Sunlight slanted across the room from the tall windows set behind the professor's desk. Gray eyes squinted into the light; Cedric held up a hand to let his vision adjust from the darker corridor, and chose a seat.

Jayden's elbow was bony, digging into his side. No wonder Madam Hooch calls him on cobbing! "So, do you think you're going to do it?"

Cedric slid three books onto the shared desk and then blinked at his Housemate. "Huh?"

"The Triwizard Tournament!" Jayden slapped both palms on oak panels in exasperation. "What else, man?"

"I won't be seventeen until February," added Hector, leaning way over from the row just above and behind them. "You've gotta try, Cedric. Otherwise the Gryffindors will manage to hog all the glory."

Are you kidding me? "It's Hogwarts against Beauxbatons and Durmstrang," Cedric felt constrained to point out. "Not a House competition."

"Still," Keith sat on Cedric's other side, completing the quartet of seventh-year Hufflepuffs who shared a dorm. "I'm going for it."

"What'd your Mum say?" Hector had a knowing grin on his face.

The stockier boy shrugged. "I owled home last night, but I haven't heard back yet."

"My Mum would go nutters," Jayden sighed. "I'd never hear the end of it. What is the death toll for the Tournament, anyway?"

"Who knows?" Cedric kept an eye on the Ravenclaws, settling into their own seats. Professor's not here yet. Class should be starting any minute –

"Welcome to History of Magic." The door shut on a noisy hallway, leaving the seventh-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in relative silence. "I'm Professor Stanton; as you're all aware, Professor Binns retired earlier this year."

Cedric stared, aware he wasn't the only one. Weird. Their teacher was a Muggle, and dressed like one. Not as tall as Cedric, perhaps, with straight brown hair that looked like it might need a cut soon, and the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled to elbows in concession to the last of summer's heat. Cedric was sweating in his school robes.

Professor Stanton pulled out a pair of glasses, slipping them on to take attendance; hands went up in turn as names were called. Something knocked his ankle as Cedric lifted his own hand. Ow!

One eye on the professor calling roll, he darted a glare at the Hufflepuff Quidditch team's second-best Chaser.

Jayden raised his eyebrows meaningfully, whispering. "Well?"

The Tournament. "I don't know," Cedric whispered back. "I have to owl home -"

"You should do it, Cedric," his friend hissed. "I bet you'd make it, too -"

A presence filled the space before their desk; Jayden jumped. "Mr. Diggory. Mr. Sadeler. Might I ask what you find so interesting?"

Ooops.

"Nothing, Professor," Jayden tried for innocence, blinking in surprise.

The eyes behind the older man's glasses were grey and sharp. "If it was nothing, you wouldn't have missed my question."

Question? He asked a question? Sneaking a glance to the side, Cedric saw Keith nod slightly. Oh, shi –

"I'm waiting, gentlemen." Arms folded, the calm on Professor Stanton's face never wavered.

Cedric gulped. "The Triwizard Tournament, sir."

A few murmurs broke out, dying as the teacher scanned twenty-odd students clumped behind table-like desks on opposing sides of the room. "I see," Stanton said, turning to the single desk situated across from the door. The paper he'd been holding went there, glasses slipping back into a front pocket. "Given last night's announcement, I had wondered if class would be able to hold your attention. I suppose not. So, who can tell me when the first Triwizard Tournament took place?"

Cedric caught the expression on Jayden's face and frowned. Wait – what? He was pretty sure that when a teacher caught a student who wasn't paying attention in class, the response wasn't to suddenly switch topics. He's not docking points? Giving detention? Huh?

"Seven hundred years ago," Karen Foyster ventured from across the room.

And points to Ravenclaw -

"Yes, Dumbledore said that at the Feast last night," their professor nodded. Cedric stared. "I want an exact date. Anyone."

Awkward. There was shifting in seats, everyone carefully not making eye contact so that they wouldn't be called on. It's not like anyone even really thought about the Tournament as anything other than a legend, until last night.

"The first Triwizard Tournament was held in 1279, at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. The winner was Gennadi Lepalovski from Durmstrang, who lost three fingers in completing the second task. But in 1389 the Tournament was discontinued, primarily because the death toll had topped forty students."

Only forty? Puzzlement pursed Cedric's mouth; Keith was leaning forward in his seat, riveted. Along with nearly everyone else in the room. I'd thought there'd be more. . .

"Doesn't seem like much, does it?" Professor Stanton was looking at all of them now. A few heads shook. He's a Muggle. How does he know so much about magical history? Following on the heels of that thought was, We never learned anything like this with Binns!

