Unofficial Portkey Archive

Harry didn't sleep well that night, but it wasn't because of dreams or nightmares. He was plagued by Hermione's voice, haunting and horrified, recanting the reason for her sudden avoidance of him. To her credit, she calmly explained her theories behind this recurring dream and highlighted one in particular. Given the fact that she wasn't a believer of Divination or any sort of ethereal connection, the most logical conclusion was their increased use of Legilimency within the past year.

"Think about it, Harry. Why else would we have a shared dream? It's not an instance that occurs with any regularity, despite what the tea leaves might have to say about it. The fact that it's your name that this woman yells makes it all the more reason to think that our continued use of Legilimency on each other might have created a link for a shared dream. Have you had this dream before?"

"No. I started having them this summer."

That fact stumped Hermione. If they had no contact in the summer, why would they both have the same dream? Furthermore, why did the dream keep returning and what did it mean? Harry had a sneaking suspicion as to the identity of the woman who screamed his name, but he didn't want to divulge it in front of Hermione, largely to avoid embarrassment. Most likely, Hermione already had drawn some conclusions as to who it was as well.

When he awoke the next morning, scarcely with three hours of sleep, it was no surprise that he was sluggish in his movements. While the rest of his Slytherin counterparts were no faster, especially Malfoy who was still asleep in his four-poster bed, Harry was particularly keen to let others in front of him in order to gain just a precious extra minute of sleep. Unfortunately, Blaise was a morning person.

"Harry, wake up. Wake up!" Blaise shouted through the drapes. "I want to have a decent meal. This schedule is brutal."

"Go ahead without me," Harry said, his voice muffled under a pillow.

"Late night with Granger?"

Harry flipped the pillow off his head and yanked his curtains back, furtively looking around to see if anyone had heard.

"Don't say that so loudly," Harry hissed.

"I thought that wasn't a problem anymore?" Blaise asked in confusion.

"It's not...just let me figure things out first."

"So it was a late night with Granger?!" The grin returned to Blaise's face.

"Go to breakfast," Harry said, shoving him in the shoulder and annoyed at his presumptions.

Blaise left, his laughing voice echoing as the rest of the Slytherins awoke. Goyle and Nott stumbled towards the lavatory while Harry flopped back into bed, rubbing his eyelids. Fatigue was still in control of his body, but it would be no use to miss the first day of classes given that his first class of the day was his Magical Theory course with the new professor. Sleep threatened to overtake him, but a hacking cough banished any thoughts of a lie in.

Harry peeked through the curtains to witness Malfoy lean over the edge of his bed, a rough cough rattling his body. There was a closed bottle on his bedside table and Malfoy twisted the cap off and downed the contents quickly. His body immediately relaxed and the blond boy looked up to see Harry watching him through the curtains.

"Never seen a cold before, Potter?"

"I thought you were infallible?" Harry couldn't help but take a shot at him.

"I think the only one that thinks that here would be you," Malfoy responded before swinging his legs out of bed and heading towards the lavatory.

It was a strangely deprecating comment that was unlike him. Perhaps the potential loss of his family fortune hurt Malfoy more than Harry could know. After all, if there was no prestige behind the Malfoy name, what else could he brag about? It was just another thing to think about in what was promising to be a stressful year. Hermione's shared dream was still his biggest concern and he didn't want to have to worry about a different Malfoy on top of it. Deciding to wait until the rest of the guys were finished with their showers, Harry allowed himself a few extra minutes of rest and resolved to go straight to Magical Theory, hair askew and stomach empty.

Whereas most classes were held in the primary corridors, save for Potions, Magical Theory was being held in a tower adjacent to the Astronomy Tower. Harry had never been to this particular part of the castle despite all his years living there. Fortunately, the staircase didn't seem too imposing when he arrived and he ascended them without complaint despite the growling in his abdomen. There was a singular wooden door at the top and three other people waiting outside of it.

Hermione was present if there was ever a doubt. More surprising was the inclusion of Susan Bones. While Harry had never doubted her intelligence, he didn't particularly think of her as the smartest of the Hufflepuffs. Ernie MacMillan certainly boasted enough that he was and Harry thought Finch-Fletchley showed some cunning in his planning last year. Still, there were a variety of factors that would have Susan placed in Magical Theory and she would be far more bearable than some of the other people from her House. Last in their tiny group was Terry Boot of Ravenclaw, a slightly less insufferable version of Hermione. His aloofness helped alleviate the general condescension that came from him.

