Preparing For the Worst - Prologue
Red lightning streamed from the tip of Harry's wand, snaking through the air to strike at a fist sized silver sphere that floated half a dozen feet above the ground. Around him, others duplicated the feet, though most fell short of their targets and ended up striking the wooden dummies that had been set up to represent bystanders. His brow furrowed in concentration, sweat oozing down his forehead, Harry strained to hold the stunning spell for as long as he could while keeping it powerful enough to be effective.
One by one, the other witches and wizards lost the struggle and lowered their wands, unable to maintain their attacks. Harry didn't notice anything beyond his own target, which was now beginning to glow an angry red and had begun to lose its shape, becoming molten. The sphere's magic failed just as Harry gasped and lowered his wand. He stood panting, staring down the range at what had once been an enchanted silver ball but was now little more than useless slag. For a moment he worried about what the bull-necked instructor would say about his destruction of Ministry property, but then he started to feel the eyes on him.
Harry turned around, ready to be chewed out for his mistake. Instead of a verbal assault, the young man was met by something akin to stunned silence. Harry puled his glasses off and wiped the sweat from his eyes with the sleeve of his robes, not for the first time wishing he could be back at Hogwarts where there were people his own age, not to mention his only friends. No, Dumbledore had felt it would be in Harry's best interest if he were to spend six months in the equivalent of magical bootcamp.
Full time Aurors were required to attend a two week long annual refresher program if they wished to keep their licences. Most of Harry's classmates fell into this category. Almost all of them were grim, serious-faced men and women who took their jobs to heart. They showed Harry respect for his growing abilities and for who he was, but didn't go out of their way to become better aquainted with the young man.
On the other side of the fence were the witches and wizards who paid a fee for the instruction. They did it for various reasons, though Harry was convinced none of them would be here if Voldemort hadn't arisen once again. Harry didn't know any of them very well, since he was only allowed to associate with them during certain classes, on account that they could ve agents of the Dark Lord.
There were younger witches and wizards at the facility, but they were in training to be Aurors and weren't considered powerful or experienced enough to protect Harry in the event of a Death Eater attack. It all added up to Harry be very lonely, despite being surrounded by comrades.
"Well then," Peachpit, the short, stocky Auror who supervised most of Harry's classes began,"I'm famished. Anyone who doesn't wish to starve can accompany me to the mess hall." Suprisingly, the wizard sounded subdued, a much appreciated change from his usual shouting.
Harry sighed gratefully, trying to ignore his trembling knees. He slipped his wand into its wrist sheath and pushed his glasses back on. There had been talk of contact lenses, much harder to lose than glasses, but they irritated his eyes so badly that Harry preffered the glasses. These were charmed, a concession he had made with Dumbledore. Nothing fancy, just a simple unbreakable charm and and an impaired removal charm.
The walk back to the main grounds wasn't too long, and by the time Harry sat down with his tray of food, most of the weariness from his overextended stunning spell had faded. He sat alone, trying to picture what Ron and Hermione were doing at that moment. Probably eating. The food wasn't bad in the mess hall, it just couldn't hold a candle to what the house elves produced back at school.
Sitting alone, Harry had plenty of time to think. He couldn't help imagining how difficult it would be to catch up with his studies when he was allowed back at Hogwarts. How was he going to make up six months worth of work in the four months he would have before the term ended and the OWLS were given? Hermione would help, of course. Not that he had much choice about that; Hermione would help him with or without his consent.
There was one advantage he could see in attending this program. When he got back to Hogwarts, he very well might be able to teach the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Oh well, no sense in lamenting things he had no power over.
Harry looked up in suprise as someone joined him at his table. That was a first. It was Peachpit, and he looked as grave and surly as usual. In the place of a tray, he carried as knobby sheet of metal that Harry recognized as the target he had destroyed a short while ago. Oh boy, he was in for it now.
"Boy, that was a fine performance out there on the range. I haven't seen the like the old Dumbledore paid us a visit over a decade ago. Just to be on the safe side, I want you to visit Madam Pomfrey before your Ap-Dp class." Before Harry could gather his wits to speak, Peachpit stood and clapped him on the shoulder, then bustled away with the target's remains tucked under his arm.