"Do the math." Stanton suddenly jumped up onto the long table-like row of desks, and began walking toward the other end of the room. Cedric gaped; slammed his jaw closed as Stanton stepped over his parchment, ticking items off on each finger as he went. "1279 until 1389 . . . that's one-hundred and ten years. With a Triwizard Tournament every five years . . . twenty-two such events took place. With three students from each school, that makes sixty-six competitors total over the history of the Tournament. Forty dead. That's sixty percent of school Champions. And those numbers don't take into account those injured." Navigating the books and parchments strewn across the surface beneath his feet, Stanton reached the far end of the desks and turned around. Over half the Champions died?

"In that light, the Tournament suddenly seems like an extremely dangerous and foolish venture. Why would anyone want to participate?" Feet hit dusty stone as their professor jumped back to the ground. "I put the question to you. Why do you want to participate?"

"Honor," Hector spoke up, the first to get over his surprise. Glory, he means.

"The prize money," added Anthony Miyamoto from the Ravenclaw side. Cedric nodded into the general mumble of agreement. A thousand galleons . . . Enough money to start a Ministry apprenticeship without working hellish hours just to survive. Enough money to start up a business, or pay off tuition debts, or anything-!

"Challenge." Cedric heard his own voice without remembering making the decision to speak. "It's a game – a competition."

"Good points," their professor nodded, serenity broken enough to let a small smile out. "What else?"

Blank silence.

"How about peer pressure?" Stanton asked quietly. "I'm sure those of you who can't participate are encouraging those you know who can to do so." Before anyone could flush guiltily, the soft voice had continued. "And there was also pressure from schools for their students to bring them honor – the winner of the Tournament not only received great glory, but their school got the privilege of deciding where the following Tournament would be held. Which meant the school got publicity."

But what does that have to do with –

"Tell me. What does that mean?"

Cedric shrugged in response to their professor's intent look.

"Compared with those you term 'Muggles', the Wizarding world has a very small population." Smashing classroom protocol to bits, Stanton sat on his desk. "Especially several hundred years ago, when coming from a family of people without magic meant you wouldn't get formal training at a magical institute. Only purebloods were allowed in."

Someone muttered darkly; twisting in his seat, Cedric caught a glimpse of outrage in fiery brown eyes. Elain, who'd been tormented mercilessly for her Muggle heritage by certain Slytherins during their first five years at Hogwarts. They only stopped because they graduated. All the Hufflepuffs had been outraged by it, but unable to really do much. People like that don't change. She had a right to her resentment.

Stanton didn't miss it either. "Miss Genault. You look angry. Why?"

"That kind of prejudice is disgusting." Elain would never learn to mince words.

"Explain."

Is he serious?

Elain's expression darkened. "There's no basis for judging someone by their background -"

"Isn't there?" Stanton, again. Cedric couldn't believe his ears. "After all, I'll bet that many of you judged me for being a Muggle before I even walked into this classroom, whether you meant to or not."

Heat stained his cheeks. Cedric kept grey eyes on his parchment.

But there was no condemnation in their professor's voice; the calm tone was easy, projecting understanding. "It was the label of 'Muggle' that induced such judgment – naturally, you know that I supposedly have little or no contact with your world. I can't do magic, and I'm not expected to know anything about how the Wizarding world works. Odds are, with most Muggles, that reasoning would be correct. It's a judgment, a stereotype, and people make them because they're accurate most of the time. It's when they're not that you run into problems.

"Miss Genault. Why did you think that prejudice was the basis for Muggle-borns being denied formal magical training in the twelve-hundreds?"

Tap, tap tapttaptaptaptap. Jayden could never stay still, was the bane of quill-makers everywhere, and was smushing the tip of his newest into splinters. Talk about nervous reactions. But Cedric was almost twitching with excited interest himself.

"There's no difference between Muggle-borns, half-bloods and purebloods -"

Stanton raised a finger. "Not quite, Miss Genault, but that's a later lesson, I'm afraid. Let's assume that you are correct for now; go on, please."

Sounding much less certain, Elain continued. I know how she feels. "I mean, all can do magic, there's no reason to deny anyone because of ability on that score. But there's been prejudice against those with non-magical heritage since the time of the Founders. What else would it be?"

"What else, indeed?" Shoes clacked against stone as Stanton jumped off the desk, and resumed pacing up and down the room. "What events were taking place in the twelve hundreds? Mr. McGuckan."

"Um . . . the Ministry of Magic as we know it had not yet been developed, there was only an administrative council without much power. Numerous goblin rebellions were launched against the Wizarding upper classes, which were the only governing bodies really in place. And the Triwizard Tournament of course -" Greg's relief when Stanton raised a hand was visible even on the Hufflepuff side of the room.