"Potter?" Terry asked in surprise, pushing his thick, black frame glasses up his nose. "I thought you would be in Leadership."

"You're not the only one," Harry said. "They deemed to place me here."

"I suppose they would after that trick of yours in the forest. Tell me, have you been able to replicate it?"

"I have."

"I don't suppose you'd be open to sharing how you did it. I've actually looked into some form of spell creation myself. I've read numerous scrolls on the topic, but I haven't been able to achieve that same breakthrough. If you'd just like to sit down one night so we could discuss it, that would be really beneficial for my work." Terry actually opened his side slung knapsack and waved a few scrolls in Harry's face.

"I think I'll keep that to myself for now," Harry said, leaning away from the Ravenclaw.

Terry frowned. "What good is it if you're going to keep that kind of thing to yourself?"

"Maybe so people like you won't steal his ideas," Hermione casually suggested.

Terry's face contorted into an ugly scowl. "I'm not going to steal his ideas. It's Potter's academic prerogative to share new innovations like his spell. It doesn't even have a name!"

"It has a name and it's mine to keep," Harry said.

"Nothing quite as exhilarating as a children's argument," said an unknown voice.

The old man approached with an even gait, his face nearly hidden by a well maintained white mane. He was smiling at the rest of them, his arms swinging by his sides as he approached the door.

"We're not children," Terry rebutted.

"Everyone's a child to me," the new teacher responded.

He opened the wooden door with a soft push of his open palm and a strong breeze whipped his robes around. The old man walked inside without another word and Harry wondered if all teachers in Hogwarts preferred such a dramatic entrance. It certainly enhanced the experience. Terry quickly stepped inside, followed by Susan. Harry and Hermione were last, entering the sunlit room and inspecting their new classroom.

Open crescent windows explained the strong gusts of air that would blow through the room as well as the abundance of natural light. The area was small, roughly ten by ten meters shaped in a half moon. In the middle was a solitary chair surrounded by four other chairs with no desks. There wasn't a chalkboard or a projector or anything else that might have required writing materials. There were simply five chairs in the room.

"Take a seat," said the teacher.

The four students complied and waited patiently as this yet unnamed teacher took his time to settle. He looked at each of them in the eye and Harry couldn't help but bring up his Occlumency shields, trying to detect a potential intrusion. It was just a force of habit as this new teacher had given no evidence that he would try and perform passive Legilimency, but at this point, Harry did it automatically.

"Do you know who I am?" asked the old man.

"Nicolas Flamel," Hermione confidently answered.

"Nicolas Flamel," Terry echoed not a second after.

"Two out of four isn't bad," Flamel mused. "I would have thought that I would have made more of a name of myself after all these years but centuries are a long time."

Centuries? Harry asked himself, racking his brain to see if he could remember who Nicolas Flamel actually was. The name rung a distant bell in his mind, but he couldn't grasp why he was famous.

"The Sorcerer's Stone," Susan whispered, nodding to herself. She must have been using the same thought process as Harry.

"My most famous creation but far from my only one," Flamel said. He smiled kindly at them, leathery cracks showing on his apparently ancient face. He crossed his arms in front of him, leaning back so that only two legs of his chair remained on the ground, yet Flamel was comfortably balanced this way.

The lightbulb finally clicked in Harry's head as put Flamel's face to the Frog Card that he owned. Flamel was a renowned alchemist who was responsible for a number of famous innovations including the notorious Sorcerer's Stone, the Elixir of Life. Why he was teaching at Hogwarts was beyond Harry's comprehension.

"Professor Snape has requested my presence here for a few years to hopefully impart you with some of my knowledge," Flamel said.

Harry tried not to show any emotion, but he was perturbed that Flamel answered his mental question. Perhaps it was a coincidence as Harry felt no intrusion in his Occlumency shields.

"I'm afraid I don't have a lot to offer you in terms of advancing your dueling skills. After so many years on this earth, I tend to avoid inciting conflict amongst wizards. But I can hopefully unlock some of your questions concerning the nature of magic. This class will be unlike your others. I have no lesson plan. There are no tests or graded scrolls. You are here to acquire knowledge. I only request one thing from each of you: a project to be completed by the end of the semester."

"Are there any parameters to the project?" Hermione asked.

Flamel shook his head. "No. You set the terms for your success and try to achieve it. I only ask that you attempt to complete it."