Fine performance? He wasn't in trouble? The man had came across as almost kind. The suprise was pushed aside by the instructor's command to see Madam Pomfrey. Harry groaned at the thought. The older sister of the Madam Pomfrey he knew at Hogwarts, the head physician at the facility took her job much too seriously in Harry's opinion. He'd accidentally burned his hand two weeks earlier, nothing serious, and she had kept him under observation for two days, even making him wear one of those backless hospital robes.
She would probably shove a few pounds of chocolate down his throat and prescribe him an exercise regime to increase his stamina.
****
Harry left the infirmary feeling both lightheaded and overly heavy, an unusual combination produced by an enormous block of chocolate and a vile tasting potion that he could still smell even after leaving. Chocolate was good and all, but Harry couldn't see its medicinal value. If this kept up, he wouldn't be able to stomach the candy in a few months.
Ap-Dp, or Apparation-Disapparation, was technically illegal for any witch or wizard under the age of eighteen. That didn't stop Dumblebore or any of the instructors from placing him in the class. His objection that too much work was being given to a fifteen year old, student wizard went unheard, more likely ignored. Dumbledore had just smiled and told him to do his best.
The grounds of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were enchanted in much the same way as Hogwarts. Apparating or disapparating on them was impossible, with the exception of an underground cavern roughly the size of a Quidditch playing field. No one could apparate into or out of the cavern, but a witch or wizard could do both within it. On his off hours, Harry was allowed to use the space to ride his broom so he wouldn't grow rusty at Quidditch.
Harry looked at his watch as he reached the tiny shed that covered the spiral staircase leading into the cavern. If he hurried he wouldn't be late. The stairs were illuminated by torches that hung from brackets in the walls to either side of him. There was some sort of charm on the stairs that shortened the descent enormously, but it still took Harry over five minutes of nearly running down them to reach the entrance to the cavern itself.
Far from appearing dark or creepy, the cavern was brightly lit by a tiny imitation sun that hung from the roof. Birds flew about, singing to one another, and to his left a fish of sime kind jumped from the water of a small pond and threw a rock at a purple squirrel. Harry caught site of his classmates and hurried over to them. This class was smaller, only six other people, all of whom could already perform the feat but were in for the renewal of the license that allowed them to apparate and disapparate. Harry was glad that the tedious affair only needed to be undertaken once a decade. Otherwise he may have not have even bothered with learning in the first place.
Since he was the only person present who was actually learning, Harry not only performed poorly in comparison to the others, he also had to stay after class with the decrepit old witch who taught and get special tutoring.
"Ah, Mr. Potter, you've finally arrived, and just in the nick of time, I see," rasped the witch who leaned heavily on her cane. Harry wondered if she ever even left the cavern. Surely she couldn't have climbed the stairs in her condition.
Class for the day consisted of apparating into large glowing circles spread throughout the cavern. Harry actually managed to succeed a couple of times, though he missed far more often. The final attempt missed the pond by about half a foot. The week before he hadn't been so lucky. The fish still snickered at him when they saw him.
****
Early the next morning, as he was trying to force feed himself something that was supposed to pass for eggs, a shadow passed over Harry's table and he looked up to see the mail owls circling the hall, many of them narrowly avoiding the low ceiling. Hedwig settled down before him, a letter tied to her leg. Harry stroked her wing while she sipped some of the orange juice from his goblet, then sampled his 'eggs'. He laughed as she coughed disapprovingly and glared at his breakfast plate balefully. The white owl looked at Harry, then the plate, then back to Harry, a look of sympathy somehow showing on her feathered face.
"What have you got for me, girl?" he asked, untying the letter from Hedwig's outstretched leg. She hooted at him, probably asking how she could possibly know. Harry had just gotten the knot undone when another owl settled down next to Hedwig, this one a smaller brown barn owl. It hooted at Hedwig and she hooted back somewhat snappishly. Harry ignored his owl's bad temper and offered the newly arrived owl his goblet while he untied the smaller letter from its leg.
