As daylight came, it brought the promise of a new day to wash away the dread and uncertainty of yesterday. Last night had shaken Harry to his core. The feeling that he had felt incapable of pursuing Pettigrew, unable to handle this on his own but forced to rely on Dumbledore; that feeling haunted him however. He knew that if he hadn't woken up on his own, Pettigrew would have gone undetected; it seemed pure luck that Harry was even alive. Or if Pettigrew had spared his life on purpose, Harry shivered to think for what purpose exactly. Thus, he attacked each class with determined aggressiveness that surprised even Hermione, not to mention Ron. Even in Herbology, which had never held Harry's interest, he know found himself reading the description of each plant carefully, particularly their uses and properties. He paired up with Hermione rather than Ron, knowing this would ensure much greater success with any joint projects; Ron went with Neville, Hermione's usual partner, who was rather adept at Herbology so Harry did not consider it a loss on Ron's part. Harry managed to amaze Hermione when not only did their extraction of wormtail earn Sprout's praise, but Harry then went on to ask Sprout various questions about the applications of wormtail extract. Particularly its use as a possible anti-septic; although listed in their textbook was something Hermione thought she was the only one who had bothered to read closely enough to discover. Several points were earned for Gryffindor, though such meant nothing to Harry. What he considered a victory was that thanks to Sprout, he knew how to identify this plant in nature, how to extract its liquid and apply it on a wound to prevent infection.

In Potions, Harry again partnered with Hermione since his joint potions with Ron had a tendency to fail spectacularly. Their Heating Draught turned out perfectly, and Snape allowed them to pour some of it into flasks for themselves to keep. He even commented that perhaps Harry had more of his mother in him than was apparent, which Harry knew was a kind of compliment, given how good his mother had been with potions. Though he had long since lost any interest in Snape's opinion on himself, Harry knew that his own personal opinion of Snape was less important than his newfound determination.

"What would happen if I added wormwood to the potion?" Harry asked, the silence in the dungeon so sudden that it was downright eerie. Nobody, not even the Slytherins, ever asked voluntary questions of Snape. The potions master turned and let his gaze linger on Harry.

"It might make the cauldron blow up, it might increase the duration of the effect," Snape said simply. The Heating Draught, much as its name explained, was a potion to stave off hypothermia and keep the drinker warm for hours. "I've never tried," Snape added. The idea had come into Harry's mind when reading about the properties of wormwood; although the Heating Draught was extremely useful when one could not find shelter or warmth, it would not last an entire night.

"Would you let me try? Tonight, under your supervision," Harry asked. It had taken enormous resolve to not only volunteer himself to do extra potions work, but to request Snape's presence. As much as Harry loathed the man's personality, he knew he was the foremost expert on potions in Britain. And now this foremost expert stared at Harry with dark eyes that were as piercing as the headmaster's, but in a more menacing way.

"You want me to volunteer my time tonight, to supervise you blowing up your cauldron?" Snape said softly. Harry swallowed and considered this good training for keeping his courage when faced with an actual dark wizard. Malfoy snickered.

"If I fail, you get a show. But if you instruct me when you presume it would work best, I believe the potion might work. It could even double the duration of the effect, if done right," Harry said, although he hated giving any kind of compliment to Snape.

"Very well," came the reply from the ominous potions master. "Tonight then, anybody who is interested in an experiment."

"I'm going just to see Potter get his face blown up!" Malfoy said, inciting some laughter among the Slytherins. However, a rare disapproving gaze from Snape silenced them. "The pursuit of potion lore is no laughing matter," he said and then dismissed the class.

"Are you mad? Really, have you gone bonkers?" Ron stared at Harry, his mouth open. "Volunteering to do potions? With Grease-hair?"

"You shouldn't talk about a professor like that," Hermione said, though her heart was not really in the chastising. Nobody could defend Snape and honestly mean it.

"Potions are a requirement for aurors," Harry said, gripping at the only explanation he could think of. His real interest was knowing that if he was ever on the run, a good supply of the Heating Draught would help his survival immensely, eliminating the need for shelter or a fire. Especially if he could increase its duration.