Hermione was visibly annoyed and Harry had to smile to himself. He wondered what she thought about a class that had no grades. How else would she be able to demonstrably prove that she was better?

Still balancing his chair on two legs, Flamel said, "So tell me, what is your favorite spell?"

"Ignem," Terry answered.

It was a flashy spell, able to conjure fireballs that could be used as projectiles. Yet, they weren't that helpful as the fire from the spell was conjured via magic and didn't hold the proper original source. As such, even if the spell hit a person, it wouldn't actually cause any burn damages. It was simply a useful percussion spell though it did have its uses for theatrical purposes.

"An interesting spell to call your favorite. Why is that so?" Flamel asked.

"It's an advanced spell used to illuminate surroundings as well as provide concussive attacks that have the added effect of inciting fear given the fire based nature," Terry replied.

"Are you aware that it doesn't actually cause any burns?"

Terry cleared his throat. "Well, yes, but that's not the point. The fire is there to distract them. It's not a knockdown spell. It's just my favorite spell."

"So you're more interested in the look of the spell rather than its effectiveness?"

"It has a useful purpose. I use it all the time in duels to mix up my attacks."

"And why wouldn't you use Inflamare? Surely that is a similar spell that would provide the same effect but also have the added bonus of causing fire burns."

"It takes a lot more energy to produce. It's not as useful," Terry rebutted, growing agitated.

"And how much energy does it take exactly?"

"A considerable amount!"

"But how much?" Flamel slammed his chair down so it was finally seated on all four legs, his previously benign demeanor evaporating. It was hard to believe that he was a man older than some trees at this moment, his eyes alight and the white beard seemingly bristling as he spoke.

"How much magic does it take to produce that spell, Terry?" Flamel repeated.

"I - I don't know." Terry's eyes flitted between Harry and Hermione, pleading for help. "More than it takes to produce Ignem! If I had to guess, a magnitude between two or three times greater, but I'm not entirely sure. How are we supposed to know that?!"

Flamel opened his hand so his palm was facing upwards. With a quick flex of his fingers, he produced a ball of fire, floating not two or three inches off his hand. The fire was swirling in a perfect sphere, glowing as bright as the sun shining into the open room. Terry scooted back, his chair harshly scraping against the concrete floor.

"How much magic does it take, Terry?" Flamel asked once more, his face glowing orange as a backdrop against the fire.

The fire was mesmerizing, a perfect orange ball that held a strange stillness about it. Flamel might have been centuries old, but his hand was steady as a floating broomstick, his four fingers stuck closely together while his thumb stretched out at a forty-five degree angle.

"It's relative," Hermione answered. "The amount of magic it takes is relative to the wizard."

She was also mesmerized by the ball of fire, her eyes never leaving it until Flamel closed his hand into a fist, extinguishing the fireball. Flamel might have entered the room with a congenial expression and demeanor, but his face was now as still as a statue, concrete and unmoving as he fixed his glance on Hermione.

"Others have told me you have a penchant for speaking out of turn, Hermione," Flamel said.

"You said this wasn't going to be a normal class. I assumed that I wouldn't need to raise my hand to answer a question." She said all of this quickly, managing to fit both of the sentences in one breath.

"And what is your favorite spell?" Flamel countered, unrelenting in his pursuit for answers.

"I don't have one. I use the spell appropriate for the situation," Hermione replied.

"An answer befitting of a passive learner."

As Harry had gotten to know Hermione better in the previous year, he noticed that it was difficult to provoke a reaction out of her. Short of leaning on some obvious emotional pillars, Harry found it useless to try and incur any sort of anger from her. More noticeably, she usually refused to rise to the bait when other students tried to taunt her. Yet, no one ever questioned her intellect for it was near unmatchable among her peers.

Under Flamel's criticism, Hermione visibly bristled with anger. It was subtle and almost imperceptible, uncatchable if Harry wasn't paying attention. Her nostrils flared, the scowl quickly emerging on her round face. She sat up a little straighter, her chin raising in defiance. That steely determination Harry often witnessed returned with renewed vigor as she glared at Flamel.

"I am not a passive learner," she said in a monotone voice.

"Why of course you are. Why else would you not claim to have a favorite spell? I am not saying you have a spell that you always use, but to deny that you have a preference for a favorite spell is disingenuous at best. A favorite spell is comforting, easy, able to be spoken at a moment's notice. It is a reflex, an automatic shelter in times of worry. To say you have no favorite spell is ignoring an important part of understanding magic."

