The question surprised me. “With me, I mean,” Hermione clarified, when I didn’t immediately answer.

“Yeah. I kind of thought I expressed that rather well earlier.” She giggled a little, and snuggled into my arms.

“I was just worried, you know. That maybe I was pushing…”

I snickered, running my fingers through her hair and scratching her scalp with my nails. “I can’t believe all this uncertainty is coming from the girl who charmed a couple into being her parents.”

That comment earned me a slap to the chest. “That’s not funny!” she said, rubbing the area that she just smacked. “I was scared; I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It’s over now, don’t worry about it. Think that anyone will pitch a fit if they catch us in here tomorrow morning?” Hermione rewarded my question by tightening her arms around me, and kissing the side of my head.

“I don’t care,” she said. Before I could voice my agreement, my stomach announced audibly that it was still hungry, causing us both to laugh.

“Suppose I’d better put something down, so I don’t wake up starving.” I kissed her, and quickly redressed myself, leaving for the kitchen.

I was just leaving her room, when an impossibly strong hand pulled me to the side of the hall, away from the door.

An extreme rush of magic washed over me, and the sensation of both movement and formlessness made me nauseous; it wasn’t Apparition, this was something else. The feeling stopped abruptly, and I stumbled into the storage room of Grimmauld’s basement. My wand was in my hand immediately, and I whirled around, a shield charm only an instant from forming, to see who had moved me.

“No,” I breathed, the charm faltering on my wand’s tip. “You can’t be here.”

Bellatrix.

“I am,” she said simply, shrugging her shoulder and brushing her long, black hair behind her. “I don’t know where ‘here’ is, mind you; I assume that Dumbledore’s protections are on this place.”

“It’s not possible,” I reiterated, fear lending some strength to my voice. “No one associated with Voldemort can enter this place!”

A flicker of anger rose in her eyes, but her face curved into a cold smirk. “You’ll find that blood can overcome most mundane forms of protection,” she said.

“Fawkes!” I cried, my shield springing to life. Calling for strength, I lifted a table in my left hand, waiting for the Cruciatus or Avada Kedavra I was sure would come.

“No!” she cried. “Wait!” An unknown curse –or charm, perhaps—shattered my shield to pieces, and she moved forward with unbelievable speed, clamping down on my wrist hard enough to prevent any retaliation from me. At the same time, Fawkes appeared in a burst to my left, and clamped his claws around my shoulder. A string of invectives from Bellatrix matched the phoenix’s battle cry, and I was suddenly at in the middle of a tug-of-war. The flames of Fawkes’ teleportation battling the shadows of whatever method Bellatrix was using to travel, likely what Snape had used around me earlier in the year.

I was in no small amount of pain, the two magics conspiring to tear me in half. Through the pain, though, my mind finally grasped the ramifications of Bellatrix’s presence.

If she’s here, she’s not trying to hurt me.

The door to the room blew apart, and Dumbledore stormed in. I could see Hermione through the doorway, standing in a hastily donned robe. She stared at me with a terrified look on her face, her hand shaking as she tried to level her wand. I needed to tell them that Bellatrix couldn’t be here to harm me; I needed to get Fawkes to let go; I needed to get Bellatrix to stop trying to move me; I needed time that I didn’t have.

A curse blew Fawkes off my shoulder, but Bellatrix abandoned her own attempt at travel to shield against the powerful spells of Dumbledore – a damned impressive feat. I wrenched my arm free, and let go of the table, opening my mouth to speak.

“Stay clear!”

“Avada Kedavra!”

“NO!”

My world exploded in green light, then red; everything became a blur as my glasses shattered, creating a glittering kaleidoscope of Christmas colors: Green, red and silvery white. My last thoughts were confusion at how I ended up on the ground, but how soft and cool it was against my feverish skin. My hands felt like they had melted, and my head… A wonderful blackness stole the colors away, devouring the pain and the heat, and I fell into blissful oblivion.

-----

Taken from Hermione’s memories:

A surge of power outside her room had her dressed and out immediately, but there was no trace of anything when she opened her door. Where did Harry get to so quickly?

A muffled cry of “Fawkes!” sent Hermione racing down the stairs. Only Harry or Dumbledore could call for the phoenix like that. As she passed the living room, Dumbledore appeared, wand glowing with power. Had he still been up?

He raced past her to the kitchen, all but flying down the stairs, sending the door to the storage room exploding inwards. Hermione followed as quickly as she dared, and she was quickly level with the door—

Harry! She wanted to scream, but her breath hitched, and her muscles betrayed her. In front of her was one of her worst nightmares come true: The house’s defenses were not absolute; Bellatrix Lestrange had entered the house, and now she and Fawkes fought over Harry. Her own wand shook in her hand, and she slowly brought it up. While the three struggled, it was pointless to cast. Suddenly, Bellatrix had cursed Fawkes, and then she and Dumbledore began to duel…

Harry broke away from Bellatrix. This was her chance.

“Stay clear!” Dumbledore yelled, stepping in to continue the duel. The shadows were growing again around Bellatrix, though, and Hermione knew without a doubt she would escape. This Death Eater, who had nearly killed her, who now had almost taken Harry from her, would escape, and she would do it again.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Her spell was unfocused, unpracticed, but her aim was true. A jagged viridian line of lethal eldritch energy arced toward Bellatrix; Dumbledore fell to the side; he and Harry screamed “NO!” at the same time.

Then Harry was moving, pushing Bellatrix into her shadows, his body now in the path of the curse, his arms raised in defense. Hermione’s blood froze. No, not him, anyone but him. Not Harry. I don’t want it! NO!

A brilliant flash; silvery-white flames erupted along his forearms, and the sickly green curse pooled against them, like water. Bellatrix fell fully into the shadows, vanishing. Harry’s glasses exploded in flash of red light, the glow settling around Harry, encompassing his body, diffusing the curse that pressed against his arms.

Then Harry fell, and the curse exploded in a bright white light, throwing Hermione to the ground.

-----

The stiffness in my back told me that I was still on the floor long before I opened my eyes. I recalled the blur of spellfire that had dropped me, and the call of ‘Avada Kedavra.’ I wasn’t dead, though, that was for sure. I groaned as I sat up, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the light; the room was slightly out of focus, but I could make out the basics.

To my side, Fawkes lay still, his breathing slow and rhythmic. Dumbledore was sprawled into a corner, clearly unconscious. I staggered over to him, checking for a pulse and breath. He was alive, but his breathing was very shallow. I turned and rummaged around for my wand, finding it near the middle of the room on the floor. I summoned and repaired my glasses, and then turned back to Dumbledore.

What few medical spells I knew told me very little: Bruised ribs, a severe concussion, and extreme shock. I quickly stepped out of the room, remembering that Hermione had been here, too. I found her thrown against the side of the hall, small pieces of stonework missing from the wall where she impacted. My healing charms worked much better with her, and I quickly repaired her fractured skull and removed the effects of the concussion she no doubt had. Once Hermione was in one piece, I laid her gently down again, and went back to Fawkes.

A simple Renervate charm woke the nearly invulnerable phoenix, and he immediately righted himself, squawking with indignation. “Fawkes, I need you to take Professor Dumbledore back to the Hospital Wing,” I said, motioning to the unconscious headmaster. “He needs more help that I can give him.” Fawkes moved almost before I had finished speaking, bounding over to Dumbledore with a flap of his wings. With a burst of flame, they were gone.

It occurred to me that the rest of the house should have woken to the sounds of a duel; perhaps whatever had rendered Dumbledore and Hermione unconscious had echoed through the house. Still, with Hermione in much more reasonable shape compared to Dumbledore, no one further away would have injuries. Given what had just happened, I wasn’t too keen on more company, anyways.

I walked back to Hermione, waking her before stowing my wand away. She blinked and looked up at me, and tears began to trail down her face. Before I could even bend down, she launched herself at me, grabbing me into a fierce hug, and breaking into horrendous sobs. It stunned me for a moment; I’d been so used to her hiding her emotions with Occlumency that to see her crying openly was terribly disconcerting. She soon brought her crying under control, though, and pulled away, rising to her feet.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her grip tight around my collar. “I didn’t mean to-to… then you stepped in the way… I thought I’d killed you!”

“I’m here, I’m here. It’s alright…” Over the course of several minutes, Hermione and I traded versions of what happened, and I assured her that I was alive and that I forgave her. I kept that conversation as minimalistic as possible, keeping Hermione focused on Bellatrix.

“I’m really surprised that she’d try to-”

“Harry, your hands!” Startled by Hermione’s cry, I looked down. My hands were now completely black, top and bottom. Fiery trails tapered off halfway up my forearms, making it looks as if I’d plunged them into a furnace. Small wisps of silvery fire played up and down the blackness, though my skin remained undamaged. It shocked me for a moment, but I eventually shrugged.

“Yeah, so I’m scarred a little more,” I said with a grin. “I’m still here, that’s all I care about.”

“God, I feel-”

“-Like shit,” I finished, getting slightly annoyed. “Yes, I gathered. If you’ll remember, I tried to kill Ginny when Voldemort possessed her, so I know exactly how shitty that feels. Do me a favor, love: Use your Occlumency and push it way back; don’t think about it. I promise I’ll cover this a bit in our sessions with the others. I know it’s hard, but please, let it go.”

Hermione winced a little, but nodded. Soon, she closed her eyes, and her features became blank as she moved her memories around. The hairs of my neck rose; I turned to see the shadows warp, and Bellatrix emerged, not five feet behind me, looking quite surprised to see me up and in one piece. Hermione’s eyes snapped open as the shadows receded, and both women went for their wands, Bellatrix the faster by far.

My fear long gone, that sense of familiarity washed over me. I placed a hand on both of their wand arms. “Not now,” I whispered. “Please.” Both Hermione and Bellatrix began to talk at the same time.

“We must speak.”

“Leave him alone.”

“Quiet!” I hissed, glancing back up the stairs. If Fawkes had roused Madam Pomfrey, then Dumbledore would be here within minutes. “Listen, whatever you want will have to wait. If Dumbledore gets back and you’re still here, the two of you will level the house.”

“Harry-” I cut her off, desperate to make her leave.

“I’ll find you later, or you’ll find me.”

“Not alone!” Hermione whispered harshly. “You can’t go to her alone!”