"In Magical history, yes, very good. What about Muggle history? Does anyone know?" In the middle of the room their professor nodded slowly, as if he hadn't expected an answer. "You cannot assume that the two are mutually exclusive – that they have nothing to do with each other. You know that even though Muggles cannot see Dementors, they can still be affected by them. The Magical world influences the Muggle world – and the same is true in the reverse.

"But what does this mean?"

And he's off – Cedric had managed to stay with Stanton's leaps so far, which was more than might be said for Jayden, but he still didn't see what any of this had to do with – Oh, no, what was it again?

"Muggle-borns weren't allowed to practice magic; much of the time, they weren't even aware that the Wizarding World existed. Why? The story that the Wizarding world abides by now is that the witch hunts which took place during the thirteenth century put the families of Muggle-born witches and wizards at risk. That might be true. But look at it from another perspective - if those Muggle-borns were trained, might they not have been able to protect their families against the Inquisition?"

Yes, probably –

"We can't change the past. We can only try to understand it. We're trying to see how the Triwizard Tournament's very existence, in the face of all the injuries and deaths it produced, could have continued for so long, and what it could have done in its time that the Ministry now wants to reinstate it. So what do we know? What have we just been talking about?"

Cedric raised his hand carefully, noting a few thoughtful expressions from across the room. Maybe sitting in the front row today wasn't the best idea.

"Mr. Diggory?"

"Well, Professor Dumbledore said last night that it made ties between students from all over Europe. Pure-blooded students," he amended.

"International relations," Stanton nodded. "Good. Miss Genault?"

"Like Cedric said, we've been talking about how the Wizarding world was only really made of purebloods at that time," Elain sounded as if she'd gotten stuck somewhere between angry and confused by that.

"Correct," Stanton held up a second finger. "International relations, a small Wizarding population – there's one more thing. Mr. Miyamoto."

"We talked about how the Tournament brought honor and glory to the school that won." Anthony sounded unsure, and huffed a relived breath when their professor smiled.

"Good job. Now you have all the pieces – does anyone care to try to assemble them into an answer? What is the question we're trying to answer, Mr. Sadeler?"

"What the Triwizard Tournament did that was so important that even though so many people died, it continued for over a hundred years. And why the Ministry's starting it up again now," Jayden was leaning forward in his seat, knuckles of his clasped hands rubbing the bristles on the underside of his chin.

"Exactly. Think."

A stretched-out moment of silence, in which Cedric felt a frown wrinkling his forehead. They're all related? But – how? What if – no, that doesn't make any sense –

"I'll put the pieces together for you now, to show you how it's done." Stanton's smile was short. "In the future, I'll expect you to be able to do this for yourselves." He sat on top of the desk again, feet hanging some centimeters from cream-shaded stone.

"Despite the enlightened attitude of the Hogwarts founders a few hundred years beforehand, in the thirteenth century only purebloods and half-bloods received magical training. Today, Hogwarts is home to somewhere around three hundred students. Seven hundred years ago, there was barely a third that number, even when all the Houses and different years were combined."

Only three hundred? It always felt like more. . . but it couldn't be. There's not that many per year even across all seven years, and only four Houses -

"For a school, that's a very dangerous state of affairs. Despite all that magic, house-elves, and donations can do, every magical institute was dependant on the tuition that students brought in. The solution seems quite easy – find more students, preferably those who can pay. But that was a major factor in why Muggle-borns were denied tutelage. They wouldn't have been able to afford the massive fees many of you know higher education can cost."

Cedric winced. Dad was just complaining about that before the Cup. He'd worked all summer, but had barely been able to cover a third of this year's tuition expenses, and his books.

"So the only solution was to get more pureblooded students to come to the institution; but we already know that with such a small population as the Wizarding world had in those times, students weren't just going to appear out of thin air. They had to come from somewhere – and soon, the schools realized that the students would have to start coming from other countries. But other countries had their own magical institutions, which were just as intent on not only keeping native students, but getting international students for themselves as well. What to do?"

Stanton paused here, reaching into a desk drawer to produce a bottle of water. A few sips later, and the professor's voice was noticeably smoother. "That's where the Triwizard Tournament came into play. By connecting with other institutions in an incredibly public event, the schools could showcase the quality of the students they put out, exhibit the skill of their teachers, and if they won, most schools made sure the following Tournament was held on their grounds. This practically guaranteed that the school's admissions rate would rise in the following year as students and prospective students from other schools transferred to or entered the winning school. Alumni donations usually increased as well.