Flamel leaned forward, his eyes piercing and looking nothing at all like a man who had lived a few centuries. Every weathered line on his face hardened until it looked like he was carved out of stone.

"Introspection, Hermione. You must acknowledge yourself if you ever want to become more than just a great knower of facts."

Harry expected Hermione to rise to the challenge, accept Flamel's bait, and counter with an intellectual argument of her own. Instead, she soured and the usual impertinence fell from her face. She sat quietly, neither looking down nor straight ahead. Instead, she fell into the awkward middle distance as she refused to look at Flamel or anyone else in his stead.

The eccentric teacher cleared his throat, spinning the four legged chair on one leg to face Susan. The Hufflepuff girl startled, not expecting such a quick pivot.

Now, with a softer voice, Flamel asked, "And you, Susan Bones? Do you have a favorite spell?"

In a quiet voice that befit her demure demeanor, Susan answered, "Curaret Volnus."

Flamel's eyebrows, bushy and white, raised slightly, his first sign of surprise. "A minor healing spell? No doubt to cure the wounds that often occur whilst attending this school. Useful, easy to learn, and valuable in many different forms. An excellent answer, Susan."

The redhead's shoulders dropped in relief as she avoided any interrogation from Flamel. Harry could visibly see perspiration on Susan's forehead and wondered what he looked like. He certainly didn't feel panicked or terrified. Instead, he was curious, wondering why Flamel would teach a class, if you could even call it teaching, this way.

Predictably, Flamel turned to him, the histrionics and theater dialing down as he simply spun his chair to face Harry. Whereas Flamel had worn different expressions for each student - intimidating for Terry, challenging for Hermione, and respectful for Susan - Flamel had no such expression as he looked at Harry. There was a passivity, an uncomfortable calmness.

"Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Bringer of Lightning. I hope your reputation precedes you."

Clearing his throat, Harry replied, "Fulminare."

Nicolas Flamel smiled, revealing a set of pearly white teeth that nearly matched his winter coat of a beard. His eyes were glittering and Harry swore he saw a flash of lightning in Flamel's eyes. Why there was such a large grin on Flamel's face, Harry couldn't understand, but he assumed that his answer must have pleased him in some form. In truth, it was his favorite spell. It would be hard not to be proud of a spell he created.

"Very good, Harry. I see I have at least one student that has played this game before."

* * * * * *

Tracey Davis was early, sitting in the front row like Harry would have probably done had he been in the class. Instead, Tracey found herself sitting with a smatter of different people spread from each House. Lavender Brown had somehow managed to find herself in Medical despite a rather poor understanding of basic Potions. So too was Seamus Finnigan, ending the Gryffindor representation in this class. Seated in the back were a trio of Ravenclaws. Mandy Brocklehurst, Su Li, and Padma Patil were clustered together, whispering to each other in low tones before Madame Pomfrey arrived. There were two Hufflepuffs, Hannah Abbott and Leanne Whittaker. Tracey had never made extensive acquaintance with either of them.

That left Tracey as the lone Slytherin representative.

I shouldn't be surprised that I'm the only one in Medical. After all, why would a Slytherin want to help others?

Yet, there she was, seated in the front, her nerves already frayed. I wish Harry or Blaise were here, she thought, willing herself to calm down. It's just a class. They put you in here with the other Houses because we all want to be in Medical.

In the front of the room was an island counter, solid on three sides and hollow on the other. Presumably, there were medical supplies within the counter that Pomfrey would use for demonstrations and instruction. At the top of the table, there was a single potion. It was clear and odorless, the viscosity minimal from even a distance. It would have been difficult to separate it from a glass of water.

The door that led to the Infirmary opened and Madame Pomfrey entered with her usual air of aplomb. The adjoining room that they were having class in was small and cramped despite the minimal class size. Madame Pomfrey stepped up to the island, her stricken gaze appraising her students.

"This is -" Madame Pomfrey started, but she never got the opportunity to finish.

The door to the classroom opened noisily, creaking on its hinges as one last student entered.

Draco Malfoy bundled noisily in, his eyes flitting between an irritated Madame Pomfrey and the empty seat beside Tracey. Even the blond Slytherin had the grace to know when he was interrupting and Madame Pomfrey was one of the few adults that he deferred to given that she was responsible for restoring him after Battle matches.