"I think it's great," Hermione said pointedly, which everybody knew she would. "I'll certainly be going - Harry did great brewing potions today, I don't see why it would fail." This earned her a scowl from Ron, Harry's previous potions partner, who was becoming aware that he tended to perform poorer than Harry whenever they worked separately in class. Any hurt feelings on Ron's behalf, however, had to be considered collateral damage. Harry knew he could not afford wasting any time in class.

Last subject of the day was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Harry had always enjoyed this subject the most; after a few poor teachers, the recent ones had been better. Lupin had been very adept, and teaching Harry many things otherwise not accessible to third-years. When he had been sacked, Alastor Moody had taken over. He had seemed rather extreme in his methods, even forcing the Imperius curse on his students to teach them how to resist it; but given his grizzled appearance, Harry could understand his paranoia. Perhaps it was the same vigilance that had allowed him to survive in the position and stay as a teacher for his second year now. Although Harry had had his doubts about Moody as a teacher, Harry knew he had learned valuable lessons from Moody; and knowing what he did now, having the most famous auror in Britain teach him defensive magic was perfect.

After initial barks of constant vigilance, the class was shown various curses and countermeasures, before being paired up to test against each other. True to his form, Harry partnered with Hermione since she quickly grasped how to perform the curses and provided the best opposition of any in the classroom. Also she was the only one who kept up with his insistence on continual practice, while most others took occasional breaks; not that she had any of Harry's reasons, but simply because it was in her nature. With Ron, Harry's practising duel during these classes had been as much about laughs and trying to jinx each other for fun. In the other end of the spectrum, everybody always seemed to tire before Hermione and never gave her the challenge she craved. Now, however, they worked for an hour, throwing spells at each other which eventually assembled everybody into the audience. Moody's eyes, both natural and magical, had been fixed on them from the start, and occasionally he threw comments at them. Harry, in turn, felt better than ever, even as he sweated and felt all his muscles ache. There was a combination of the exercise he had done during the summer with the delight of doing magic, as well as the challenge of an opponent on his own level. Harry acted as much on reflexes as anything, constantly dodging and throwing spells. Finally the duel ended when Hermione tricked him and got a stun through his evasions. Moody revived him and gave him a swig of a flask that numbed some of the pain from the fall.

"10 points to Gryffindor for effort, Harry, and 15 points for the victory, Hermione," Moody said, with something that resembled a rare smile in the cracked lines of his mouth. Hermione was practically beaming with pleasure and although exhausted and annoyed that he had lost, Harry felt rather pleased as well. Duelling so intensely, not merely as a joke, was an exhilarating feeling, and it had given Harry an idea for further preparations. While the rest of his classmates packed and went to leave, Harry excused himself to his friends.

"I just want to talk to Moody, about my sneakoscope," Harry said, though he had other reasons as well.

"Alright, if nothing else, see you tonight in the dungeons," Hermione said.

"Don't remind me, there's no way I'm going to that," Harry heard Ron mutter as they disappeared.

Alone with Moody, Harry approached his desk. The teacher looked expectantly at him, and Harry found it hard to say his intention. Perhaps because he was exhausted from the duel, perhaps because Moody's strange eye stared so intently. In either case, Harry decided to postpone the actual matter for later.

"Professor Moody, I was given a Sneakoscope by - Lupin," Harry said, suddenly unsure how Moody might feel about his predecessor.

"Sensible gift," was Moody's only reply.

"I think it's broken though. Could I come by your office and have you take a look at it? I imagine you'd be the resident expert," Harry asked, adding a little flattery. It was true enough, after all.

"Certainly, I encourage being on your toes," Moody said, as Harry had assumed.

"After dinner? I have potions to brew in the evening, but before then," Harry suggested.

"Sounds fine," Moody said in his gruff voice. "Already got detention?" the professor asked with a hint of amusement.

"Nope, voluntary work," Harry said, and then turned around and left, not wanting to get into explanations. Although Moody was probably trustworthy, Harry did not like the idea of his motivations and reasons being examined by anybody, especially not one as perceptive as Moody.