"In short, the winners of the Tournament not only brought glory to their school, but publicity – and following that, the school would be more likely to draw greater numbers of students, including those that might have attended one of the other magical academies. And with the increasing numbers of students came more money, more attention, and the certainty of the school's continued existence. It's not for nothing that Hogwarts has the largest number of alumni in the Wizarding world's European history."

Is he saying what I think he's saying? Cedric traded an incredulous look with Keith.

"No way," blurted a familiar voice from just behind and above. Nice one, Hector!

"I suggest you spend this semester getting familiar with your school's history, Mr. Yager," Professor Stanton advised with a tiny grin. "You might want to take a closer look in the Trophy Room and go through the Library with more care, for starters. Hogwarts not only has won the most Tournaments to date, but more importantly, this School won the last one, held in 1389. That would be the primary reason why this year's Tournament isn't going to be held at Beauxbatons or Durmstrang."

A glance down to his wrist propelled Stanton off the desk and onto his feet once more. "Unfortunately, we don't have much time to go into questions today if I want to tell you how I'll be running this class – something I suspect you all will be interested in hearing."

In the corner of his vision, Jayden scrabbled for a fresh quill.

"My goal this year is to make you think," the words rang firmly through the classroom. "And I'm going to teach you how. Since you've only got one year until you graduate, as seventh-years, your curriculum will be the hardest. You're going to learn everything the younger classes are learning, and you're going to do it faster."

"Bugger," snarled Keith lowly, but he didn't actually look too unhappy about it when Cedric lifted his head from blotting a fresh quill.

"The classroom will be run more informally than you're accustomed to. I will expect everyone to come prepared, having done the assigned reading, and be ready to discuss it, much as I just did, in class. I want you to talk, argue, state your opinion – and then I want you to back it up. We can dispense with raising hands if you keep respectfully quiet while someone is talking, but other than that, I want to hear what you think and what you have to say."

Free-for-all, Cedric predicted. Curiosity curled his mouth into a grin. I wonder how it'll turn out.

"The first three weeks out of every month, you'll have an essay due in NEWT format. You'll get the topic Mondays and, unless you have a verified excuse from Madam Pomfrey, Madam Hooch, or your Head of House, it will be due Friday. The fourth week of every month you will have an exam, also in slightly shortened NEWT format."

NEWT format? What's that? Binns never. . . I guess I'm going to need to talk to him after class. Quill scribbled that note to himself in the margin he'd left beside the scattered scrawlings about today's discussion.

"For Friday, I want you each to write half a roll of parchment on one of three topics, your choice. First – compare and contrast the rules of the Triwizard Tournament as it was held in thirteenth century with how this year's Tournament is intended to take place. Second, why you think that for the first time in over half a millennia, the Ministry of Magic is reinstituting the Tournament. Third, if some topic we discussed today caught your attention and you want to look deeper into it, talk to me and I'll see if it's appropriate. I expect you to do an analysis, not rattle off facts."

That might be a little harder. At least it's only half a roll. That's not bad. Cedric was still knocked a bit off balance by the way Stanton had simply grabbed a whole bunch of old, unrelated facts and woven them together into why and how and who to explain the now.

"Also note," Stanton said, leaning against his desk with arms folded. "If I can't read your assignments, I can't properly grade them, and you will fail that assignment. Write clearly, legibly, and to the point." Cedric looked up in time to see the professor scanning rows of heads bent over parchment and quill. Scuffling from the hallway caught his ear. Wow – we're out of time already?

"If there are any questions, I'll be in my office Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays between and after classes. Feel free to show up if you want to speak with me about class or need help, or even if you just want to talk. Class dismissed."


"Good day."

Geez! Harry stuffed his heart back down to where it belonged, taking a deep breath of heavily-perfumed air. Oh no, not again –

Thin as she was, the enormous glasses on Professor Trelawny's face made her look exceptionally bug-like. She's got that look on her face. The one that says she's waiting for me to tragically drop dead right here. If the thick, flowery scent on the air didn't do him in, boredom surely would.

Hermione was right. We should have dropped Divination for something interesting. Muggle Studies.

"You are preoccupied, my dear," she said mournfully. "My inner eye sees past your brave face to the troubled soul within. And I regret to say that your worries are not baseless. I see difficult times ahead for you, alas . . . most difficult . . . I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass . . . and perhaps sooner than you think . . ."

Across the small, circular table, blue eyes rolled. Harry stared stonily back at their professor, who then swept off past them to seat herself in a large winged armchair before the fire. The room was hot and all the curtains were closed, bathing everything in reddish light from the pink lamps and fire.