"I apologize," Malfoy said clearly, hurrying to his seat and gracefully sitting down next to Tracey.

"I'm sure," Pomfrey said through tight lips.

Starting again, Pomfrey said, "You may think that because we're not trying to come up with several different ways to kill each other that this class isn't as important. You may think that just because you don't have Snape or Moody for a teacher that I won't be hard on you. You may think that this was the easiest of the Tracks. You may think a lot of things."

She strode out from behind the island table, intimidating despite her small stature. Her hands were behind her back, shrouded veil not present on top of her head. On the front of her white robes was a red cross, as crimson as blood. Walking through the aisles, Pomfrey eyed each one of them individually, saving a particularly disdainful look for Malfoy.

"What is the potion on the front table?" Pomfrey asked the class.

Of course, there were indicators of what type of potion it could be just by looking at it. Clear potions are usually made out of non-root material as root materials tend to add color and viscosity to a potion. The lack of movement also points towards it being a non-timed position in that it does not have to be consumed or applied within a certain time frame. The lack of a distinct odor is also telling in that Bone Powder is almost always used to mask a smell. Tracey eliminated several possibilities as she continued to analyze the potion.

Still, there were far more ambiguities that was hard to decide based upon look. Without an inkling of any ingredients, Tracey found it difficult to even hazard a guess at what the particular potion at the front of the table was. Judging by the lack of response from the small class, they didn't know either.

"Anyone?" Madame Pomfrey asked. "Can anyone tell me what the potion is?"

Mandy Brocklehurst dared to speak up. "Madame, I don't think we're going to be able to tell what the potion is without at least an ingredient or..."

"And do you think that will matter when a patient's life is on the line?" Pomfrey snapped. "You have to make a split second decision on whether or not that potion is useful to you. I don't expect you to catalog every single potion in creation, though that would be an enormously useful skill to have, but you have to make a judgement. Right or wrong, you can not wait as you do not have the luxury of time. You have to live with your decision, right or wrong. You have to make a decision, most of all."

Pomfrey waved her wand and the potion floated towards Mandy. The Ravenclaw girl looked nervously at Pomfrey, acutely aware that she was being put on the spotlight. She looked towards her friends, pleading for help, but they were no more closer to finding out the purpose of the potion than she was.

"What is this potion, Ms. Brocklehurst?" Pomfrey asked.

Mandy leaned forward, sniffing to find any lingering aroma that might lead her to a clue as to what the potion was. She carefully picked up the vial, swishing it around. Tracey discovered that her guess was correct as the potion remained clear despite the turbulence. That at least eliminated any sort of herbal types. Since most potions used at least some type of root as a base, Tracey narrowed the options down to potions that used something non-organic as a base instead. Typically, types of fine powder and rare material such as dissolvable emeralds were needed. If I could just get another clue, I might be able to at least figure out if it's consumable or applicable, Tracey thought.

"It's not root based in nature." Mandy went for the easy explanation. "Um, that rules out poisons, right?"

"Does Slughorn teach you nothing? What is the Witcher's Poison made out of?" Pomfrey rebutted.

"Essence of slug..." Mandy's face fell.

"Your patient is dead," Pomfrey swished her wand and a giant red "X" appeared on Mandy's desk.

Tracey scrambled for another idea, remembering that there was a variety of organic material that could still be used to make a clear potion. She needed another clue. Another indicator of what this potion could be. Clear. Smooth. Odorless. That means it's not a salve. It could be a smooth ointment, but surely it has to be a consumable potion of some sort.

"Li, what is this potion?!" Pomfrey barked, pacing around the classroom.

Su Li of Ravenclaw sat straight up, brushing her thick black hair behind her ear. Her oriental features squinched into a thoughtful expression as she contemplated an answer. Tracey glanced at Draco, who was cocking his head as he stared at the potion.

Su Li finally answered, "It is a Weightless Potion. Bone powder to counteract the odor of the eggshells of a Gryffin in combination with three turns of coarse Egyptian sand and a mixture of acid solvents to clear up the potion."

She threw the Quaffle all the way across the pitch, going for it all as she explained not only the intent of the potion but also the ingredients and creation. She said this all rapidly, trying to force the answer onto Pomfrey. By the look on her face, she was rather confident.

"Your patient is still dead, not an inch off the ground." Pomfrey waved her wand and a similar red "X" appeared on Su Li's desk.