Still feeling the consequences of his earlier exertion, Harry decided for a bath and a change of clothes. He waved to Ron as he passed through the common room, but continued on upstairs, quickly taking a warm shower. The relief it brought his sore limbs was most soothing, and he remained in the stall for a long time. His new ambition required that he pushed himself much more than he had ever done before, and the shower stall felt like a break; that here he was allowed to pause, take it slow, not worry but simply enjoy the sensation of warm water. Finally done, he put on new clothes and sat down on his bed. There were still some time left before dinner and his various arrangements in the evening. He pondered how to spend them best, whether he should read for tomorrow or perhaps refresh certain spells. However, he felt as if he had pressed himself as much as could be demanded; in the end, he went down into the common room and took some defeats in chess from Ron.

At dinner, Harry continued his now customary silence. In his mind, he was going over the conversation he intended to have with Moody. He needed to present his suggestion clearly, rationally, using arguments that echoed what Moody said in class. When dinner was over, they all went to the Gryffindor tower; but while the rest remained in the common room, Harry went up and grabbed his excuse from the trunk. Sneakoscope in hand, he waved briefly to Ron and Hermione, who shot him a concerned glance, though he could not say why. Quickly forgotten, his mind was on the ensuing conversation. Having often been in the office when he had practiced spells with Lupin, Harry knew the way well. Now, in Moody's time, it was a veritable museum of paranoia, with all such objects that might warn their owner. Just like the item in Harry's hands, which could be heard wheeling and whistling through the fabric. Unpacking it, Harry gave it to Moody to inspect while he sat, unsure about how to speak his actual purpose.

"Well, it seems perfectly fine, though this level of activity usually suggests an imminent attack," Moody said in a professional tone of voice. "I can't say what's wrong. Unless, of course, it's strong enough to pick up on things like a slow poison working its way through your system. Do you feel ill, Harry?" Moody said, suddenly turning his eyes on Harry, who swallowed in sudden anxiety.

"Err, no, I feel fine," Harry said.

"Well, wards should have detected anything to the contrary," Moody said. "Sorry, Harry, don't think I know what's wrong. Why don't you take this back," he placed the sneakoscope back in Harry's hands, "and tell me why you're really here."

"What?"

"Well, you've been sitting like on pins ever since you got here, I presume you're not just concerned about your sneakoscope," Moody pointed out, confirming to Harry that the old auror was indeed perceptive. Taking a deep breath, Harry plunged in.

"Remember last year, where you exposed us to the Imperius curse so we could recognise it and fight it? I want you to use the Cruciatus curse on me," Harry said, exhaling again. Moody's surprise was obvious, and Harry took some pleasure in being able to surprise the man of constant vigilance.

"Imperius is one thing, but Cruciatus? That one can't be explained away, not even if I say you asked me to. If found out, I'm bound for Azkaban," Moody said.

"I know," replied Harry. "But I also know nobody would know better than you how to cover up what we're doing."

"Tell me, Harry, just why are you asking me to inflict such pain on you?"

"I want to be ready. Imagine somebody wants to torture me for information or just to get me to comply, after realising their Imperius curse won't work. I want to know how it feels, and how to be able to withstand it."

"Most 15-year olds don't plan ahead for when they might get tortured, not to mention wish to experience it beforehand," Moody said with that gaze of his running over Harry as if analysing him.

"I'm not most 15-year olds, nor can I expect the life of one," Harry answered.

"Dumbledore told you, did he, good. No point in keeping things from you, leave you vulnerable. You do realise though, too much exposure to the Cruciatus curse can break a man's mind. And since I'm not in the habit of using it on other people, I can't say how much that would be."

Harry knew the story of Neville's parents, and had thought about it. "Too much exposure at once, yes. But a gradual exposure, over many weeks, should build up tolerance, should it not? And I imagine you will err on the side of caution."

"Do you now," Moody said simply, still subjecting Harry to his stare. Then he gave a short, barking laugh. "Well, I always preach that you should be prepared for the worst; can't complain when you take me up on it. Bring your sneakoscope to my office next Wednesday night, that'll be our excuse. Tell nobody, not even Dumbledore. He might not approve, and even if he did, you never know who else might be listening."