“Fine, we’ll… we’ll work something out. Just not now; please?” Bellatrix flicked her eyes back and forth between Hermione and me as if looking at a puzzle. Finally, she nodded slightly.

“When you’re ready, go to Knockturn Alley,” she said. “Bring your… lover, if you wish, as she’s likely tied into all this now.”

“Fine, but go, please.”

I let go of Bellatrix’s arm, and she took my hand in hers, stroking it for a moment with her thumb and staring at the small flickers of flame, before the shadows around her again enlarged, engulfing her and receding into the wall.

Commotion in the kitchen above us alerted me to the likely return of Dumbledore. “Not a word about this,” I whispered to Hermione. “This is ours to deal with.”

“But-”

“Trust me, please.”

Hermione nodded and kissed her lightly, as Dumbledore came down the stairs, wand at the ready.

“You’re alive!” he breathed, seeming to shrink with relief.

“I’m fine,” I said, holding up my hands. “Looks like I’ve lucked out again. Let’s go back up to the kitchen. Believe it or not, this all started because I was hungry.”

Dumbledore managed a weak smile at my humor, and I led us all back into the kitchen, my arm around Hermione. The clock on the wall read five past twelve.

Happy Christmas, I thought. I’ve survived to see you again.

11. Year of the Serpent -- Spring

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: There’s a reason behind the sluggishness of the recent updates to MEtyK, and now I will unveil it.

This story’s been a learning process for me as far as writing goes. I certainly won’t call myself a pro, but I do take pride in what I’ve accomplished. With that said, I want to update MEtyK to remove some old mistakes and polish the story a bit, before I get too close to the ending. I’m not re-writing the story, but I’m making enough changes that you’ll probably want to go through and read it again.

Mathiasgranger has been my shoulder to lean on throughout my creation of MEtyK, so thanks to him for his past, present and future help. This is the last old-style chapter.

Starting now, and every couple days, I will be updating the older chapters of MEtyK, from one through to 11. After all 11 chapters have been overhauled, I’ll post chapter 12 in its new format.

Chapter 11 here takes me where I want to go, but it also highlights things that I view as mistakes. I present this chapter to you with the full understanding that by the time I finish overhauling MEtyK, things might look a little different. You’ve all waited patiently for me, though, and I promised to deliver.

Aside from the overhaul, next up:

1) The Meaning of Father, Ch. 4

2) The Sir Harry & Princess Hermione challenge from Artemis Day (long one-shot)

3) The Pale, Ch. 2

~TOW

YEAR 3: Year of the Serpent – Spring

=============================

I spent the bulk of Christmas morning at the kitchen table, retelling last night's tale to the rest of the house and packing away more food than I thought possible for a human being. The conversation was a good distraction: As long as everyone else was worried about Bellatrix popping in, I really didn't have to.

I didn't tell the complete story, of course; that would have been damning to Hermione. As far as anyone other than her, Dumbledore, and me knew, Bellatrix had broken in, scuffled with me, dueled with Dumbledore, and narrowly escaped a lethal parting shot from Hermione. I hope everyone will forgive me for not repeating the hysterics that Pansy flew into when I explained what happened. It was something along the lines of "Oh, my God! You could have died! I'm never leaving you alone again, except when you have sex!"

I love Pansy; I really do.

Dumbledore drummed Marius and Bill out of bed, and the two of them spent all morning adjusting the house wards and layering new ones in the hopes of preventing another break-in. Happy Christmas, boys, and thanks for the free work.

I, on the other hand, ate all morning, and watched my hands with interest. After a couple of hours --and about four meals worth of food-- the tiny white flames on my hands died out, and color began to return to my skin. By the end of the morning, my hands were the same as they used to be: Only my palms and wrists blackened. There, too, however, I saw a hint of color returning.

By the afternoon, my palms looked nothing more than heavily tanned, and I was developing a headache serious enough to blur my vision. I removed my glasses to rub my eyes, and was in too much pain to notice that my vision hadn't improved or worsened for the removal. Grabbing a headache potion from the cabinet and begging off for a nap, I was unconscious as soon as I hit the pillow.

When I woke, my eyesight was damned good. Not 20/20, mind you, I'll never have perfect vision. Nevertheless, other than the mildest bit of fuzziness, and the inability to read text at a distance, I was good.

It was at this point I decided that something wasn't right, and asked Sirius to track down Dumbledore.

"I think that you've mixed your ancient and experimental magics again," Albus chuckled as he waved his wand around me. I groaned at his attempt to be funny.

"Can you tell me what's happened?" I asked, my concern cutting my patience short. Where was the General or Headmaster when you needed him?

"As far as I can tell, the Mirror of Erised is still housed in your glasses," he replied. "It failed to move along, because the Philosopher’s Stone no longer needed its protection."

A half-answer. Thank you oh, so fucking much. "...And why would that be?" I prompted impatiently.

"The Stone is now housed inside you," Dumbledore answered. "It shouldn't be possible, but it is: You have absorbed the Philosopher's Stone."

Oh. Oh. That wasn't a good thing. "What? But... is that why my eyes and hands have healed?"

"That seems to be the case," Dumbledore conceded. "You're about as good as you'll get, mind you. The rejuvenating powers of the Stone only apply to things that muggles would define as 'degenerative,' not 'genetic.' Your eyes, for instance, are as good as they could naturally be. Your palms should return to normal, but you may still wish to visit a healer now and again to check for more disturbing things life brings us, such as cancer. Other than major issues such as that, you'll have a healthy --and very, very long-- life."

"And the Flamels?"

"Will need to figure out how to remove the Stone, or how to use your blood as the active reagent in the Elixir," Dumbledore finished.

I sighed heavily, dropping my head in my hands. "Great," I muttered. "Just what I always wanted to be: a full-time blood donor. So, what made this happen? I thought that the Stone was only usable by its creator?"

"As best I can guess," said Dumbledore, still speaking with Albus' lighthearted voice, "the Mirror, powered by the vision of your parents, pushed the Stone into your body through the reflection of your eyes to continue the protection and to protect you at the same time. Without that Stone, it is possible that Hermione's curse would have killed you."

"Okay... that doesn't explain the blackened hands and the fire."

"The Avada Kedavra was what Voldemort used against you in the first place," Albus said. "It stands to reason that you would have some direct resistance to it. Hermione, however, was neither Voldemort nor a Death Eater; in fact, she cares greatly for you, so her magic would be the least affected by your mother's sacrifice. Naturally, however, her Killing Curse would have been the least effective against you, due to her love for you, which we should also consider. It is quite possible that Hermione could not have killed you, the same way that you were unable to kill Ginny."

"So, if it had been Bellatrix..."

"Do not think on it," Dumbledore said with a wave of his hand. "It isn't wise to consider 'blocking' the Killing Curse, regardless of your potential immunities. At best, you could hope to survive as you just did, courtesy of the Stone and your protection. At worse, it could be the only manner of permanently killing you now, as lesser forms of injury will hold little purchase against you."

"Right then: No more Avada Kedavras."

"It's best to treat this as though nothing's changed," Dumbledore agreed. "It might be worth your time to get your eye prescription re-evaluated, however."

"I suppose," I sighed. "It'd be nice to avoid wearing glasses completely, though."

"But it would raise questions," Dumbledore cautioned, "and your eyesight isn't perfect without them. You may as well maintain all the advantages you can."

“I guess.”

“As for your other concern, I have absolutely no answers as to why you would benefit from the Stone. Perhaps there is a hidden test to prove one’s worth, and you have passed it. Your self-sacrifice might have been a factor, as you were protecting Bellatrix at the time. Perhaps your parents came into play through the Mirror. I truly don’t know. I will contact Nicholas, and together, we’ll discover exactly what this means for you.”

I nodded, and our short meeting ended with me hauling myself to Diagon Alley with Pansy to get the lenses of my glasses swapped out and the charms checked. I considered frames other than my circular glasses, but most other frames were quite heavy-set, so I stayed with what I had. As the charms were more or less intact, it was by far the cheaper option, too. After another hour of window-shopping and picking up supplies and a few trinkets for our rooms, we headed home.

-----

"So you're immortal," Pansy panned, after I had explained my conversation with Dumbledore to her and Hermione. We sat in my bedroom, with several spells to seal it off from the rest of the world. Only Pansy (who was stuck to my arm again) and Hermione (who could ably defend the information) would know my secret.

"Dumbledore implied it," I allowed, resting on my bed with my arms tucked behind my head, one leg dangling off the side. Pansy sat at the side of the bed, playing idly with my hanging leg, while Hermione lay beside me, resting comfortably on my shoulder and playing with one of my un-blackened hands.

"You don't sound happy," Hermione said, her voice muffled by my shoulder.

I shook my head, banishing several negative emotions that arose to the abyss in my mind. "I'm not. I always thought of the Stone as a tool, or a treasure I was guarding from Voldemort. I never thought of it as mine. I feel like I did back in first year: Like I just condemned two 700-year-old people to death. As for the ‘immortal’ bit, that doesn’t mean anything; we could all die within the year if things go badly. I’m not supposed to even be able to use the Stone, so I feel a bit like a thief."

Hermione hummed thoughtfully, playing at the ends of her hair with one hand. "I agree with Dumbledore, it'll take some experimenting to use your blood or remove the Stone. Still, if it works, they'll be okay. You’re not a thief, either. The Stone protected you before, against the Basilisk, remember?”

"I don't know why you're depressed about it," Pansy said. "You're immortal now, right? Shouldn't that make you happy?"

I didn't have the right words to express my disgust at the situation, so I simply shook my head and stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t like not having control,” I said eventually, “and the Stone being inside me is definitely out of my control.”

“Shh, we’re here,” said Hermione, pulling me to her. Pansy climbed onto the bed and snuggled up against my other side. I dozed lightly, my darker thoughts slowly banished by the presence of my sister and my love.

-----

On Boxing Day, the Ministry responded with vitriol about the escape and the destroyed Guardian. The Prophet had some juicy highlights:

“Bellatrix Lestrange is a deranged woman,” DMLE Representative Ignatius Prewitt stated at today’s press conference. “Her years under the influence of Dementors have trapped her in the days of V-------, when the man has been dead for over a decade. We will step up our security measures, and ensure that further assaults from the former agents of V------- no longer trouble our citizens.

“Let this also be a warning to the other escaped criminals: These blatant attacks will not be tolerated.”