And down the line she went, refuting everyone's answers with scathing remarks, the ominous red "X" slashed onto everyone's desks until there were just two Slytherins left to interrogate. Judging by the patten Pomfrey was continuing on, Tracey realized that she would be next to face the wrath of the previously demure, but only slightly strict, Healer.

"Davis," Pomfrey said in an exasperated voice. "Perhaps Slytherin would kindly redeem Hogwarts. What is this potion?"

Again, no other clues or help from the Healer. Tracey spared a glance towards Draco, who up to now had been silent. He looked back at her expectantly, his eyes flitting between Pomfrey and her. Tracey saw him mouth something - root maybe - but she couldn't deduce the word and with Pomfrey watching them like a hawk, she decided not to chance a second glance at Draco.

"It's uh..."

Tracey faltered, just as the others before her did, as she desperately sought for an answer to such a simple question. The Slytherin girl knew Pomfrey was setting them up to fail. It was near impossible to know the exact kind of potion it was without any other clues besides a cursory glance and shake. Perhaps that was the point. Perhaps it was a test of simplicity from the Healer. Fearing that the answer was as dumb as it sounded, Tracey nonetheless pressed forward.

"It's water," she said.

Tracey could feel Mandy Brocklehurst's incredulous gaze piercing into the back of her head as well as recognizing Seamus Finnigan's dumbfounded expression from the corner of her eyes. As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Tracey instantly regretted it. The bemused expression on Pomfrey's face told Tracey all she needed to know.

"No." Pomfrey snorted in derision. "But thank you for humoring me."

Tracey flushed red, the blush showing up on her newly tanned skin as she watched Pomfrey placed the dreaded red marker on her desk as well. So it was, eight out of nine desks bearing the red "X" as Pomfrey descended upon her last victim.

"Mr. Malfoy. You are the last hope for the Fourth Years of Hogwarts. What is this potion?" There was a smug yet disappointed tone in the way Pomfrey spoke as she looked down at the blond haired Slytherin.

Draco calmly looked at the potion, only glancing once towards Pomfrey for confirmation.

"It is the Widower's Potion. Root of cassava, grinded into a fine grain so that the solvent made out of liquified bone powder mixes with distilled water to produce a clear and smooth liquid. But you can tell from the calcified remains here -" Draco pointed at a barely visible trace of bone powder from where Mandy had swished the container "-that the potion is actually thick once consumed. It only appears to be smooth."

He said it all as if he were reciting from a book, such was his candid demeanor. Tracey struggled to keep her surprise in check. In the past, there would have been a smarmy comment or a petulant attitude, but Draco said it all like he was Hermione Granger.

"And what does the Widower's Potion do, Mr. Malfoy?" Pomfrey was apparently not the type to pretend to be disappointed as she appraised Draco positively.

"It's a poison. It kills the recipient of the potion. It's known as the Widower's Potion because it is commonly used by depressed widower's and carries the effect of an almost painless death."

Pomfrey nodded at every point, satisfaction written all over her face. She turned towards the class and gestured towards Draco.

"And Mr. Malfoy's patient has lived." Pomfrey turned towards the board at the front of the classroom and placed everyone's names on a column on the right. Then, she placed Malfoy's name as the sole inhabitant of a column on the left.

"As of now, all of you are failing and Mr. Malfoy is the only one that is passing. Stay on the column on the right for too long and I will send you to General Battle. I do not have the time nor the allowance to have students that are not willing to take this class as failing does not mean just another grade. There are dire consequences to failing. I will not send a student into the field that will potentially endanger the lives of wizards, witches, and Muggles alike. I suggest you brush up on your potions because we will be doing this again and again until there are no more people on the column on the right, whether it be through passing or shipping you off to General Battle. Is that understood?"

The class was too shocked to answer in anything but the affirmative as Pomfrey left the room as quickly as she came. It was only then that Tracey realized there were still forty minutes left in the class. It seemed like Pomfrey taught in a much different manner than the rest of her teachers, bar Snape. Turning towards Draco, Tracey looked at him with her blue eyes, trying to decide whether it was all an act or not.

"Surprised?" Draco asked as he put his textbooks into his burlap sack.

"You could say that. You almost sounded like Granger there for a moment."

"Please don't compare me with that Mudblood," Draco said. "It would have been embarrassing to Slytherin if we were all to fail."

"That much is true. So, I suppose we're going to be partners then," Tracey said.