Emerald eyes blinked. Hot. Really, really hot in here. Dizzy. Good thing he was sitting down; Harry glared at Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. The two girls deeply admired Professor Trelawny and were perched on pink poufs very close to her, seemingly unaffected by the room's heat.

"My dears, it is time for us to consider the stars." The reedy voice fluttered in a rhythmic rise-and-fall. "The movements of the planets and the mysterious portents they reveal only to those who understand the steps of the celestial dance. Human destiny may be deciphered by the planetary rays, which intermingle. . ."

Harry stifled a yawn. Even though Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures had been cancelled this morning, he hadn't gotten enough sleep. I'd have liked to see what Hagrid and Lucy planned for the first class, though. . . Still, what with everything that had gone on last night, the Gryffindor common room had been abuzz until almost four in the morning. Some of the first-years had been carried off to bed by sixth- and seventh-years –

"Harry!"

Startled from the brink of sleep, he blinked at Ron. "What?"

A moment later, it registered that the whole class was staring at him. Um . . .

"I was saying, my dear, that you were clearly born under the baleful influence of Saturn." Irritation faintly colored Professor Trelawny's voice at the evidence that he hadn't been hanging on her every word.

Tell that to Sirius, he thought rebelliously. On second thought, his godfather would probably think this was funny; he'd written Harry already, and Harry was going to write back as soon as this class was over. "Born under – what, sorry?"

"Saturn, dear, the planet Saturn!" Now she's definitely peeved. "I was saying that Saturn was surely in a position of power in the heavens at the moment of your birth. . . . Your dark hair . . . your mean stature . . . tragic losses so young in life . . . I think I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in midwinter?"

He choked down a snicker. Sirius is going to love hearing about this! "No, I was born in July."

Ron hastily turned a laugh into a hacking cough.

"I see." And a moment later, she was back to being vague and brainless. "Perhaps the conjunction of Mercury and Mars, then, but though the inner eye is always right, we mortals do not often correctly interpret the signs we are given. . ."

Maybe Malfoy has a point. He'd heard the Slytherin grumbling last year, something about Trelawny and drugs and the smell of the air in the North Tower. The thought was enough to send him into silent laughter. Ron was giving him a weird look; Harry just rolled his eyes, jerking his head toward the winged chair's occupant.

Which was when Trelawny started passing out complicated, circular start charts. "Now, my dears, take the moment of your birth and fill in the position of the planets on the chart, so that we may see what destinies shall unfold. . ."

Smooth paper filled his hand; Harry looked to see that together, his and Ron's charts were large enough to take up all the surface of their small table. Oh, no. Ron had already pulled out Unfogging the Future and was flipping to the timetables. Oh, great, we have to do calculations –

"This can't be right," Harry frowned, checking his numbers after long minutes of struggling through figures. "I've got two Neptunes here -"

"Ahhh," Ron said in his best mysterious whisper. "When two Neptunes appear in the sky, it is a sure sign that a midget in glasses is being born, Harry. . . ."

Harry grinned at Seamus and Dean, working nearby. Both had heard Ron and couldn't contain their laughter.

"Oh Professor, look!" Lavender squealed, calling for Trelawny's attention. "I think I've got an unaspected planet! Oooh, which one's that, Professor?"

Massive lenses slipped down a pointed nose as Trelawny peered at the chart. "That is Uranus, my dear."

"Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?"

Harry kicked Ron under the table; no good. Trelawny turned to them, not at all as airy-fairy as usual. "A detailed analysis of the way the planetary movements in the coming month will affect you, with reference to your personal chart," she snapped. Harry blinked. She sounds like Professor McGonagall. "I want it ready to hand in next Monday, and no excuses!"

Stifling a groan, Harry glared at Ron. His best friend was muttering under his breath as he packed books and chart back into his bag. "Miserable old bat," Ron pronounced as they descended the silver stepladder and the North Tower's circular trapdoor had slammed shut after them. "That'll take all weekend, that will. . ."

He was still grumbling as they reached the main staircase, joining the rest of the students on their way into the Great Hall for dinner.

"Lots of homework?" Hermione looked happier than she had earlier, being forced to wake up after only a few hours' sleep. "Professor Vector didn't give us any at all!"

"Well, bully for Professor Vector," Ron said moodily.

It only took a few minutes more, but the crush of people was something Harry always managed to forget over summer holiday. Slipping into his seat at the Gryffindor table, he pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill, loading his plate with the other hand.

"What's that, Harry?"