Minister Fudge was confident at the conference. “We are considering several security measures, including the recalling of our Hit Wizards,” he stated. Despite several requests, however, the Aurors will not receive authorization for the Unforgivables. “It sends the wrong message to our community,” the Minister said, “that force is the only possible answer. The Ministry is secure, and the actions of one woman, no matter how infamous, do not make us fragile or breakable in any way. She will be found, and she will be executed for her crimes.”

The next day, Aurors found Ignatius Prewitt’s body in pieces, his entrails and body parts decorating the Fountain of Magical Brethren, when the Ministry opened. An Auror dispatched to investigate found the rest of his family killed in their home, ending the Prewitt line, with the Weasleys as their only surviving branch. The DMLE called Arthur in to identify the bodies, and to attend to estate matters.

“Oops,” Snape drawled as he tossed some rather graphic Auror photos of the murder scenes to the kitchen table. “It looks as though the lessons of the last war have been forgotten. Pity.”

Ginny nearly overturned her cereal bowl as she jumped to her feet. “Shut up!” she screamed. “Those were my grandparents, you bastard!” Hermione and I were quickly up as well, but the twins beat us to Ginny.

“Easy, Gin,” Fred said calmly, putting a hand on her shoulder, while George mirrored his twin on her other side.

“Don’t hex him,” George cautioned, “you’d never clean the grease out of your hair.”

“I really need to see the Minister,” I said, abruptly changing the subject. “The sooner we can get the Ministry under control, the better.”

Snape looked at me thoughtfully. “Interesting choice of words. You and the Dark Lord sound completely alike.”

“Son of a bitch!” Ginny screeched, tearing away from her brothers and launching a potent Reductor at Snape. The Potions Master was already fading into the shadows, however, and the curse tore a chunk out of the wall as Snape reappeared behind Ginny. A casual wave of his wand sent Fred and George to the floor, and he rested his wand against Ginny’s neck, the harsh violet light at its tip beginning to draw blood.

“Temper, temper,” Snape chided maliciously. “Hasn’t Potter taught you not to pick a fight you can’t win?” Ginny’s face contorted with fury, but she remained completely still.

“Another time, perhaps. Potter, I’ll want to speak with you at the start of term!” Snape called, giving me half a wave, before falling back into the shadows completely. I quietly helped Fred and George to their feet, and healed the small incision along Ginny’s neck.

“There’s a lot of people that I haven’t seen in action,” I said, drawing everyone’s attention, “but from those I have seen, the top five most powerful and skilled people are Dumbledore, Voldemort, Bellatrix, Snape, and Moody, in that order. For God’s sake, don’t piss any of them off.”

-----

Two days later, Hermione and I made love again, and despite our best efforts, our magic surged up and mingled. While it was an amazing feeling, I was spooked and Hermione was quite apologetic. I'm sure I'd have been upset about it as usual, except for what happened afterwards.

The next morning, I awoke to a bouncing bundle of energy that had replaced my girlfriend. "I'm just happy," she chirped when I questioned her on her rambunctiousness. It was only by the afternoon, after careful observation, that I was certain about what had just happened.

Small scars from schoolyard injuries had disappeared. Stress lines that I knew and recognized on sight were gone. Her hair was a half-shade darker, and her eyes no longer squinted when she looked at text from more than a foot away. She was also doing a great job in keeping up with me at meal times, despite having never finished a full plate of food in my presence, ever.

"Come on," I said, pulling her off to my room after dinner, sealing the door and window, and firing off a perimeter silencing charm. Hermione simply waited for me, her face showing a long-suffering patience at my need for security.

"Sorry," I said once I had finished. "I don't want people to hear this, not even Pansy unless it affects her, too."

"Affects her?" she echoed, her eyebrows raising a bit. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I assured her quickly. "I've never felt so good, in fact, and you know why. I'm willing to bet that you've never felt this good, either."

Hermione's wide eyes and open mouth told me that she had caught my implication.

"Yeah, that," I confirmed. "Sex apparently transfers this, or maybe that thing we did with our magic does."

"And you're worried that Pansy has your blood, and that it'll have transferred to her?"

I nodded, glancing at the door. "If Pansy has it, and she can pass it on sexually, then the twins-"

"They're not together!" Hermione blurted, surging forward and placing her hands on my chest. "I know they're close, but-"

"Hey, hey, hold up!" I said, cutting her off. Confused wasn't a strong enough description of my state of mind. Pansy had given off all the right signals, hadn't she?

I was silent for a moment, and Hermione hastened to explain. "Pansy told me that she wasn't with Fred or George," she said. "She thought you might be mad, but there's no way to tell, because you bury your emotions. So, she wanted me to make sure that if you ever talked to me about it, I could answer for her."

"I'm not mad, I'm surprised. Pansy's very close to the twins; I expected that they were at least close to a relationship, if not in one."

"I... don't know what's going on there," Hermione said eventually. "In our first year, she barely talked to me. In our second year, she absorbed herself into being your 'sister,' whatever that means to her. This year, she's been so taken with the twins that even I thought they were involved, but..."

"Never mind," I said quickly, wanting to get off the topic of Pansy's love life. "I just want you to pay attention. If she shows the same symptoms, we'll pull her aside and tell her. Otherwise, it’s not important."

"What... about us?" she asked cautiously.

"You mean mingling magics?"

She nodded, and I frowned a bit. "I'm not sure," I said after a moment. "I really, really don't like it. If it passes this on to you, though, then it’s a positive thing and I can live with it. It's easier to accept in my mind if there's some sort of direct benefit. It's sort of like healing charms, you know. It’s doing a service, so it's a good thing."

"It does a service, anyways," she mumbled, shocking me into laughter.

"I can't believe you just said that," I said when I'd recovered. "Feeling adventurous? Shall I conjure a few 'accessories' for you, then?"

“No!” she squeaked, going beet red. “You most certainly will not!”

“Okay, okay, no toys. In any case, I’m happy that you’re getting something out of all this. It makes Bellatrix’s little visit worthwhile.”

“No, it doesn’t!” she hissed, losing her blush immediately. “I can’t believe that woman can find us here! She almost took you!” Oops.

“I was fine,” I said soothingly. “You and Dumbledore came to my rescue, and Fawkes would have been able to find me anywhere. It was a losing battle for her.”

“Can we not talk about it?” Hermione asked, looking slightly ill. “I relive those moments constantly. She nearly took you, and I nearly killed you.”

“Didn’t I ask you to bury that?”

She shook her head despondently. “I can’t. It hurts too much.”

I reached for her, and she fell into my arms, burying her head in my chest. “I’ve tried so hard,” she mumbled, “but it keeps coming back. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I said gently. “I’m past it, and I think you were right to take a shot at her. I was deranged enough to get in the way, so it’s my fault more than anyone else’s.”

Hermione just moaned and shook her head, and I tightened my embrace, rocking her gently. Any chance of meaningful conversation was gone, so I walked her over to the bed and laid her down, stroking her hair until she relaxed into a fitful sleep. I didn’t particularly envy her situation; I certainly wouldn’t want to remember myself nearly killing Hermione, so I imagined that she loathed her memory of nearly killing me. There was nothing more to do except offer support, though, and I made sure to do that early and often.

-----

The next day, I sat in Dumbledore’s office, exchanging polite talk with a 700-year-old brown haired man who looked in his thirties. He held the Philosopher’s Stone in his hand, rubbing it with his thumb. All it had taken for Nicholas to remove it was to shake my hand.

“I’ve got a keen sense when it comes to the magics that comprise the Stone,” he said in reply to my questions, scratching his short beard. “You’re absolutely saturated with it.”

“But how did I absorb it?”

“I’d imagine that Albus has the right of it. You needed protection, so it gave you protection. The Stone requires purity to use, but will obey its creator.”

“That’s… vague,” I said, trying to be diplomatic.

“I know… ‘I’m only a kid, Mr. Flamel. Please explain the Meaning of Life in less than five sentences, using only one-syllable words.’” Albus and I laughed, while Nicholas grinned.

“Chronologically speaking, Mr. Potter, the Stone initially went to you because you chose to sacrifice yourself to prevent its theft, and showed no personal lust for it. Both the Stone and the Mirror then transferred to your glasses. When you faced the Basilisk, the Stone was in your glasses, and intercepted the Basilisk’s gaze, acting as a natural defense. This Christmas, you were once again sacrificing yourself, in this case for Mrs. Lestrange, and still didn’t care one whit about the Stone. The Mirror, being what it is, couldn’t rightly transfer itself into you. The Stone, however, could.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding. “So what, exactly, does that mean for me?”

“I’ve never tried to absorb the Stone so I wouldn’t know,” Nicholas replied with a shrug. “Looking at you, I’d say that it’s the equivalent of dropping you into a vat of Elixir as a baby and letting you grow up in it. I seriously doubt you’ll ever need another dose, no matter how long you live.”

I fidgeted for a moment, before asking the more serious question, then. “Mr. Flamel, about your wife…” I hesitantly explained what had happened with Hermione, only to stop, embarrassed, as Nicholas exploded into laughter.

“Oh, Potter, that’s marvelous! You’re beet red, you should see yourself!” He wiped the tears from his eyes, and continued, still chuckling at my expense. “That surge that you’re feeling is entirely the Stone’s fault. It drew Miss Granger’s magic was drawn to yours to test her. Since she passed, the Stone drew upon your magic and passed its effects on to her.

“That’s how it worked with Perenelle when I first drank the Elixir. The very next time we were intimate, her magic washed over me, and then I felt the urge to bring my own magic to bear. Quite a pleasurable experience, I must say. The next day, Perenelle showed all the signs of youth that I did, courtesy of the Elixir.”

“But the first time-”

“Was still the Stone’s doing,” asserted Nicholas, “Though it wouldn’t have done anything for her, you were more than close enough to the Stone for the effect to have transferred. Now, though, that surge is what will keep Miss Granger as immortal as you.”

“But why does it work?” I pressed, not understanding. “What is this ‘test’ you’re referring to?”

“Love, Harry,” he said, his eyes bright with emotion. “The Stone will only pass its power along to the woman who loves you.” His expression tinged with sadness, and he put his hand on my shoulder. “I know that it’s a few years to early to consider this, but the answer to the question you haven’t asked is no, you can’t pass it on to anyone else. Only to the woman you’re intimate with, in this case Miss Granger, for as long as you two stay together.”