Draco raised his eyebrows at her. "Who said anything about partners?"

"I need help. You have answers. Everyone here hates you for being on the only one that's succeeding. You know that Hufflepuffs aren't beyond cheating and that Ravenclaws hate being dumber than someone else at something. Do I need to say any more about Gryffindors? I'm the only friend you have here, Draco," Tracey explained, taking a leaf out of Harry's book and drawing out the situation in a manner in which he could easily understand.

"Friend?" Draco snorted. "We'll see about that."

Tracey didn't answer, knowing that there was nothing else she could say to convince him. His reluctance didn't surprise her. Harry had gone out of his way to shame Draco several times last year and such a grudge could carry, especially for someone as proud as Malfoy. She could hold her own when it came to Potions and other such matters, but clearly, Draco had a talent which, until now, he had kept quiet about. As the last students left, Draco nodded his head at her.

"And what's Potter going to say?" Draco smirked at her, trying to test her resolve.

Tracey thought of Harry's...arrangement...with Granger and knew that he couldn't possibly disapprove when it came to making unlikely alliances. What was she to prove anyway?

"He'll understand," she answered.

Draco merely chuckled and even that sounded skeptical. Still, he replied, "I'll help you, but you're not going to be my partner."

"What have you got to lose?"

Draco met her gaze, his grey eyes looking as cold as ever.

"Nothing, as you probably already know."

* * * * * * * *

Harry sought a professor he did not normally talk to outside of class. While Creatures was by far the class that interested him the least, Professor Lupin did have strike a chord with that particular speech of his during the latter part of the year. It was after hours and Harry was walking in the dimly lit halls of Hogwarts, albeit with his wand already in his hand lest there be a repeat of last year.

Still, his mind was clouded with questions about Flamel's lessons, or rather, lack of distinctive lessons. They had spent the rest of the period answering strange inane questions - what do you think is the most useless spell - and going back and forth without a single constructive conversation about the nature of actual magic. After all, wasn't that what the class was supposed to be about? Flamel, despite his reputation as an acclaimed alchemist, seemed to be wearing the hundreds of years on his sleeve.

It frustrated Harry to no end that he had exited the windy tower with nothing more than a confused expression that was only out rivaled by Hermione's enraged one. She and the professor had butted heads several times during class and, truth be told, Harry thought that Flamel must have been winding her up on purpose - you're not that smart are you, Granger - and tormented her to an unfair degree. Harry didn't even bother trying to speak to her as they left earlier, knowing he would only be on the receiving end of a murderous rant.

He was supposed to meet Granger later in the week, but he wanted some information from Professor Lupin, should the werewolf grant it. Per usual, Harry found him in his office, already grading papers and scrolls. Lupin looked up as Harry entered and he found himself wondering if an acute hearing sense was one of the benefits of being a werewolf.

"Professor." Harry inclined his head as he approached the professor's desk. "I had a few questions I wanted to ask you."

"Do you?" Lupin smiled that feral grin of his. "You never seem that attentive in class."

"I find Creatures..." Harry grasped for an acceptable phrase.

"Boring?" Lupin finished. "It's okay. It's not for everyone."

Then why do we study it? Harry wanted to ask, but he decided to bite his tongue. There was no using poking the werewolf if he wanted something from Lupin.

"To be honest, it's not about Creatures," Harry said.

"Something outside of my class?" Lupin put his marking pen down and regarded Harry carefully. "Go on then. Ask the questions you want the answers to."

"It's actually about what we talked about at the end of last year. Do you remember?" Harry said.

Lupin frowned in confusion. "About your parents?"

"No. Actually, not that. You talked about me being a leader. You talked about rallying Slytherin because no one else can."

"And you did well last year."

Harry licked his lips and shook his head. "That's the problem. I did well. I thought about all of my matches over the summer and a lot of them involved taking care of the problem on my own. I bypassed their help. I took on the rest of the Houses by myself."

"Were you not successful?" Lupin asked as he crossed his hands and laid his chin on top of them.

"Yeah, but that's not because I was a leader. That's because I performed...exceptionally. If you remove me from the equation and substitute someone else, I don't know if Slytherin would have won."

"You can't just remove yourself from the equation, Harry. You're part of it."

"But if I weren't," Harry pressed. "If it was just someone else, do you really think the Slytherin class would have done as well as we did?"

"Of course not but unless you're withdrawing from Hogwarts any time soon, I don't think you have to worry about that," Lupin said with an amused laugh.

