More Equal than you Know by 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.




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.

-->



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

-----------

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!