-----

New Year’s came and passed, and school quickly resumed. While the Stone didn't affect my lessons with Hermione and Dumbledore, my practical sessions with the man began to shift slightly. While the stone hadn't made me any better than I was, I could last a seemingly indefinite amount of time. Dumbledore could still defeat me soundly in direct combat, but he needed to delve into his greater abilities to do that now, either casting spells well beyond my ability to defend against, or casting too fast for me to keep up. If we ended up in hand-to-hand situations, he would surge his magic and overpower me immediately.

I naturally asked about his abrupt change to forceful tactics while walking back to his office after a particularly draining sparring match. "You're fighting an old man," he chuckled in reply.

I snorted, waving my wand idly and cleaning myself. "Yeah, right."

"I grant you that I am several times your superior at the moment," Dumbledore allowed, "but the purpose of my training you is to learn how to battle successfully with a superior opponent. I never want you to underestimate how well you're doing."

"So, is the hypothetical situation back to 'how to escape an overwhelming opponent,' then?"

"Partly," he replied. "The other is to add some more pressure and see how far you can push yourself."

At my look of dissatisfaction, Dumbledore elaborated. "I've placed your overall potential at approximately 45 years of age, correct? Perhaps closer to 50 now, given your recent performance. That places you within the same potential as the likes of Severus or Bellatrix. While they hold far more experience than you, I want it firmly in your mind that whatever magics those two are capable of, you are as well."

"Long way off of that," I muttered, and Dumbledore nodded.

"Regardless, I commend you on your continued improvements," Dumbledore said. "You've shown a remarkable survivor's instinct. This makes five times in a row that you've managed to escape me in a duel and leave Hogwarts, despite my very best efforts to prevent it. Were it not for Fawkes, I daresay I'd never see you again."

Fawkes squawked importantly as we entered the office, and we both laughed.

"This time was insane," I said, sitting back against my conjured plush chair. “Maneuvering around the school while fighting under stealth spells is unbelievable."

"It takes skill and patience," Albus agreed, conjuring his own chair in the now clean and empty castle room. "It was very difficult to conduct such a duel here, of course, as magic is quite visible to wizards. That's why a stealth duel in Hogwarts or the Ministry is all but impossible. Your Disillusionment is one detection spell away from uselessness, and one Finite away from removal.

"In the muggle world, however, magic is invisible. Covered as we were by Disillusionment Charms, targeted Silencing Charms, and physical impact barriers, no muggle would ever suspect something was amiss unless we were terribly clumsy or needlessly destructive."

"That... actually explains a lot," I said, my mind whirling in new directions. "I wondered how some of Voldemort's more brazen raids could have been done without attracting military and police interference. If his Death Eaters were using stealth spells..."

"Now you see the real danger," said Dumbledore, his face impassive. "Now you understand why I take security precautions as seriously as I do. In the muggle world, we are truly invisible if we wish to be. Even here, your stealth skills are commendable. Some work on your human Transfiguration, and you would be a truly dangerous person right now."

"Polyjuice works," I said with a shrug. I was no artist, and human transfiguration, like healing, conjuring, and any other magic that required patience, was not on my short list to master.

"Yes, but it wears off every hour and limits you to select identities. It is far easier to be able to change yourself as you choose.

"In any case," he said, seeing the reluctant look on my face, "I think we've established something that I wanted in place as quickly as possible. It is the last thing, truly, that you need from me. The rest is simply experience."

"The last thing?" I echoed uncomprehendingly. Since when had Dumbledore run out of material to teach?

"Your mind is as impenetrable as you can make it," he said, ticking off a finger. "You are as well-versed in dueling and hand-to-hand forms as you can be without a lifetime's worth of fights behind you." Another finger. "You have an excellent grasp of escape and evasion tactics, and the measures to deal with those tactics being used against you," A third finger. "Finally, you have displayed an excellent ability to apply all of the above against myself in some very creative situations." He held those four fingers up for me to see.

"Being able to escape me makes you more than capable enough to escape Voldemort," he continued. "His offensive capabilities are perhaps beyond mine, at least in viciousness, but he has no more ability to restrain you than I do."

"Is that what this is all about, then?" I asked, curious. "The ability to escape Voldemort? And Bellatrix, I guess, and any other impossible fight?"

"In a war, you only lose when you're dead," Dumbledore said simply. "Given that mindset, anything you can do to stay alive, including escape, forwards your cause. If you can pass this training and mindset along to your friends, then so much the better for us all."

-----

"So, that's where we stand," I said as the group came out of the memory. Hermione and Pansy wore proud looks on their faces, smiling at me. The twins looked impressed as well. Luna's face was as passive and curious as ever. Ginny, however, wore a scowl.

"You're going to teach us to avoid people we're supposed to kill," she said darkly. "Tell me why this is a good thing."

"You've got it wrong," I said, cutting off everyone else's retorts. "If you have a clean shot, and you know without any doubt you're dealing with Inner Circle members or that people's lives hang directly in the balance, then by all means, take it."

Everyone stared at me in shock, though Ginny was slowly cracking a smile.

"What?" I asked, irritated. "Do you think that Hermione was wrong to take a shot at Bellatrix last month? Please, by all means, kill Death Eaters. Just make sure that you're doing it for a good reason, and make sure your allies are out of the way. Any chance at all that they could be hit, and the words 'Avada Kedavra' don't leave your lips. Any questions?"

"Lots," Fred said, looking back at the Pensieve.

"Specifically about when to avoid and when to fight," George clarified.

"Do we run all the time, then?" asked Luna, her eyes flicking between the Pensieve and me.

Pansy looked around, and frowned with thought. "I think that the answer's pretty obvious," she said. "Except for Harry, we'd all be overmatched by an adult in a duel, especially one that included Unforgivables."

"I disagree," Hermione said. "Remember our fight against Quirrel and Bellatrix. Our spells held; it's just a matter of training and application."

"To a point," I allowed. "That's especially true with stealth magics. Ignoring that second buffer charm I use, which you all probably can't cast, you all could escape detection just as easily as I can with a little practice. Disillusionment is the next thing we work on, and you all figure out exactly how many times you have to layer it for invisibility -- it takes four for me right now, so I'm imagining it'll be eight to ten for you guys -- and how long it lasts. Cleaning charms for your scent, silencing charms around your hands and feet, and a good solid mastery of silent casting and Occlumency.

"The cool thing is that all the spells involved are simple castings; no transfigurations or other annoyances to worry about. What I want all of you to be able to do by the end of the term is get yourselves undetectable in less fifteen seconds, as well as cast the basic revealing charm for Disillusionment. Once you can do that, I'll sleep a lot easier at night when you're all out and about."

"I think fifteen seconds is too slow," Luna said, worrying her wand. "You're a very fast caster, isn't there a way for us to train our speed?"

"Aside from hours of practice, not really," I said with a shrug. "I suppose you could push for speed with your magic -- I certainly do against Dumbledore, but that's very draining, so I wouldn't recommend it unless your life was in danger."

The twins and Pansy looked mischievously at each other; stealth training would certainly agree with playing pranks and sneaking out of school. There was an evil look on Ginny's face as I talked, however, one that worried me immensely, but also reminded me of the last topic of discussion.

"Okay, last bit of talking before practice," I said. "Today, we're discussing the Dark Arts. Specifically, I'm going to address when and how to use the Unforgivables."

Ah, merciful silence. The twins and Luna were gob smacked, Pansy was slightly surprised, Hermione occluded her expression, and Ginny looked like Christmas had come twice over.

"I can see that this is going to be fun," I muttered. "Okay, I talk, you listen. Save any questions for when I finish ranting.

"The Dark Arts is a really vague expression, and there really isn't a set definition of a Dark spell. Going for the trivial definition, a spell is Dark if using it would get you arrested. Attacking someone with magic, even normal everyday spells, will get you arrested on charges of using Dark Arts. For the muggle-savvy like us, Hermione, it means that the term 'Dark Arts' covers all charges from Assault through to First Degree Murder, regardless of the weapons used.

"About 60% of all Dark Arts are just everyday spells adjusted to be lethal, or the perversion of healing spells. A particular healing charm regenerates muscle tissue, so that means there’s going to be one that causes it to degenerate, right?

"Another 30% is the use of perfectly normal magic in offensive or abusive ways; basically, whatever gets the Aurors attention, like I said before. The last 10% is the sadistic, evil stuff that you won't find mention of in the Hogwarts library. It's that 10% that make Voldemort and the Death Eaters truly dangerous."

"So where do the Unforgivables fit in?" Pansy asked, twirling her wand idly.

"They're in that top 10%," I answered, "but they have a near-mythical status, so it's pretty much impossible to keep them a secret. They aren’t taught, obviously, and there's at least some effort towards keeping the knowledge from spreading, but they're so ingrained in the shadier parts of wizarding society that it's almost safer to have everyone know the spells, if only to better defend themselves. They’re the Quintessential Dark Arts. If you’re looking to do something evil to someone, then you’re looking to control them, hurt them, or kill them. Almost every other Dark spell is a spinoff of those spells, designed for a more specific situation. Now, we get to the hard part…

"The Imperius takes years to master, so it's useless except for simple commands. The other two, though... you all to have at least basic control of Crucio and Avada Kedavra," I said heavily. "They are the best shield-breaker and mid-range assault-spell out there, and in a real fight, we're going to need to use them. That’s what we’re going to be working on today. No one is to know about this, and you’re to cast no spells without aiming at the wall. Let’s start with Crucio, it’s easier."

-----

"Ginny," I called as everyone was leaving. I waved her back toward me, and she walked back, confused.

"I'll see you in the common room," Hermione mumbled, following Pansy as she dashed to the girl’s washroom.

I sat Ginny down on a chair, and sat in front of her, holding her cheeks in my hands. "Do I need to worry about you?" I asked.

"I don't need taking care of," she said quietly, her eyes burning into mine with more than a slight red glow.

"You don't," I agreed. "None of us here do, I think." Ginny nodded, and the crimson in her eyes faded somewhat. "I just care about you; I want you to take care of yourself. I want you grow up, finish school, get married, and have kids I can spoil. Please, whatever you're planning to do, make sure you stay alive."

Ginny hadn't expected that answer; her eyebrows shot up, and the glow faded completely. Her eyes began water, and a single tear fell.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I know you care. I knew that from so long ago. I... I need... I can't just sit here. I..." She struggled so hard to say something that I could see written in her eyes just a moment ago. I need to kill. I can't let them escape.