Harry shook his head, annoyed that Lupin wasn't taking him seriously. "I want Slytherin to be better than that. I know they're better than that. They're just...privileged...lazy...unable to accept the challenges in front of them and I fear that if I keep carrying them like this, they're not going to be able to win in anything if I happen to go down early in a match."

"You certainly hold yourself in high regard," Lupin said as he leaned back in his chair.

Harry tightened his jaw at the slight. "You know just as well as I do that I am carrying them."

"Everyone knows that, Harry. So ask what you want to ask and stop trying to justify yourself to me."

"What do I need to do to be a better leader?"

Lupin paused, looking at the half crescent moon through the window in his classroom. The werewolf was contemplating something, trying to weigh his words as Harry remained stock still in the quiet classroom.

"They already look up to you," Lupin finally said. "In all honesty, there is not much advice I can give you. Just because I can recognize that you are a leader doesn't mean I have some sort of pertinent information I can give you. I have never, in all my life, been a leader. But to be a leader means that you must have followers."

"They already follow my orders," Harry interjected.

"They need to do more than just follow your orders. They need to see you as their leader and only their leader. Not their friend. Not their classmate. Just...the leader. Can you find a way to do that?"

Harry remained quiet for a moment. How can I do more than I already am doing? I don't want their loyal obedience. I just need them to start performing better than last year.

"I guess I'll have to find a way," Harry answered.

Knowing he had a lot of work to do, Harry prepared to bid the Creatures professor goodbye, but Lupin stopped him with a raise of his hand. Harry looked back at the professor, waiting for some sort of coda.

"Are you going to participate in the upcoming tournament, Harry?" Lupin asked out of the blue.

Harry was surprised that the professor would ask such a question. "I've given it thought but none of it definitive."

Lupin nodded, mostly to himself, as his eyes darted towards the door and then towards the numerous windows that outlined his classroom. He raised his wand as if he were about to do something but then thought better.

"Have you ever seen a Muggle magician?"

Dudley always claimed to be able to make my teeth disappear. Does that count?

"Yes," Harry answered. "One came for my cousin's birthday."

"Then you know that they are nothing more than illusionists. There is one particular trick that is my favorite though. Typically, the Muggle magician will tell you to pick a card. He will shuffle the deck and make a grand show of trying to lose and find your card. The whole time you're looking at his hands, the deck, the feints - trying to figure out where the trick is. The whole point of the trick is that the you think you know what should happen. In fact, the Muggle magician goes as far as to present to you the entire plot of what should happen. You're expecting it at this point and even if he does produce the card, the mystique is lost because you know what should happen. Then, he shows the wrong card and you think the trick is dead. What you don't know is that the your card is plastered on your own forehead. That's what makes it a great trick. You think you know what will happen, even if it's supposed to be a surprise, when the real surprise is that the trick is already done and the Muggle magician is just having a laugh at you."

Harry let him finish the entire story, wondering if Flamel had suddenly taken over Lupin's body. What was the point of the story?

"Misdirection, Harry. These things happening all around this year are happening for a reason. What seems like just a tournament is much, much more than that."

Harry wondered what exactly Lupin was trying to say to him. It was obvious that the professor was limited by some degree else he would have just divulged his explanations instead of reverting to cryptic messages and analogous stories. Harry nodded his head, wondering if the proximity to the full moon was reaching Lupin's head.

"I think I understand, professor," Harry said.

"The best I can hope for." Lupin looked away and Harry detected a smidgen of regret from the werewolf's expression. Lupin turned to him and asked one more question, "By the way, why did you come to me for advice? Why not Trow?"

"Well Trow usually doesn't like giving me straight answers. He tries to question me. But after talking to you, it seems as if all Hogwarts teachers went to the same seminar for teaching."

Lupin had a laugh about that, chuckling deeply as a rare smile broke across his weathered face. "This much is true. I suppose that manner of teaching gets handed down by each generation. If I may, though, why the interest in reviving Slytherin?"

Harry had already prepared for this question. Because I need to start my building my own army, professor.

Instead, Harry smiled slightly and in his most charming voice, replied, "For Slytherin. I'm just trying to restore the name of Slytherin."

* * * * * * *

A/N: I will be away for a little while, so the next update might be delayed, but I hope to keep true to the estimated update time. Let me know your thoughts on this chapter!

Projected update time: 28 days

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