Harry left Moody's office with a sense of satisfaction at having achieved his goal, until he remembered what that goal entailed. He was tempted for a moment to turn around, back out, tell Moody he changed his mind. Two things stopped him; the knowledge that this was necessary, and his pride. This was his own idea, his own design; he would not let fear of pain keep him from carrying it out. He doubted that Moody had much sympathy with such displays of weakness. And now he had to prepare himself for the possibility of mental torture; his potions scheme in the dungeons. Making his way there, Harry did not want to imagine if it failed. Snape's scorn was given, as was Malfoy's, and while usually Harry did not care much about either, he just did not want to give them any more opportunities to display it than necessary. Certainly not an opportunity of his own invention, such as volunteering to brew experimental potions.

There were few in the dungeons when Harry arrived; there rarely were many down there, after all, except for the path that from what he knew led to the Slytherin quarters. Very few had any kind of interest in potions at all, and it was rare that students worked here voluntarily. Usually the various corridors and corners of the dungeons were only used by couples wanting privacy, though woe be them if Snape or Filch happened to come across them. For now Snape was in his potions room, however, as was Hermione, Malfoy and his entourage and a few Ravenclaws, which should not have come as a surprise. The Slytherins hung back and merely made snide remarks, which Snape pretended to overhear. Harry and Hermione worked as they had this morning, preparing the same ingredients as well as the wormwood. A few of the Ravenclaws students helped as well, preferring that to being passive participants.

Under Snape's watchful eyes, they added the wormwood on his instructions, taking care not to be too liberal - it could be poisonous in sufficient doses, after all. After the potion was done, it had the bright orange glow of the original Heating Draught, though none could know for sure how it had worked. Until somebody tasted, of course. Snape looked expectantly at Harry, reminding him that this was his experiment. The Slytherins looked on in anticipation. Harry steeled himself and dipped a spoon. If it went wrong, he would be made a laughing stock when some side-effect hit him; but if it went well, it would be all the more satisfying to have both the intelligence to suggest the experiment and the courage to carry it through. No risk, no reward, Harry thought as he sipped the potion. It took a moment, then he felt a pleasant heat spreading through his body, until he removed his cloak to even his body temperature.

"Not bad, Potter," Snape said, and filled several flasks with the liquid for further experiments. "I shall make some tests to see how the wormwood has affected the potion. Clean up after yourselves," Snape finished and left for his office. The Slytherins left with sullen expressions, while Harry, Hermione and the Ravenclaws put everything in order. The Ravenclaws were already busy discussing the experiment and possible ideas of their own for further research.

"Well done, Harry! You know it's really rare anybody makes new potions, or even just finds ways to improve existing ones," Hermione said. If she were at all envious that it had been Harry's idea and not her own, there was not a single trace of it. She seemed so genuinely happy, it was almost contagious.

"Well, I'm sure you'll do lots, once you begin your studies as a healer," he replied, wanting to repay the compliment.

"And I'll have you to experiment on, whenever you need patching up as an auror," Hermione said. It sounded like a jest, though also a subtle reminder that she disagreed with his career choice. Again Harry realised he should be honest, with both her and Ron, but whenever he remembered the timing seemed bad. And he knew neither of them would react well.

Returning to the Gryffindor common room, Hermione explained their success to anybody who would listen. Which turned out to be very few; it was not the Ravenclaw common room, after all. Ron was playing chess against one of his older brothers, impossible to tell which; probably Fred, though, who was the most serious contender to Ron's reign as champion. Harry decided to begin on homework, even though nothing of it was due soon; if things kept up, he would be too busy to retain his usual style of doing it the night before. Best to get as much done in advance as he could. With this decision in mind, Harry began the essay Binns had given them for next week, trying not to think about how much he had turned into Hermione lately. The only difference seemed to be that she cherished the knowledge and work for its own sake, while Harry only considered it a means to an end. In the case of History of Magic though, the means seemed rather pointless and so Harry only worked to finish the essay with the bare minimum requirements. He had more important matters on his mind.