"Do you care for us?" I asked, searching her eyes.

"Yes," she whispered, another tear falling. "Oh, yes, Harry. You, Hermione, Pansy, my family, you all mean so much to me. Luna... I... she's very, very important to me."

Interesting choice of wording there. I filed that tidbit away to discuss with Hermione later.

"Then I'll forgive you, whatever you do," I whispered, pulling her close. "We all will. Every time, no matter what, as long as you come home alive, we'll forgive you. But please, please, please don't go and do anything before you're ready."

"What's ready, Harry?" she asked numbly. "People are being controlled, and muggles are dying somewhere. They’re killing off my family, and I know that more of us will be dead before this is over. How long should I wait, then?"

"Until you can completely stealth yourself within 5 seconds, and then strike with the Avada Kedavra at least three times without tiring yourself," I answered firmly. "If you can do that, and still be in fighting form, then I can't complain about your abilities."

Ginny looked shocked that I actually gave guidelines. "I-I guess... thanks," she stammered.

"You're welcome," I said, kissing her forehead. "I'm not exactly saying that the Order needs an assassin, but I understand where you're coming from. I just want you to fight as if you're coming home; don't ever sacrifice yourself just to hurt someone. They're not that important."

"I-I'll try," she said. I hugged her close, before shooing her to the door. As the classroom door clicked shut, I put my head in my hands, sighing, filtering and adjusting my thoughts and memories before forcing myself up. There was other business to attend to.

-----

The meeting started with Moody dropping a huge stack of folders on Dumbledore's desk.

"That's the entire stack of records on known and suspected Death Eaters," he said. "Took a few favors to get a hold of those, but they'll help when it comes to looking for methods and patterns."

Dumbledore inclined his head, and motioned for Moody to continue.

"S'only fair to warn you that they've called back the Hit Wizards, so the Ministry's crawling with wands right now. Not a good time to make sudden moves." Having nothing more to say, Moody plopped himself down in his seat, bending to adjust his false leg.

"Noted." Dumbledore turned to Sirius and Remus. "How go your plans?"

"We're finished," Remus said, his overly large canines glinting in the light.

"It just so happens that we're working on an upgrade to the plan," Sirius said, his smile every bit as large as Remus'. "It's only in its beginning stages, but we'll use it if you can't secure access to the Ministry. Remus and I have figured out a potential method to bring the network down from outside."

Murmurings of approval filtered through the room, and Dumbledore allowed himself to smile. "This is excellent news," he said. "Please, continue your work, then. If there's any chance we can finish this without wasting political favors, so much the better for us."

"Just to add to the good news pile," Arthur said, "I have cleared the sweep of the Administration level, and haven’t been found out. We have no Death Eater plants on the first floor as of yet." The room erupted in sighs of relief and praise for Arthur for a moment, before Dumbledore called for silence.

Livia stood, then, and smiled at Arthur. "I have similar news concerning the third floor. DMAC and the Obliviators are clear, though I did find and remove two plants."

Dumbledore leaned forward. "Were these people under the Imperius, or were they active agents?"

"Imperius," she confirmed. "They were passive plants, so they had no idea what they were doing. I removed the curse and the subliminal instructions, and we should have a little while before they realize that their plants are ineffective."

"I'd love to say that the rest of the Ministry's clean," Moody said, "but I've got at least 15 suspects for the Imperius on the other floors, and 5 I'm sure of." The buoyant mood of the meeting shattered into a stream of curses at that declaration. "It's the Floo Network," he confirmed. "The curse is always fresh, so they're casting the Imperius multiple times on the same people, reinforcing their control. These blokes get up, Floo to work, and end up wherever the Death Eaters are sending them. They hit them with the Imperius every morning and send them off to their shifts. We don't have a lot more time to get the Network down."

"Is there a serious reason that we don't just storm the DT and wreck the Network?" I asked. "We're delaying at every setback, and it seems to me like it’s not going to help much if we don't do it soon."

"Agreed," rumbled Moody. "The longer we wait the more damage control we need to do."

"Such an assault carries risks," Dumbledore said, looking at me directly. "More than anything, it will expose the Order if even the slightest thing goes wrong."

"Why?"

"I will not allow my operatives to be captured," he said. "Fawkes and I will retrieve anyone that the Ministry detains, but such a rescue, if detected, will come at the cost of my political career, and will prompt the Ministry to attempt my removal from Hogwarts."

Several people, myself included, snorted at this. Removing Dumbledore from Hogwarts would be impossible.

"I think it's worth the risk," I said when the mumbling died down. "I don't know about Sirius and Remus, but I know I can get myself to the Floo Network without being detected. That means that I could do this myself if it's possible. If not, I can be on-hand to act as a beacon for Fawkes, so that he can just swoop in and remove us."

"This is a good time to mention that Bill and I have completed the warding of three new safe-houses," Marius said. "If we suddenly have the need to hide people, we're well-positioned to do it. In addition, between the Parkinson, Potter, Black, and Malfoy estates, I can happily report a net 30% gain in wealth, and more than a 150% gain in the acquisition of muggle wealth as well. Despite our recent costs, we've recuperated nicely, and we'll actually cut a profit overall in just a couple more months."

"Excellent news!" exclaimed Dumbledore. "Perhaps you're right, Harry, it's time to act. You, Remus and Sirius are most suited to carry out this assault. There is a potential complication, however, and it has to do with Marius' news.

"Sirius is a wanted criminal, and Remus has no ties to our other resources, so they are 'safe' to use, if you understand my meaning." I nodded, and Dumbledore continued. "You, however, are tied directly to a significant percentage of our financial wealth, so to have your name muddied in this operation would damage us greatly."

Before I could answer, Bill spoke up. "We might have a slight problem," he said nervously. "Someone's been threatening and injuring the Goblins off of Gringotts property. They're getting pretty riled up, and there are rumblings about retaliation." That got everyone's attention.

There were several murmurings equating to ‘holy shit’ before Dumbledore motioned for silence.

"How serious is this?" Dumbledore said, standing up.

"Quite; it's not just the floor clerks that are complaining; some pretty senior goblins are talking, so we could have a problem."

"Monitor the situation," commanded Dumbledore. "If you can suggest any form of pacification within our means, please do so. If things threaten to become irreconcilable, inform me so that we can remove our holdings from the bank. They may resist this action, but they will not cross me." Hearing Bill’s affirmation, Dumbledore dropped back to his seat, massaging his temples.

"One problem after another... You all have your assignments. Are there any further reports, good or bad?" Silence. "Good. For most of you, I will contact you all individually if I require more from any of you. For now, carry on as you were. Arthur, Livia, Alastor, continue to monitor. If the three of you can work together to free up any other areas, please do so. Don't put yourselves at risk, however; I understand that the first three floors of the Ministry are somewhat restricted from the others.

"Marius, find a way to invest heavily over the next while; focus on emptying our vaults to minimize the risk of the goblins' potential interference. I will set up something in the mean time to provide a safe location for quantities of gold.

"Remus, Sirius, Harry, I’ll be talking to you over the next couple of days. Dismissed."

-----

Term progressed, and with it, my progress on my signature spells. I had my head wrapped around the concept of wandless casting. It was frustrating that I couldn’t do more than levitate some plates around the table. My focus on the topic, as well as Hermione’s insight into Arithmancy, led to a startling discovery, and a solid month of work engineering a couple of charms.

“Professor, we did it!” Dumbledore looked up, startled by my sudden entrance. A long line of ink trailed across the parchment he had been writing on; I hoped that it was a correctable mistake. Hermione entered quietly behind me, giggling at my exuberance.

“What did you do?” he asked, slightly concerned.

I threw myself into the seat in front of his desk, nearly bouncing in the seat. “I was working on my signature spell, and I was thinking about why we needed wands, and why I can cast some spells without one.”

“Go on.”

“Well –and this is a guess, mind you—I’ve noticed that I didn’t get exact wandless results until after I’d been using a wand for awhile. There could be a ton of reasons, but the one that made the most sense to me is that all the spells we learn require a wand-matrix to cast properly.

“That means that whenever we try to cast them without a wand, our magic has to re-create the wand matrix in order to do anything!”

Dumbledore smiled at my excitement, and put his papers aside, leaning towards me. “That makes sense, my boy. What have you found?”

“Well, I figured that’s what’s happening, and then I thought ‘what if I could design a spell that simulates our wand matrix using our magic?’ It would take all the strain off of casting, and give me a backup if we’re disarmed. Hermione and I crunched Arithmancy for ages, but we finally have some results!

“Potentia!” I said firmly, brandishing my wand in front of me. The wand glowed with an ethereal blue color for a moment, before returning to normal, and my forearm tingled with power. I threw the wand to Dumbledore, who caught it and gave me a confused look.

“POTENTIS!” A thin, well-defined shaft of blue energy grew from my right palm, exactly eleven inches long – the length of my wand. Small runic shapes appeared around the shaft, orbiting tightly and cycling through different runes as they moved. Sweat dripped down my brow as I trembled with the effort the spell required, but its form stabilized, and I took several deep breaths to steady myself. With a flick of this energy wand, my Patronus galloped around the room several times before I dismissed it. It was my fervent hope that Albus wouldn’t ask for more of a demonstration.

“That’s amazing!” Albus whispered, his eyes never leaving the shaft of energy. “It’s not exactly what either you or I were looking for, but it answers so many questions...”

“I know that this isn’t actually that big a deal,” Hermione said, as I cancelled my energy wand and sighed audibly in relief. “Still, I like the idea that it takes more than just a Disarming Charm to take us out of a duel. This is still a wand, really, but it’s a wand that you can re-create over and over again.”

“This gives me an entirely different method of focusing to explore.” Albus said. “It’s more of a ‘big deal’ than you think. It means that wands are providing nothing a wizard’s magic cannot already produce. I need some time to work with this. Will you show me what you’ve done?”

Hermione, Albus and I spent the rest of the week working on my wand emulation charm. Naturally, Albus could correct and refine the spell leagues beyond anything either Hermione or I were capable of. My version taxed me to death, just to get the wand to appear. The initial imprinting charm also needed to be repeated every day or so. By the time we had finished with the spell, I was confident that Hermione and the others would have no problems learning both spells, and the emulation charm now created a seemingly permanent copy of the wand matrix, removing the need for a wand entirely.