Once its message was delivered, the barn owl hooted a farewell and launched itself out a nearby window. "Go have a rest in the owlery," Harry told Hedwig. "If I have any messages for you I'll bring them later this evening." He stroked her wing one last time before she flew from the table, her wings beating steadily. Harry still had an hour before his first lesson, so he opened the letter Hedwig had delivered.
Harry,
I don't have much time, got Potions in a minute. Since
Hedwig's already here, I'm sending this with her. Dumbledore
says we can visit you this coming weekend. Don't get too
excited. Hermione's bringing her books and she's planning to
help you catch up on everything you're missing here.
Ron
Harry couldn't help but grin to himself, even with the prospect of Hermione trying to spend the whole weekend badgering him into studying. He had exchanged messages with them over the last few weeks, but it would be good to see them again. Feeling much happier than when he'd woken up this morning, Harry picked up the other letter he'd recieved. It was sealed with golden wax and had the Ministry of Magic's seal stamped on it. Wondering what the message was, Harry cracked the seal and read...
Mr. Potter,
It has recently come to our attention that your father was
an illegal animagi. In hopes of acertaining whether or not you
too have the ability, Ministry Wizard and animagi expert Willard
Crump will be arriving on the afternoon of Monday, October 9th
to test you. If so, he will remain as your instructor until your
return to Hogwarts where Professor Minerva McGonagall will pick
up instruction.
Assistant Director, Ministry of Magic,
Morella Creevey
Animagi? It had taken his father and his friends years of secret study and work to become animagi. The last thing Harry needed was more work. He put the two letters in the pocket of his robes, trying to look forward to the weekend without thinking of the Monday that would follow it.
****
"Do not treat it like a whip!" Peachpit shouted. 'It' was a dangerous spell Harry wished he didn't have to learn. The old witch who Peachpit was fussing at lowered her wand and glared at him. "Looks like it's back to the rope for you, Esmerel," he snapped.
Harry didn't see why the woman was having so much trouble. All you had to do was call out the phrase 'meager cleaver' and point your wand at something. Once you decided where you wanted it to go, a thin ribbon of light would appear between your wand and whatever you had orignially pointed it at. Harry's was green. The spell's effects were what Harry was having so much trouble with. He snapped his wand, sending the line of emerald green light in a wide looping wave. It passed through three wooden dummies and continued until reaching its end where it disappeared and waited for another movement from the wand.
The dummies he had struck didn't immediately appear effected by the spell, but then they each toppled over, falling to the ground, leaving on their legs and part of the torso upright. Where the wood of the dummies had been cut by the spell was a surface smoother than any glass and an edge sharper than a razor. Harry tried not to think of what a real person struck in such a way would look like.
"More than one wizard has lost an arm or leg to a mishandled cleaver spell," Peachpit pointed out. "Once Esmerel has learned how to keep herself from being minced, we'll move on to defending against the cleaver spell.
****
"Ooof," Harry gasped, the air driven forcefully from his lungs as an invisible blast of magic knocked him off his feet. As he climbed to his knees, coughing violently, the instructor spoke.
"He's a quick little bugger, and younger than the rest of you," the tall black man said. "If he couldn't dodge the spell, what hope do the rest of you have?" He surveyed the students. Harry wanted to protest that he could have dodged it, if only he'd been able to see it, but he couldn't breathe, much less talk at the moment.
After a minute of silence broken only by Harry's wheezing, the instructor sighed. "If you can't avoid something, turn away from it. Force the spell to strike you in the arm, preferably not your wand arm. If young Harry had done so, his arm may have hurt, but he would have still been able to put up a fight."
Harry finally managed to pull himself together, though his chest still ached badly. He took several deep breathes once he was back on his feet and tried not to show how much he still hurt, or else he may have ended up with another session with Madam Pomfrey. "Split up into pairs and practice on one another. Use only the fistius spell. No headshots or low blows. Potter, you're my partner."