"Mmm." Swallowing down corn and mashed potatoes, Harry said thickly, "Letter." A sip of juice cleared his throat nicely. "To Sirius. He wrote me this morning, just to say he went to Grimmauld Place yesterday afternoon, to clean it up a bit more." For all the letter had sounded normal, and he could almost hear Sirius' voice speaking to him through the words. . . I can't imagine he was very happy to go back. He didn't really know why, but Harry knew that Grimmauld Place wasn't someplace Sirius liked at all. Kind of like how I feel about the Dursleys' house.

Across a plate of vegetables, Hermione was eating at top speed. She's going to make herself sick. Harry slanted a puzzled glance at Ron, and got a blank shrug in return. "Don't tell me you're going back to the library this evening?" She'd set off for there after breakfast, making good on cancelled classes to look something up.

"Got to," said Hermione around a mouthful of chicken and sprouts. "Loads to do."

"But you told us Professor Vector -"

Swallowing, thick waves of hair shook impatiently. "It's not schoolwork." Inside five minutes the golden plate was clean, and she'd grabbed up her books and made for the door. As her place at the bench emptied, Harry smiled to see the blond man who took her seat.

"Harry, Ron. How was the first day of classes?" A smile peeked from behind his beard. "And where's Hermione off to in such a rush?"

"Hi Peter!" Colin Creevy plunked himself down next to the Gryffindor 'advisor'. "Hiya, Harry!"

Harry blinked.

And then Colin was off, chattering about his awful Potions class with Professor Snape and his brother's first encounter with Madam Hooch and flying and what he'd heard about the third-year Ravenclaws' and Slytherins' joint Care of Magical Creatures class with some new creature that Hagrid had gotten from somewhere and it was the weirdest thing anyone had ever seen

Harry's quill slowed as he stared. Doesn't he need to breathe?

Apparently not, because Colin kept chattering excitedly away. Peter laughed, hands in the air. "Colin, calm down a minute. Have you eaten? Take your time," he urged as the younger boy nearly inhaled the food in his rush to talk.

"Hey, Peter."

"Fred. How was Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Ron looked up from avoiding the carrots on his plate.

Two identical heads shook.

"'Mazing," Lee Jordan said, sounding a bit puzzled.

George reached for a fork. "Lupin's done a complete about-face from last year. Hexes – and Dark magics." His twin shuddered.

"He sounds like he knows what it's like to be out there . . . doing it. Fighting the Dark Arts." Fred's teeth tore savagely through a roll.

Ron dived into his bag for his schedule. "We haven't got him until Thursday!"

Peter chuckled softly. "Sirius is his best friend, Fred. I think Remus has a very good idea of what's involved with fighting the Dark Arts."

"Yeah," George chewed a sprout thoughtfully. "Still, I wonder -"

"- What did Lupin do before he was a professor?" Fred took over the thought, and Harry took a moment to study the dais in the front of the Great Hall. I never asked. And it was weird to talk about Remus like this.

"Peter," he wanted to change the subject. "What was going on yesterday, with you and Ed and Lucy and Susan getting Sorted? You never said anything about that this summer."

Instantly diverted, the twins, Lee and Ron fixed their attention on the blond man. Even Colin Creevy slowed his chewing, distracted.

"It was something Dumbledore suggested just before the Feast." Peter's voice was . . . very neutral. "It sounded like a good idea, and so we agreed. All it means really is that we're more accessible to you, and other students, than we might be if we teach classes some people don't have."

Care of Magical Creatures, Muggle Studies. But why would that –

Peter shrugged. "Edmund's really the only one here in any official capacity. We're just here to help him; and I won't actually be here most of the year, unfortunately."

"Why?" Lee frowned.

It's his job, I bet. Harry hadn't heard much of it over the summer; just enough to know that the leave Peter had taken last year was causing him some problems now.

"I have to work," Peter told them. "I have a feeling I won't be at my current job for much longer, but until then I need to put in a certain amount of time. I'm not on leave, like I was last year."

"I can't believe Edmund got Sorted into Slytherin." Ink dry, Harry folded up his finished letter to Sirius. I'll go see Hedwig tonight, maybe. Maybe before breakfast tomorrow. She hadn't been pleased with the Floo trip to Hogsmeade Central, turning her beak up at him when he'd opened her cage last night.

Peter's laugh was full and rich. "Oh, it suits him perfectly. He's more cunning than you'll ever get him to admit, and keeps his head well in a fight."

"You're alright with that?" Ron gaped.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Blond hair tilted in surprise. "Just because he's in Slytherin doesn't mean he's a bad person. What House he's in doesn't define who he is. Anyway, being ambitious isn't a crime. And it's not such a bad thing as you all assume." Peter arched a brow at them; the other Gryffindors squirmed, just a bit.