“It’s a small step,” said Albus as we retired for dinner that Friday, satisfied with our work. “A small step in the necessary overhaul of magic. However, it’s a very important step; one that I think would be a wonderful joint thesis for your Spell Creation NEWTs. I imagine that the world will be in awe of this newfound independence from wands, even if it initially requires a wand to do so.”

“And it helps with your personal research,” I added with a wry grin on my face.

“And it helps with my personal research,” he agreed, chuckling. “I was quite stuck on where to go with it; this gives me several new options to explore.”

“Well, wish us luck,” Hermione sighed, as we entered the Great Hall. “After dinner, we’ll start to teach the others.”

Albus laughed, drawing other students’ attention. “Good luck then, both of you, but I doubt you’ll need it.”

-----

Bellatrix’s invitation was eating at me; she had something to say, and she passed my mother’s protection. Every day that passed since Christmas Eve heightened my curiosity. When Easter Break hit, I gave in, and made plans to pop down to Diagon Alley. As far as the Order was concerned, I was simply topping up on school supplies and using it as an excuse to eat out.

“See you when you get back!” Sirius called, before going back to a rousing story of his Marauder days with Remus and Tonks, oblivious to my plans. The only person that understood why I was going was Hermione, who clung to my arm like a second skin, refusing to let go.

“Harry, please…”

“It’s time,” I said firmly. “She said you can come if you want; if not, please let go.”

Hermione shook her head and kept a firm grip on my arm; I sighed and called for Fawkes. This was going to be a long trip.

-----

"Oh God, oh God, oh God..." Hermione kept up a monologue of worrying the entire way down the street. Diagon Alley hadn't changed much, and the holiday crowd meant the street was packed and noisy, with temporary stalls everywhere, and merchants hawking their wares loudly. I forged a trail through the medieval chaos to the dark sloping entrance down to Knockturn Alley.

"We shouldn’t do this," Hermione said suddenly, pulling at my arm. "If we're caught-"

"Then Fawkes will come for us," I answered smoothly. "I'm not worried; Dumbledore stated in no uncertain terms that since I've proven capable of eluding him, I can elude anyone. That, my mother's protection, and the fact that Fawkes can find and retrieve us anywhere is more than enough. Stop your muttering already."

"She's dangerous!" Hermione insisted. "She could kill us in an instant, just like before!"

"We're both loads better than that now," I said with as much confidence as I could muster. "Not even Dumbledore can upstage me like that anymore, and you're pretty good, too."

"Not like her!" Hermione said fearfully, shaking her head. "I don't want to fight her again," her voice diminished and tightened until it was barely a whisper, "I'm scared."

"I can go alone if you want," I offered, but Hermione immediately shook her head, clutching me tighter. With a sigh, I urged her forward again, slowly descending into the dark alleyway.

The lane was filthy with mud and grime, and the buildings were old and decrepit. Tall grey-stoned buildings stood out in the gloom with hanging signs advertising food, lodging, second-hand books, and other wares. Those not fortunate enough to have stone buildings made their livelihood from rotting wooden storefronts and shanties. The occasional patched tent crowded the sides of the alley, lit and heated from the inside by a contained bluebell fire.

I've said it before, but this experience truly brought it home for me at the time: Wealth is optional in wizarding society; any one of those tents could sport a luxury flat from a muggle's perspective. If the occupant were any good at conjury at all, they'd never want for anything. Not many wizards are, though. Conjury, Healing, Transfiguration, the Cruciatus and Imperius, Legilimency and Occlumency... Between all those magics, we're talking about two dozen spells, tops.

But mastering the nuances of each of those spells, the dozens, hundreds or thousands of ways that they might be used and the complex variables that needed to be considered, was a task that few were suited for. By virtue of my advanced power, I could do basic conjury and healing, and my Transfigurations were consistent, though quite Spartan. My unpracticed Cruciatus was the bluntest of sledgehammers, not the fine scalpel of torture the veteran Death Eaters used, and I'd never even consider attempting Legilimency or the Imperius, in case I hurt myself. My Occlumency was crude, but effective thanks to my boost from Voldemort. A lesser wizard wouldn't even have that level of mastery.

The filth that the wizards and witches around me lived in was sickening. I understood the concept of a poor wizard and what they might have to do to survive, but this… this was hell. Any one of these people could have taken their wand, and with the shakiest, simplest Imperius or memory charms, lived the life of a king in Muggle society. Hermione stood beside me as living proof of the fact, having charmed a couple into being her parents, and hidden her real parents' death for so long. So why, then, was this squalor tolerated?

Pride.

Simple pride in the fact that, to a wizard, even this mockery of life was a better fate than to live amongst muggles, forever condemned to hide your magic.

I told Hermione that, while we were walking. "This is what we have to change," I said. "This is the ultimate price that the wizarding world pays for its mindset; the suffering of these people, who think there's nothing better."

Hermione cried, then. She cried and fought against me when I pulled her away from the people, not allowing her to give charity of any kind, lest it draw attention to us. I offered what comfort I could, resolving to have Hermione work again on her Occlumency. Ever since Bellatrix’s break-in, it took Hermione ages to bring her emotions under control. I appreciated her heart, and I reminded her of that as often as I could, but Hermione bawling down Knockturn Alley was making the trip far more dangerous that it otherwise might have been. Far too many dirty faces were leering at Hermione, and I was more than half-ready to start cursing, or call for Fawkes.

Fortune smiled darkly upon me, however, as Bellatrix emerged from the shadows between two buildings, walking over to me. She walked openly, her head held high, without any traces of fear. The alley cleared around us as residents recognized her and scattered, fearing her reputation. No one would call the Aurors, not in this alley. This deep, the only protection was a sort of thieves' honor, an 'I-don't-bother-you, you-don't-bother-me' attitude. Down here, Bellatrix was Queen, and her subjects cowered before her.

"Come on," she said quietly, "take my hands." I reached out to take her offered hand, my other arm wrapped securely around Hermione. Hermione shied away, but followed as Bellatrix led me back with her into the shadows. Pulling both of us against her, she faded into the shadows, and the world was lost to inky blackness.

-----

A fire lit room greeted us as the shadows retreated. The walls were rows of horizontal logs; a cabin in the depths of an uncharted wilderness came to mind. There were no windows in the room, and the darkness emanating from the doors made me wonder if there were any windows at all. Hermione shivered next to me, pressing herself as close to me as possible, as though it would somehow make Bellatrix go away. Bellatrix still held us tightly as her magic receded, her long hair draped all over us both, like a veil. That same feeling of familiarity overwhelmed me, as though Bellatrix was the safest person I could be around. Like Tonks, like Sirius.

"Shush girl," she whispered to Hermione, slight humor apparent in her voice. "I'm not going to bite... today, at least." Hermione moaned fearfully, and tried to pull away; the older witch's much stronger grip held her in place. "Godforsaken blood," Bellatrix muttered, before releasing me and wrapping her free arm around Hermione’s head.

"Make your self at home," Bellatrix said without looking at me. "There's a house elf here if you need anything; just call for an elf, I don't know its name."

"Are you going to hug Hermione into submission?" I asked, my amusement overriding my caution.

Bellatrix snorted, her sudden movement making Hermione squeak in her arms. "I'm sure that your lover will have nightmares of me for years to come." She looked down at Hermione. "Child," she said sternly, making Hermione whimper again, "by your chosen intimacy with a member of the Black family, you are considered Blood. I expect you to act according to your station, and leave this pathetic behavior to those beneath you."

That got my attention. It got Hermione's too, as she looked up, tears trailing from wide eyes. "W-what?" she stuttered, barely able to voice her question.

"I second that," I said, moving closer to Hermione. "Are you implying I'm from the Black family?"

"Your grandfather married a Black," Bellatrix said, pulling her hair behind her. "Sirius Black became your Godfather, reinforcing the claim; so yes, you are a Black, for all intents and purposes."

She sighed heavily at my look of confusion, cursing muggles, mudbloods, the Blacks and fate all in the same line; I was quite impressed. "You can get the long story from your Godfather another time," she said, her irritation coming through in her tone. "Becoming a Godfather means forging a direct familial connection, and so requires that you mingle your blood with the child; Sirius obviously did this with you."

"Okay, then... why is this all important?"

"The family is cursed," Bellatrix said, "and quite potently, too. No Black has ever died of natural causes in the last two hundred years."

Hermione rocked back, shocked. "And we're...?"

“Yes,” said Bellatrix, looking at us both. "You're cursed, too."

Hermione’s hysterics cut my response short, and it took both Bellatrix and me the better part of an hour to calm her down.

-----

"She's sleeping, finally." I turned to see Bellatrix watching me as I stroked Hermione's face.

"She’s been edgy since Christmas,” I said, playing with one of her locks of hair. "She was certain we'd both be dead immediately today. All this ‘curse’ talk isn’t helping."

"It's understandable; I didn't take my curse so well, either." I tilted my head, and Bellatrix sighed, looking down. "I'm barren," she said quietly. "Not only can I not have children, my inability transferred to Rod when we made love. After two years of trying, he convinced me to take Rabastan to bed. That failed, too. Later, we found out that I had caused their infertility, and doomed the Lestrange line to die out." She turned away, chuckling mirthlessly. "Just like every family that marries a Black, the Lestranges will be destroyed."

"Why did you come for me?"

Bellatrix looked up, surprised by the change of topic. "You ask hard questions," she answered. "Your blood is Black, which means we have a familial bond. I respect that. Then there's your tie to the Dark Lord."

"We're opposed," I said flatly.

"Yes, but you share his magic," Bellatrix said, leaning closer to me. "It's very difficult to act against the Dark Lord's wishes..."

“I don’t understand.”

“I suppose not,” she sighed. “It’s not important. What’s important to me is keeping the Black family alive for another generation. That means helping you figure out your curse, which will affect your lover as well. It also means trying to keep Blacks from fighting each other.”

I snorted, trying hard not to laugh. “Um, seeing as you and the Lestrange brothers are staple Death Eaters-”

“Shut up!” she snapped, her grey eyes glinting in a kaleidoscopic pattern for a moment, before settling again. “I know full well what’s involved.”

“Oh, come on,” I prodded. “How are you going to justify to them to stay away from me, or Hermione, or Sirius, or Tonks. Hell, how are you going to justify to Voldemort-”

“DON’T SPEAK HIS NAME!” she roared. Hermione woke with a scream, and I moved between her and Bellatrix.