Harry kept telling himself that it was Friday and that this was the last lesson of the day. The thought didn't help much. It kept getting interrupted by visions of bubbling potions and the lime green walls of Madam Pomfrey's infirmary. If he was injured, Dumbledore would surely cancel the visit from Ron and Hermione. To Harry's suprise, Mr. Whitefield sheathed his wand.
"All right, Harry, I got you, now it's your turn to get me," he said, grinning broadly. Not about to question his luck, Harry pulled his wand from the leather sheath strapped to his arm and took aim at the teacher.
"Fistius!" he shouted, twirling his wand slightly like Whitefield had demonstrated and picturing in his mind an invisible fist of air flying towards the wizard. His target was already in motion, turning so that his left side was facing Harry, but before he could complete the movement, Harry saw something strike his shoulder, impacting his robes and spinning him around to fall heavily to the ground.
Harry rushed over to the man, intent of making sure he hadn't harmed him. The instructor turned himself over and winked at Harry, then grimaced in pain and cupped his shoulder. Harry helped him to his feet and watched anxiously as the man rotated his arm stiffly. "Got a good arm on you, Potter. Fast too, didn't expect it to hit me so soon."
****
Walking back to his dorm after a hasty dinner, Harry wondered how Ron and Hermione would be arriving. The question was answered for him when he saw a witch standing in the middle of the wand targetting range. She had gathered up a pile of splintered and sliced wooden dummies and used her wand to ignite them into a small bonfire. Harry didn't really know what she was doing until the flames turned violet and people started filing out of them. Professor McGonagall came first, followed by Ron and Hermione. Harry expected it to end there, but he was wrong. Once his two best friends were clear, others started to appear, all recognizable as Gryffindors. When the fire finally went back to a normal yellowish-orange, more than fifty people stood on the range.
****
Author's Notes - I've never written any fiction for Harry Potter, and never thought I would, but I've recently reread the books and had the urge to try my hand at it. I'm not really sure how good this is, but I'm not to unhappy with it, so I'm gonna release it to the public and see what you all think.
Red lightning streamed from the tip of Harry's wand, snaking through the air to strike at a fist sized silver sphere that floated half a dozen feet above the ground. Around him, others duplicated the feet, though most fell short of their targets and ended up striking the wooden dummies that had been set up to represent bystanders. His brow furrowed in concentration, sweat oozing down his forehead, Harry strained to hold the stunning spell for as long as he could while keeping it powerful enough to be effective.
One by one, the other witches and wizards lost the struggle and lowered their wands, unable to maintain their attacks. Harry didn't notice anything beyond his own target, which was now beginning to glow an angry red and had begun to lose its shape, becoming molten. The sphere's magic failed just as Harry gasped and lowered his wand. He stood panting, staring down the range at what had once been an enchanted silver ball but was now little more than useless slag. For a moment he worried about what the bull-necked instructor would say about his destruction of Ministry property, but then he started to feel the eyes on him.
Harry turned around, ready to be chewed out for his mistake. Instead of a verbal assault, the young man was met by something akin to stunned silence. Harry puled his glasses off and wiped the sweat from his eyes with the sleeve of his robes, not for the first time wishing he could be back at Hogwarts where there were people his own age, not to mention his only friends. No, Dumbledore had felt it would be in Harry's best interest if he were to spend six months in the equivalent of magical bootcamp.
Full time Aurors were required to attend a two week long annual refresher program if they wished to keep their licences. Most of Harry's classmates fell into this category. Almost all of them were grim, serious-faced men and women who took their jobs to heart. They showed Harry respect for his growing abilities and for who he was, but didn't go out of their way to become better aquainted with the young man.
On the other side of the fence were the witches and wizards who paid a fee for the instruction. They did it for various reasons, though Harry was convinced none of them would be here if Voldemort hadn't arisen once again. Harry didn't know any of them very well, since he was only allowed to associate with them during certain classes, on account that they could ve agents of the Dark Lord.