Uneasiness still jittered in Harry's gut. Yeah, but Slytherin, it's turned out more Dark witches and wizards than any other House . . . but not all Dark wizards came out of Slytherin, a tiny voice in the back of his head piped up. Peter Pettigrew was a Gryffindor.

"No," Fred muttered grudgingly.

Peter chuckled wickedly. "Besides, it'll make our next spar more interesting."

Harry snorted.


Sudden agony made him gasp, and nearly drop his wand.

Damn it!

Black cloth pressed against tearing blue; mostly-blind, Draco fumbled for smooth bay. "Occulovelus."

Darkness.

Still, he gave it a few more minutes before lowering the sleeve of his school robes. Icy blue, reddened with the pain of bursting light, winced at the dungeon's paler shadows. Son of a –

Well, he'd just have to do without it. This might take longer than I anticipated. Still, it would be faster than trying to arrange to buy the ingredients himself with no one else the wiser. And if he couldn't use one of the handier spells in his repertoire, well, that was life.

Figures. Hogwarts has magic stuffed into every stone. When he'd cast a charm to let him see the wards draping every inch of the access to Snape's office, he'd thought his eyes would be burned out by the power radiating from every direction.

Still, the night's venture wasn't a total waste. Snape would be at dinner for a good half-hour more; Draco wasn't about to waste this time. So I can't see it. But I know it's there. And teasing out the shape of the protections locking the potions masters' office might require a bit more time, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

I waited all summer for this – and nothing's going to stop me now. Not this close.

So. . . he'd just have to try something else.

Rearranging the heavy bag of books against his side so that arms and legs were free, Draco reached in and pulled out a small roll of cloth. Unfolded on one of the thick granite table-tops, he surveyed the tools and made his decision.

A few innocuous twists of wire, some more interesting pieces a Muggle dentist might once have recognized – at least before Draco and his wand got hold of them. But none of those were precisely what he wanted –

Gleaming black diorite, rounded and worn from years under water.

The small, smooth stone left his fingers at high speed, and rebounded off the door with a sharp ping!

Good. Let's try organic and inanimate, now.

A roll, snatched from the Slytherin table, was grabbed and slowed as it moved toward smooth-grained wood, but bounced far enough back for Draco to retrieve it without problems. Not keyed to fry anything organic. That's about right.

Hogwarts was a school, after all. Magics that Dark couldn't be found here, regardless of who cast them – not if the school wanted to keep on running.

And the next step up. Organic, and alive.

The second tool came not from the kit but a chain hidden under the neck of his school clothes; a delicate silver tube no thicker and barely longer than his littlest finger, hollow, with four small holes bored along the length. Before fitting his lips around the pipe, Draco considered a moment; then white-blond nodded. Whispered, the incantation reached only his ears. "Mus."

He could have blown as hard as he liked; it still would have produced no sound. But fingers moved along the holes, the notes a haunting melody to the ears intended to hear it. A roach might have been easier to control, but a mammal was much better.

Squeak.

A small shift of fur from the shadowed corners of the dungeon. White whisker-tips brushed dank stone. Draco gentled the notes. :Closer. Come closer.:

Squeak? Squeak.

:Here. Just along here.:

Following the music, tiny paws scratched towards Snape's office door, and Draco nearly grinned to see the little creature amble right through the wards as if the magic smothering the very air was nothing. Knew it!

The mouse fled as the notes ceased; Draco tucked the tiny pipe back under his shirt. Now, for the real test. Fingers fit around bay wood like the joining of two souls. Back to the basics. Wand tapped the stone. "Wingardium Leviosa."

Gently, gently –

A meter off the ground, the stone hovered millimeters from the wards, the shape of them almost another presence in the empty dungeon. Icy blue narrowed in cool calculation.

Forward –

BEWARE!

Even waiting for it, shock started through Draco's body with an involuntary clench of muscles, jerking his focus from the wand and its spell. The scanning ward he'd put up before doing anything else had detected an outgoing magical pulse. A silent alarm, letting the caster know that something was amiss.

Careful. I have time. He would only look guilty if he acted guilty. Draco scooped up his stone, rolling it back up with his kit, stowing it all between his books as he exited. Pulled a cloak of arrogance and indifference over every inch of his skin, blond head rising as he strode up the dungeon stairs; waiting for Damocles' sword to fall was nothing new.

Familiar corridors, totally empty. Everyone's at dinner. Draco suddenly remembered the roll – soft and buttery under hungry teeth. Barely needing to think about the hallways he traversed, he halted in front of a particular patch of stone that looked as regular as any other.

Draco looked both ways; blank corridors stared back. "Para bellum."