“I’ve fought him and lived,” I snarled. “I’ve earned the right.”

In less than the blink of an eye, her wand was out and a vicious curse arced towards me. I’d trained long and hard under Dumbledore, though; her curse deflected at the last instant and sizzled into the wood of the bed’s footboard. Bellatrix eyed me carefully with her wand arced over her head like a scorpion’s stinger. My eyes flickered between her and the damaged bed, my wand held towards her like a sword.

“Was that a Cruciatus?” I asked. “I thought it wasn’t possible to put much power behind those silently.”

“Shows how much you know,” she growled. Her eyes were sparkling with a myriad of colors, the odd spark forming at the tip of her wand. Several moments passed while we stood locked in that face-off; Bellatrix was unable to bring herself back from the edge, and my fear for Hermione kept me high-strung.

“I think we’ve exhausted the purpose of this meeting,” I said. “I can see we’re going to have issues with this.”

“No!” In less than an instant, her wand clattered at my feet, and she held her arms out to her sides. “You can’t leave yet!” she cried. “You’ll call that damned phoenix, and this place will no longer be safe!”

“Look-”

“Please,” she begged. “Let’s just pick something else to discuss. Let Granger get back to sleep.” All traces of hostility had fled from her eyes; it was quite unnerving.

“Did you know that you swing moods a lot?” I asked, feeling the need to satisfy my curiosity and poke just a little more.

Her face tightened in frustration. “Don’t mock me,” she said, turning away. “Control is… difficult, but I am what I am.”

“Control?” I echoed, hoping for an explanation.

“Study the Dark Arts for a lifetime and find out how much control you can keep,” she said dangerously, stepping towards me. My instincts screamed at me to kick her wand out of reach, but she didn’t move for it. Instead, she sat at the foot of Hermione’s bed, and slowly took my left hand. Hermione curled up at the top of the bed, as far away from Bellatrix as she could manage to be. That movement brought Bellatrix to the brink of tears.

“I… I’m sorry that I’m not what you want me to be,” she murmured. “I just want to hold onto what family I have left.”

Family. That was a good way to describe the feeling. Around Bellatrix, and every other Black family member, I felt family.

“And we’re family, then?”

“Please.”

“Seeing you go from homicidal to broken in two seconds scares me,” I said bluntly.

“I’m trying,” she moaned, covering her face with her hands, shaking with emotion. What emotion, I couldn’t tell you.

“Maybe she’s like me,” Hermione said quietly from behind me. “Maybe she’s been through too much to hide with Occlumency.” Slowly, Hermione sat up in the bed, and moved forward. “Mrs. Lestrange? D-don’t hurt me.” As I looked on in surprise, tiny little Hermione crawled over to Bellatrix, and carefully put her arms around the black-haired witch. Bellatrix leaned into the embrace, tears beginning to leak from around her hands. Hermione, too, began to cry, a purging of her stress and emotions leading up to this meeting.

I breathed a sigh of relief, lowering my wand. The danger had passed, and I pulled both women to me, offering what comfort I could.

-----

“Well, that was exciting,” I said dryly as I collapsed on my bed in Grimmauld. “Voldemort’s right hand is family, as well as a bona fide psycho.”

“She’s different than I thought she’d be,” said Hermione as she closed and sealed the door. “I’m not saying I like her…”

“…But you like her,” I finished, smiling.

“I respect her,” she corrected. “I can see that she’s struggled to get where she is. She’s had to fight against other Death Eaters to gain status, fight against the Ministry, and fight to keep her family from destroying itself by choosing sides in the war. Then, she went to prison…”

“Decided on a new role-model, then?” Hermione rewarded my question with a pillow banished at my face.

“I just think she’s strong for having done what she’s done. That’s all.”

“What happened to her being the Devil incarnate, sent to destroy everyone?”

Hermione shrugged, frowning. “I can’t really classify her anymore. She a murderer, she’s tried to kill us, but she realized you were family when she injured you. She picked up on our relationship, so I’m family. She seems to be telling the truth about keeping the Black family together.”

“I think it might also be that you subconsciously register Bellatrix as family, like I do.” Hermione nodded thoughtfully, but remained silent.

I wide grin formed on my face as another part of the day’s discussions with Bellatrix crossed my mind. “Wait until I tell Sirius that he was less than a minute from being rescued by Bellatrix,” I cackled.

“Harry, that’s mean!”

“But well-deserved,” I asserted, my smile fading. “Sirius had to have known about this curse thing, as well as the family bond, and he’s been nice and quiet about it. I fully intend to confront him before we leave for school.”

“Hold off on that,” Hermione said, jumping up. “I want to take a look at the Black family a little more closely, and see if there’s any pattern to their deaths.”

“Get in touch with Mad-Eye,” I said, leaning back into my pillow. “He pulled all the Death Eater files from the Ministry recently. If there’s anyone that would have kept detailed notes on the Blacks, it would be him.”

-----

Two days later, I sent Sirius a picture of me, Hermione and Bellatrix sitting together at a table, waving merrily. The owl arrived at breakfast, where only Sirius, Hermione and I were currently sitting. I was expecting Tonks shortly.

Sirius blanched as soon as he opened the envelope, staring at me with wide eyes. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah," I drawled. "Oh, shit. You have so much explaining to do, Sirius."

"Look Harry, I didn't know-"

"The family is cursed, Sirius! I’ve got a curse hanging over me because you decided to share your blood. My parents' deaths and my current hedge-dance with Voldemort are likely due to this curse!"

"Harry, please-"

"I had to find out from Bellatrix, Sirius!" I shouted. "One of my enemies --now some kind of extended family, I find out-- had to sit me down and tell me that my life was fucked up since near birth, and because I've shared blood with Pansy and had sex with Hermione, they're fucked too!

"Don't you think I should have known that before I made those decisions? Maybe not for Pansy, but at least Hermione?"

"I didn't know how to begin to tell you-"

"Does Tonks know?" I asked mockingly. "How about her parents? I wonder if the Malfoys knew that they'd be dead one day. Was I just supposed to grow up and have kids blindly?"

"It won't affect you!" Sirius shouted desperately.

"It already has," Hermione whispered quietly from her chair. "By violence or disease, every Black dies."

"Not everyone is affected," he insisted, "There are people-"

"This is a list of every Black family member recently alive," Hermione continued, as if Sirius hadn't spoken. "This list is from Moody's notes in 1988, so the ages I’m quoting are four to five years off. I’ve updated these notes with what I’ve found as well.

"Arcturus Black, 87, Wizengamot member, died 1991, from his 51st heart attack. His wife, Melania, had already died from heart failure.

"Pollux Black, 76, Businessman. Confirmed Inner Circle, crippled by Alastor Moody in battle in 1986. His body was unable to heal any form of damage, even bruising, and he died in 1990 after four years of agony, all forms of treatment being unable to prevent Moody's spell damage from killing him. His wife, Irma Crabbe, died from splinching accident: A minor splinch of her finger threatened her life, as she suffered from similar frailty as her husband. Her attempt to Apparate to St. Mungo's scattered her body parts all over the hospital."

"Hermione," Sirius croaked, his voice breaking, "Harry, I-"

"Callidora Longbottom," Hermione continued, raising her voice. "73, slowly turning to stone. Attributed to a failed spell experiment, but she refuses to verify it or comment on the details. Currently petrified from the waist down, kept alive through specialized nutrient potions designed for people who no longer have working digestive systems. She'll be dead soon.

"Cassiopeia Black, 73. Confirmed Inner Circle, arrested in 1986 Black Raid, sentenced to Azkaban. Freed in Voldemort's breakout in 1992. Suffers from 'Faceless Hate,' a supernatural disease." Sirius shuddered at the name of the sickness; I made a mental note to ask Hermione or Bellatrix what, exactly, Faceless Hate was.

"Lucretia Prewitt, 63. Stay at home wife, silent pro-pureblood, unwilling to fight with her husband, Ignatius. Killed this Christmas by Voldemort, when Ignatius publicly declared Voldemort dead, citing him by name.

"Regulus Black, 27. Suspected Inner Circle; never apprehended. Assumed to have returned to active duty. Noted to be particularly proficient with Apparition, but known to have an unstable physical presence after several consecutive Apparitions.

"Sirius Black, 28. Suspected Inner Circle. Arrested in 1981 for the murder of Peter Pettigrew, sentenced to Azkaban. Freed in Voldemort's breakout in 1992. It's nice to know that Mad-Eye suspected you. He also suspects that you have issues with your Animagus transformation.

"Bellatrix Lestrange, 38. Confirmed Inner Circle. Arrested in 1986 Black Raid, along with her husband Rodolphus and brother-in-law, Rabastan. Sentenced to Azkaban. Freed in Voldemort's breakout in 1992. Considered by most to be Voldemort's apprentice, considered extremely dangerous. Bellatrix is unable to bear children, and passed that curse on to both Rodolphus and Rabastan.

"Narcissa Malfoy, 32. Wife of Lucius Malfoy and mother to Draco Malfoy. Killed along with her husband and son in 1992 in the failed kidnapping attempt on me, Harry, and Pansy.

"Andromeda Tonks, 36. Wife of Ted Tonks, mother to Nymphadora. Nothing much has happened to them... yet."

"That's impressive stuff," I said, smiling at Hermione. "Is there more?"

She nodded, flipping the scroll around. "There's a list here of families I could trace Black lineage to. The Prewitt and Malfoy lines are finished. The Potter, Lestrange, Crouch, Burke, and Longbottom lines are hanging on by one or two people each, so they're next to go. The Tonks’ are healthy, for now. Only the Weasleys have any meaningful numbers to them, and Voldemort's torn a chunk out of that already."

“Sirius?” Tonks called tentatively from the kitchen entrance. “What’s going on?” Her hair was once again pale.

“Well, that’s our cue,” I said, getting up. “We’ll let you field this one, Sirius. I’m off to scare the shit out of Dumbledore.” Hermione stood with me, and we walked past Tonks, and out to the living room, where I called for Fawkes.

-----

“Hello Harry, Hermione,” Dumbledore greeted as we appeared in his office. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I have a report for you, sir,” I said, holding up several sheets of parchment.

“A report? Whatever for?” His face wrinkled in confusion, he took the papers from me, and quickly glanced at the first page.