There were younger witches and wizards at the facility, but they were in training to be Aurors and weren't considered powerful or experienced enough to protect Harry in the event of a Death Eater attack. It all added up to Harry be very lonely, despite being surrounded by comrades.
"Well then," Peachpit, the short, stocky Auror who supervised most of Harry's classes began,"I'm famished. Anyone who doesn't wish to starve can accompany me to the mess hall." Suprisingly, the wizard sounded subdued, a much appreciated change from his usual shouting.
Harry sighed gratefully, trying to ignore his trembling knees. He slipped his wand into its wrist sheath and pushed his glasses back on. There had been talk of contact lenses, much harder to lose than glasses, but they irritated his eyes so badly that Harry preffered the glasses. These were charmed, a concession he had made with Dumbledore. Nothing fancy, just a simple unbreakable charm and and an impaired removal charm.
The walk back to the main grounds wasn't too long, and by the time Harry sat down with his tray of food, most of the weariness from his overextended stunning spell had faded. He sat alone, trying to picture what Ron and Hermione were doing at that moment. Probably eating. The food wasn't bad in the mess hall, it just couldn't hold a candle to what the house elves produced back at school.
Sitting alone, Harry had plenty of time to think. He couldn't help imagining how difficult it would be to catch up with his studies when he was allowed back at Hogwarts. How was he going to make up six months worth of work in the four months he would have before the term ended and the OWLS were given? Hermione would help, of course. Not that he had much choice about that; Hermione would help him with or without his consent.
There was one advantage he could see in attending this program. When he got back to Hogwarts, he very well might be able to teach the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Oh well, no sense in lamenting things he had no power over.
Harry looked up in suprise as someone joined him at his table. That was a first. It was Peachpit, and he looked as grave and surly as usual. In the place of a tray, he carried as knobby sheet of metal that Harry recognized as the target he had destroyed a short while ago. Oh boy, he was in for it now.
"Boy, that was a fine performance out there on the range. I haven't seen the like the old Dumbledore paid us a visit over a decade ago. Just to be on the safe side, I want you to visit Madam Pomfrey before your Ap-Dp class." Before Harry could gather his wits to speak, Peachpit stood and clapped him on the shoulder, then bustled away with the target's remains tucked under his arm.
Fine performance? He wasn't in trouble? The man had came across as almost kind. The suprise was pushed aside by the instructor's command to see Madam Pomfrey. Harry groaned at the thought. The older sister of the Madam Pomfrey he knew at Hogwarts, the head physician at the facility took her job much too seriously in Harry's opinion. He'd accidentally burned his hand two weeks earlier, nothing serious, and she had kept him under observation for two days, even making him wear one of those backless hospital robes.
She would probably shove a few pounds of chocolate down his throat and prescribe him an exercise regime to increase his stamina.
****
Harry left the infirmary feeling both lightheaded and overly heavy, an unusual combination produced by an enormous block of chocolate and a vile tasting potion that he could still smell even after leaving. Chocolate was good and all, but Harry couldn't see its medicinal value. If this kept up, he wouldn't be able to stomach the candy in a few months.
Ap-Dp, or Apparation-Disapparation, was technically illegal for any witch or wizard under the age of eighteen. That didn't stop Dumblebore or any of the instructors from placing him in the class. His objection that too much work was being given to a fifteen year old, student wizard went unheard, more likely ignored. Dumbledore had just smiled and told him to do his best.
The grounds of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were enchanted in much the same way as Hogwarts. Apparating or disapparating on them was impossible, with the exception of an underground cavern roughly the size of a Quidditch playing field. No one could apparate into or out of the cavern, but a witch or wizard could do both within it. On his off hours, Harry was allowed to use the space to ride his broom so he wouldn't grow rusty at Quidditch.
Harry looked at his watch as he reached the tiny shed that covered the spiral staircase leading into the cavern. If he hurried he wouldn't be late. The stairs were illuminated by torches that hung from brackets in the walls to either side of him. There was some sort of charm on the stairs that shortened the descent enormously, but it still took Harry over five minutes of nearly running down them to reach the entrance to the cavern itself.