Soothing green and chilled leather, and not a soul in sight. Stone rotated soundlessly back into place, and Draco abandoned the common room for the passageway to his dorm.

Beginning of term or not, he knew there were surveillance spells active. Crabbe and Goyle may act dumb, but their parents at least aren't. So he opened his trunk as usual, rummaging for some food, and the sleight-of-hand that slipped his kit beneath a pile of neatly-folded robes was swift and harmless enough that few would think anything of it.

Leverage? On a Malfoy? Hah! No point in holding back the curl of his lip – searching hands unearthed a box of sweets.

Click.

Trunk locked, Draco kicked off his shoes and sprawled over thick green blankets. No use taking physical notes, to leave evidence about just what he was up to. Standard wards. Didn't react to the warning ward I put up, which makes sense. If the damn thing went off whenever magic was worked in the vicinity, what would be the point?

Rolling onto his back, Draco folded both arms under his head. But a spell directed deliberately at them did set them off. They ignored life-signs under the ward radius, but the mouse didn't have intent.

A key sticking point that had baffled him with his dad's wards for almost a month. Eerie how similar the two were, actually. But the ones at home probably were easier to crack than Snape's will be. After all, Lucius Malfoy didn't really expect anything to happen at home; he was just being thorough. Snape knew that students would be in his potions cabinet, given the slightest chance.

Licking the last sticky-sweet crumbs from one thumb, he thought a minute. I don't know enough. But homework was as good an excuse as he could ask for to spend some time in the library. Tomorrow.


"Come on, come on!"

"Hold up, Brett, we're not going to be late to -"

Just inside the statue barring the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room, Brett rolled his eyes. "I'm so hungry I could eat a . . . a . . . well, I can't think of what, but it'll be huge."

A pretty fifth-year girl passing by them smiled on her way out. Brett grinned back. I know I've seen her before – oh, of course! She was the Seeker for Ravenclaw's Quidditch team.

"Alright, alright." Chris finally just dropped the textbooks against one wall, straightening black robes as he crossed back over blue-patterned carpet. "If you're that hungry -"

The statue returned to its place behind them and froze into immobility once more. "I am."

"What, didn't you have lunch?" Chris sounded immensely unperturbed by this.

Lunch. Right. Brett sped up a little, knowing Chris would follow. "Ah – no."

"Why not?"

He kept his eyes steadfastly forward. "I – kind of – slept in."

"Until noon?"

"I was almost late to class," Brett defended himself. He'd actually considered not going the night before, and consequently had nightmares about missing key exam material. So, after a restless, far-too-short night, he'd rolled out of bed and tromped to Herbology. Sometimes it really wasn't fun to be a Ravenclaw.

"Slow down, Bixby," squeaked Professor Flitwick. The tiny man had been almost bowled over by Brett's headlong dash toward the entrance of the Great Hall.

"Sorry, Professor." Merlin, I almost took out our Head of House! He couldn't keep brown eyes from widening. "It's just that we went to the library after class and didn't realize how late it was until I got hungry, then Chris made us go all the way back to the common room to drop off his stuff off. And -"

Flitwick chuckled. "It's quite all right, young man. Just watch where you're going next time."

"Yes, Professor."

The minute the tiny teacher turned the corner, Brett was off again. And we're finally -

"Oof!"

"Ten points from Ravenclaw." Irritation hit his ears like the snap of a whip. Brett looked up, and gulped. Professor Snape.

Black robes swirled off without a glance back.

"Good going," hissed Chris, poking him through the entranceway. "Way to start off second year."

"I'll get them back." Brett headed straight for the table. Oooh. Mashed potatoes and corn and carrots and sprouts, chicken in lemon sauce and breaded fish and - "In his class, too."

"Not a chance." Chris snagged a round roll from a golden platter and dipped it in creamy sauce oozing over the chicken.

Plate full of steaming goodness, Brett savored the first bite. "Wanna bet?"

"A week's worth of Transfiguration notes," Chris finally decided. "That you can't do it before October."

A week's notes . . . "Done!"


A/N: Made-up magic, and notes thereof.

Mus – Mouse, in the Latin. This is very much a 'Pied-Piper of Hamlin' trick that Draco is pulling here.

Occulovellus – from the Latin occulo meaning 'to cover, hide, conceal' and vellum meaning 'wool'. Deactivates Videscio.

Videscio – mutilation of the Latin video, 'I see', and scio, 'I know'. A spell which allows the caster to see and know all the quiescent spells around them. Good for detecting hidden magics, such as wards and alarms. Blindingly bad when employed someplace like Hogwarts, with lots of magic everywhere.