Dumbledore dropped the papers in his hand, his face white as a sheet. We stared at each other for several moments while Hermione fidgeted beside me.

“You met her,” he whispered, not quite able to close his mouth after speaking.

“Yes,” I said firmly, indicating the written report I had in front of him. “It’s all in there. Practically every word spoken and all my reasoning.”

Dumbledore forced himself to look at my writing again, and his color slowly returned as he read through the pages methodically. The man could read faster than both Hermione and I combined, flipping pages one after the other, and there was no faster way to get him to understand my point of view than to express it in writing. I needed Dumbledore to read about the Black family’s ability to sense each other, and the implicit fact that Bellatrix passed my mother’s protection before he exploded at me. For the sake of completeness, I included Hermione’s research into the Black family, as well.

Dumbledore had noticeably shifted into his General persona as he read. His skin was full of life again, and his eyes danced, seeing the potential present. “This is entirely true, then?” he asked without looking up. “Including the curse?”

“All of it,” I confirmed.

“I gather that you, Hermione, Sirius and Nymphadora will meet with her again, potentially with the other family members as well.” Hermione and I nodded. “Are you including Pansy?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, scratching my head. “I haven’t felt the same pull to her as I have to the other Blacks, so I wanted to make sure it was there before I decided. If it’s not there, there’s a chance that the curse won’t affect her. Besides, she’s central to the security of Grimmauld Place.”

“True,” the General conceded. “I would prefer that Pansy remain safe.” He sighed, letting the report fall to the desk again. “As much as I should be angry at this, I have asked you to perform tasks nearly as dangerous already, and you have one even worse coming up. Are you certain she’s safe?”

“To us, yes.”

“Then make your plans,” he said, waving us away. “Please inform me if you intend to meet her, if only so I keep Fawkes’ schedule free should you require him to intervene.” Fawkes chirped at us, making us chuckle.

“Be ready for tomorrow,” Dumbledore said as I reached the door. “There is an official Ministry function during Easter, and while the Minister and other employees attend it, we will strike.”

-----

The next day saw Remus, Sirius and I armed to the teeth with potions and other devices, getting ready for Fawkes’ arrival. Hermione kissed me goodbye while Tonks fussed over the two Marauders.

“Be careful,” Hermione whispered to me.

“I will,” I promised. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“Ready?” asked Sirius, his excitement showing. Remus’ canines had protruded visibly, his other teeth slightly sharper than normal as well.

“You bet.” I hugged Hermione one last time, and then stepped over to the other two, who were in the process of polyjuicing themselves into likenesses of the Charms Specialists of the Floo Network. “Let’s go.”

I disillusioned myself to invisibility, applied my silencing charms and buffers, and cast a detection spell for disillusionment and invisibility. Less than a minute later, Fawkes arrived, and we grabbed onto his feet and promptly vanished.

We reappeared in a men’s washroom at the far end of the DT. Remus and Sirius registered as authorized to the Ministry sensors, and my cloak kept me hidden. The three of us made our way to the offices of the Floo Network. The closest office door – the one that used to be Langford’s – opened, revealing a young man I assumed was Elphias Doge’s son. “Good timing,” he said, as we reached him. “Those sweets worked perfectly. The other two are at home, sick, just as planned. What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing much,” Sirius said, waving back towards the massive control station. “Just try to keep people as far away from here as possible. We’ll need at least twenty minutes or so, and then you want to clear out of here as fast as you can.”

“Company,” I whispered, startling Doge. My detection charm showed two wraith-like humanoid shadows moving in our direction My scar prickled slightly, but I didn’t notice in the excitement. “Two invisibles, fifty feet away. They seem aware of each other, and are probably aware of me. You have a lot less than twenty minutes. Move!”

Without waiting for a response, I charged toward the two shadows, which gained a more distinct form the closer I got. They were likely under the same conditions I was – no magic – so I felt somewhat confident that I could hold them. Both shadows fell into a loose fighting position, one looking more comfortable than the other. I intentionally veered towards them, switching at the last moment to the stiffer combatant. I dropped to the floor, pivoting on my hands and swinging my legs hard, forcing my magic to the surface. My opponent flipped midair before crumbling to the ground without a whisper of sound. I fell into a back roll, and felt the impact of the other shadow’s foot as it hit the ground that I had occupied.

Kipping to my feet, I called for both strength and speed, needing to draw out the time I had alone with this one. I snapped off a flurry of jabs, connecting with a couple. I pressed forward without letting up, and my opponent brought his hands up high to fend off the blows, and thrust forward with the front kick that I was expecting. Guessing my opponent was a male, I sidestepped the kick and fired a punch full-force into his groin, smiling grimly as I hit. Not only was my guess correct, but the man had not applied physical buffers. Eerily reminiscent of Quirrel, he flew back several feet before landing crumpled on the ground.

My other opponent was only halfway to their feet when I descended on them, a flurry of magic-enhanced punches and kicks. After a quick confirmation that both were out for the count, I dragged them over to where Doge was standing alone.

“Well, that wasn’t fun,” I commented idly as I dropped the bodies.

“Oh, I don’t know, Potter,” he growled in a high-pitched whisper, as my scar burst into pain.

“Perhaps, since you’re intent on wrecking my operations, you’re looking for a better challenge? Maybe, since I have nothing to lose for it and you do, we should go another round?”

No. Not here! Not now!

I fired my fist forwards, catching him on the chin. I saw the barest glimpse of red eyes before the man went flying into his office. I remembered my encounter with Ginny, and my decision. I knew what I had to do.

“Avada-”

I flew sideways, slammed by one of the invisible men I thought were out. Tucking my legs, I rolled to my feet, my barrier charms absorbing the impact. My scar was still blazing, so I assumed that Voldemort switched bodies. In front of me, Doge was getting up. His eyes weren’t crimson, but he was coming at me anyways, his face contorted in malice.

The man I had sacked was still down, but the other one was moving to strike me again. My scar’s pain faded somewhat; Voldemort had fled his host. I ducked, increasing my strength and speed again, and kicked out, shattering the invisible man’s knee. I had time to snap a punch forward into Doge’s groin, and snapped a right cross into his face as he fell, knocking him out.

There was a sound of general commotion behind me. Some people were running away, and another few were running towards me. I moved away from Doge’s body, but the people adjusted, coming for me instead. Shit.

I exploded into action as they neared me, their wands at the ready. Any thoughts of not using my wand to retaliate disappeared with the first curse. I ducked, weaved, deflected and shielded, dropping people one after the other with Stunners. After what seemed like forever and was only just under a minute, the last person fell to the ground. My scar still ached, though, which meant that more would be on their way.

A loud, groaning noise came from the Control Station, and I rushed over to its entry point, looking around. “Is everything alright?”

“Its fine!” shouted Remus. “Stay outside!”

“How long?” I asked. “I expect more company!”

“At least a couple of minutes, if it’s going to work!” Sirius bellowed. “We won’t get a second chance!”

“Hurry!” I cried, ducking a long-range curse. A dozen more people ran towards me, spells blazing from their wands. Thank God, he’s not using real fighters, I thought as I launched myself at them, wading once again into rapid exchange, where I held the greatest advantage. I could only fell a handful more, though, before the nearby lift opened, and something like twenty people rushed out, heading for me.

“Shit!” I called back into the doorway. “You’re out of time!”

“It still needs work!” Sirius insisted. “Can you stall them?”

“There’s dozens!” I cried as I ducked and strafed elemental flame hexes to distract the mob and buy me breathing room, cutting the air above me.

Remus sighed in frustration. “Harry, get to one of the offices and call for Fawkes. We can take it from here!”

“But-”

“GO!” he shouted, and the door to the control station slammed shut and locked. Cursing, I took one look at the oncoming mob and the Aurors who were emerging from the lifts behind them, and took off for the offices at top speed, weaving back and forth and holding a shield behind me. The Control Station was mostly metal, so between its resilience and Remus’ ingenuity, it would hold – I hoped.

“Fawkes!” I whispered quickly as I dove into one of the offices. Not three seconds later, the office floor vanished in flames, only to reform into the floor Grimmauld’s living room.

“Harry?” Hermione raced over, cancelling my charms with a wave of her wand and turning me over to look me over. “Are you alright?”

“No!” I hastily got to my feet, cursing as I fought the cloak off my shoulders. “I’m fine,” I snapped, seeing Hermione’s change in expression. “I fought a bunch of Voldemort-controlled people, they were no problem. Voldemort possessed Doge’s son, too, so I left him unconscious.” I growled in frustration, rubbing my face. “Sirius and Remus are locked in the Control Station, and the floor is crawling with Imperius drones. At least I think its Imperius; Voldemort seems to be able to leave commands in place when he jumps bodies. They don’t have a lot of time. I had to retreat.”

“Do they have-”

The fireplace roared to life, spewing a thick line of flame across the living room, igniting everything. I pulled Hermione to the side and turned my strongest freezing spell on the flames, joined quickly by Hermione, Pansy, and Tonks. Slowly, we forced the flames back towards the fireplace; halfway to the mantle, the flames winked out, and our charms hit the fireplace, coating it in ice.

“Well, that was fun!” Tonks said with false brightness as she proceeded to clear away the charred mess and repair what she could. I said nothing, waiting with growing concern.

“Where are they?”

“Do they have a way back?” Hermione asked, finishing her question. I frowned for a moment, before fear overtook me.

“Fawkes,” I called, waiting for the phoenix to appear. “Can you find Sirius or Remus?” The bird shook its head, keening apologetically before disappearing again. I collapsed into the nearest intact chair, with Hermione running her hands through my hair, trying to offer some comfort.

“Oh God,” I muttered. “Please, please be alive.”

Dumbledore appeared with a flash, turning immediately to Harry. “I am going back to the Ministry. Nymphadora, come with me.”

I jumped up immediately. “Do you know-?”

“The entire floor of the DT has collapsed,” he said heavily. “There is extensive damage to the floors beneath it, as well. I, thankfully, was several floors above. Sirius and Remus have not returned?” I said nothing, but he nodded at the look on my face. “I see. I will look for them myself,” he promised, placing his hand on my shoulders. “Trust in the abilities of the Marauders; they’re the best.” With a flash, Fawkes disappear again, Dumbledore and Tonks in tow.

“Yeah,” I agreed, wiping away a tear as. “They’re the best.”

-----

A/N: Hope you’ve enjoyed the trip! Review, please!