Far from appearing dark or creepy, the cavern was brightly lit by a tiny imitation sun that hung from the roof. Birds flew about, singing to one another, and to his left a fish of sime kind jumped from the water of a small pond and threw a rock at a purple squirrel. Harry caught site of his classmates and hurried over to them. This class was smaller, only six other people, all of whom could already perform the feat but were in for the renewal of the license that allowed them to apparate and disapparate. Harry was glad that the tedious affair only needed to be undertaken once a decade. Otherwise he may have not have even bothered with learning in the first place.
Since he was the only person present who was actually learning, Harry not only performed poorly in comparison to the others, he also had to stay after class with the decrepit old witch who taught and get special tutoring.
"Ah, Mr. Potter, you've finally arrived, and just in the nick of time, I see," rasped the witch who leaned heavily on her cane. Harry wondered if she ever even left the cavern. Surely she couldn't have climbed the stairs in her condition.
Class for the day consisted of apparating into large glowing circles spread throughout the cavern. Harry actually managed to succeed a couple of times, though he missed far more often. The final attempt missed the pond by about half a foot. The week before he hadn't been so lucky. The fish still snickered at him when they saw him.
****
Early the next morning, as he was trying to force feed himself something that was supposed to pass for eggs, a shadow passed over Harry's table and he looked up to see the mail owls circling the hall, many of them narrowly avoiding the low ceiling. Hedwig settled down before him, a letter tied to her leg. Harry stroked her wing while she sipped some of the orange juice from his goblet, then sampled his 'eggs'. He laughed as she coughed disapprovingly and glared at his breakfast plate balefully. The white owl looked at Harry, then the plate, then back to Harry, a look of sympathy somehow showing on her feathered face.
"What have you got for me, girl?" he asked, untying the letter from Hedwig's outstretched leg. She hooted at him, probably asking how she could possibly know. Harry had just gotten the knot undone when another owl settled down next to Hedwig, this one a smaller brown barn owl. It hooted at Hedwig and she hooted back somewhat snappishly. Harry ignored his owl's bad temper and offered the newly arrived owl his goblet while he untied the smaller letter from its leg.
Once its message was delivered, the barn owl hooted a farewell and launched itself out a nearby window. "Go have a rest in the owlery," Harry told Hedwig. "If I have any messages for you I'll bring them later this evening." He stroked her wing one last time before she flew from the table, her wings beating steadily. Harry still had an hour before his first lesson, so he opened the letter Hedwig had delivered.
Harry,
I don't have much time, got Potions in a minute. Since
Hedwig's already here, I'm sending this with her. Dumbledore
says we can visit you this coming weekend. Don't get too
excited. Hermione's bringing her books and she's planning to
help you catch up on everything you're missing here.
Ron
Harry couldn't help but grin to himself, even with the prospect of Hermione trying to spend the whole weekend badgering him into studying. He had exchanged messages with them over the last few weeks, but it would be good to see them again. Feeling much happier than when he'd woken up this morning, Harry picked up the other letter he'd recieved. It was sealed with golden wax and had the Ministry of Magic's seal stamped on it. Wondering what the message was, Harry cracked the seal and read...
Mr. Potter,
It has recently come to our attention that your father was
an illegal animagi. In hopes of acertaining whether or not you
too have the ability, Ministry Wizard and animagi expert Willard
Crump will be arriving on the afternoon of Monday, October 9th
to test you. If so, he will remain as your instructor until your
return to Hogwarts where Professor Minerva McGonagall will pick
up instruction.
Assistant Director, Ministry of Magic,
Morella Creevey
Animagi? It had taken his father and his friends years of secret study and work to become animagi. The last thing Harry needed was more work. He put the two letters in the pocket of his robes, trying to look forward to the weekend without thinking of the Monday that would follow it.
****
"Do not treat it like a whip!" Peachpit shouted. 'It' was a dangerous spell Harry wished he didn't have to learn. The old witch who Peachpit was fussing at lowered her wand and glared at him. "Looks like it's back to the rope for you, Esmerel," he snapped.
Harry didn't see why the woman was having so much trouble. All you had to do was call out the phrase 'meager cleaver' and point your wand at something. Once you decided where you wanted it to go, a thin ribbon of light would appear between your wand and whatever you had orignially pointed it at. Harry's was green. The spell's effects were what Harry was having so much trouble with. He snapped his wand, sending the line of emerald green light in a wide looping wave. It passed through three wooden dummies and continued until reaching its end where it disappeared and waited for another movement from the wand.
The dummies he had struck didn't immediately appear effected by the spell, but then they each toppled over, falling to the ground, leaving on their legs and part of the torso upright. Where the wood of the dummies had been cut by the spell was a surface smoother than any glass and an edge sharper than a razor. Harry tried not to think of what a real person struck in such a way would look like.
"More than one wizard has lost an arm or leg to a mishandled cleaver spell," Peachpit pointed out. "Once Esmerel has learned how to keep herself from being minced, we'll move on to defending against the cleaver spell.
****
"Ooof," Harry gasped, the air driven forcefully from his lungs as an invisible blast of magic knocked him off his feet. As he climbed to his knees, coughing violently, the instructor spoke.
"He's a quick little bugger, and younger than the rest of you," the tall black man said. "If he couldn't dodge the spell, what hope do the rest of you have?" He surveyed the students. Harry wanted to protest that he could have dodged it, if only he'd been able to see it, but he couldn't breathe, much less talk at the moment.
After a minute of silence broken only by Harry's wheezing, the instructor sighed. "If you can't avoid something, turn away from it. Force the spell to strike you in the arm, preferably not your wand arm. If young Harry had done so, his arm may have hurt, but he would have still been able to put up a fight."
Harry finally managed to pull himself together, though his chest still ached badly. He took several deep breathes once he was back on his feet and tried not to show how much he still hurt, or else he may have ended up with another session with Madam Pomfrey. "Split up into pairs and practice on one another. Use only the fistius spell. No headshots or low blows. Potter, you're my partner."
Harry kept telling himself that it was Friday and that this was the last lesson of the day. The thought didn't help much. It kept getting interrupted by visions of bubbling potions and the lime green walls of Madam Pomfrey's infirmary. If he was injured, Dumbledore would surely cancel the visit from Ron and Hermione. To Harry's suprise, Mr. Whitefield sheathed his wand.
"All right, Harry, I got you, now it's your turn to get me," he said, grinning broadly. Not about to question his luck, Harry pulled his wand from the leather sheath strapped to his arm and took aim at the teacher.
"Fistius!" he shouted, twirling his wand slightly like Whitefield had demonstrated and picturing in his mind an invisible fist of air flying towards the wizard. His target was already in motion, turning so that his left side was facing Harry, but before he could complete the movement, Harry saw something strike his shoulder, impacting his robes and spinning him around to fall heavily to the ground.
Harry rushed over to the man, intent of making sure he hadn't harmed him. The instructor turned himself over and winked at Harry, then grimaced in pain and cupped his shoulder. Harry helped him to his feet and watched anxiously as the man rotated his arm stiffly. "Got a good arm on you, Potter. Fast too, didn't expect it to hit me so soon."
****
Walking back to his dorm after a hasty dinner, Harry wondered how Ron and Hermione would be arriving. The question was answered for him when he saw a witch standing in the middle of the wand targetting range. She had gathered up a pile of splintered and sliced wooden dummies and used her wand to ignite them into a small bonfire. Harry didn't really know what she was doing until the flames turned violet and people started filing out of them. Professor McGonagall came first, followed by Ron and Hermione. Harry expected it to end there, but he was wrong. Once his two best friends were clear, others started to appear, all recognizable as Gryffindors. When the fire finally went back to a normal yellowish-orange, more than fifty people stood on the range.
****
Author's Notes - I've never written any fiction for Harry Potter, and never thought I would, but I've recently reread the books and had the urge to try my hand at it. I'm not really sure how good this is, but I'm not to unhappy with it, so I'm gonna release it to the public and see what you all think.