~HP~

Harry looked up from his books when his magical alarm sounded. It was time for him to go on a run before his dorm woke up to go to the Great Hall. He could already hear the sounds of Ron grumbling about having to wake up in three hours.

"First day of classes, bloody awful." Ron's voice groaned from outside the curtains around Harry's bed.

Harry smiled slightly at the familiar voice as he packed his study materials into his bookbag. He'd transfigured his book covers to look like the Hogwarts 6th Year's textbooks. He was hoping to work his study routine around the Transfigurations, Charms, and Defense classes he still had to take. He wasn't sure how useful the classes would be; he'd already read through all of the Hogwart's required textbooks, but he could hardly expect Dumbledore to pass him out of all of the Hogwarts classes.

Still, he hated changing the routine he'd been following for months. He'd already had to change his sleeping schedule, to avoid waking up when other Griffindors hadn't yet gone to sleep. He'd gone to bed at 11 PM, and lost an hour of sleep tossing and turning around in his bed.

Harry scurgified himself, and for the first time in months, changed in fresh clothing. Harry put on one of his new fitting black robes, as per the Hogwarts uniform. He suspected that would be the only routine change he wouldn't mind.

Harry had almost pulled back his bed curtains to greet the other Griffindors before he remembered the polyjuice potion. He looked at his bony hands, already grasping his bed curtain, and saw the white knuckles sticking up from beneath the stretched flesh. Heart pounding at the close call, he released his grip and reached instead for the flask of polyjuice in his bookbag. He sipped it once and waited until his knuckles were well hidden beneath a normal layer of fat and tan skin. He hated looking like his old health; It was such a nasty reminder of his years playing Quidditch and Wizarding chess and thinking himself a hero.

It was going to be difficult to live on the polyjuice potion, Harry knew that already. He'd have to be constantly aware of it, for nothing would affect his polyjuiced body. If he were to even spill ink on himself in a class, the game would be up: his skin would remain unstained. His polyjuiced body would look exactly the same, all the time, every day, and if anyone noticed that, he'd be done.

Harry ripped open his bed curtains and pulled his bookbag over his shoulder, heading for the dormitory door.

Once Harry was outside of the sound-proofing spells, he ran down the dormitory stairs. He was not the healthy, happy child the polyjuice faked. He was going to be train.

Running was horrid, Harry learned within moments. The grounds were wet and slippery with dew and seemed made to make running difficult. He'd slipped three times as he tried to cast a spell and forgot to mind his feet. This was not a kind of double concentration he was used to, and every stride he took bounced his wand arm, making it impossible to cast any wandmotions correctly. Harry had to scurgify every inch of his body and robes before he felt fit to enter the castle again.

Harry sat down for breakfast, almost alone at the Griffindor breakfast table except for a couple over-enthused first years sitting at the end of the table together. Harry nodded at them and pulled open his current Charms book, the Anderling book. He had an hour until class, and was planning on identifying some of the magic covering the Great Hall before then. Food appeared before him, and he carefully picked food that he knew how to eat one-handed.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter. You're here earlier than I expected."

Harry looked up to see McGonagall looking at him approvingly. He put down his fork carefully as he chewed, and glanced up at her.

"Yes, Professor." Harry answered, wondering if he were allowed to ask her to get to the point. She obviously had something she was planning to say to him.

"You've come a long way since your first day here, Mr. Potter." McGonagall said with a smile. Harry looked up at her, confused where the conversation was going.

"Professor?" He asked, only then remembering that he was supposed to be closing the conversation so he could go back to his work. He'd already identified the charm that evanesco'd any spilled drinks.

"Professor Dumbledore informed me that you are to be excused from your Astronomy and Herbology courses, and why." She explained, then seemed to pause to chose her words carefully.

"Everyone knows these next two years are going to be trying, but I can see them being worst for you. I do not know, nor am I asking, where you were this summer, but do not try to take this fight solely upon your own shoulders, Mr. Potter. It is far too big for any single man to fight." McGonagall said, slowly placing Harry's schedule onto the breakfast table.

"Better a single Boy-Who-Lived, than an army of friends, who died." Harry replied, before blinking, wishing he'd answered more carefully. He'd said that more truthfully than he'd even expected to be able to.

Finally, he'd put into words the things he'd seen that wouldn't stop haunting him. Cedric, Sirius, and Mrs. Weasley's boggart of dead children at her feet, Ron, Bill, George, Fred, Percy. It had taken so many dead bodies of friends for him to realize what was worth fighting for.

Harry cleared his throat, before looking up at his Professor. He'd swear he'd seen tears forming in her eyes, before she blinked, and they were gone.

"If any other student had said that, I would have scolded his self-sacrifice and told him that war is for adults, Mr. Potter." McGonagall commented, almost glaring at him. "Alas, I respect your mission too much to say such a ridiculous thing, though I very much want to." She continued, a spark of something in her glare that Harry couldn't quite identify. It almost looked like pride, or amusement, or..something.

"Thank you, professor." Harry said as gratefully as he could. Finally someone was going to recognize that he wasn't one of the 'other students'. According to the prophesy anyway, a entire war's outcome fell on his shoulders.

She nodded and squeezed his shoulder gently before silently returning to the head table.

Harry picked up his schedule and scanned it, already thinking about how to work it into his regular studying routine.

.

.

.

"Welcome to Hogwart's NEWT level Defense Against the Dark Arts course."

Harry looked up from his book at Moody, who was evidently beginning his class now that the rest of the Griffindors had settled into their desks.

History of Magic had been predictably useless, but at least it was useless enough that Harry could study his way through it without anyone commenting. He was hoping Defense would be better.

"The last Professor Alastor Moody you had, as you have doubtlessly heard, was in fact Barty Crouch Jr. Do not interrupt my class to rejoice at how I am breaking the supposed curse on Hogwart's Defense class, for I'm not, and I don't give a shit. This is my first time teaching, but don't think that means I'm going to let you idiots run around hexing each other. I've been an auror for twenty years, and I'll haul your ass to the Ministry for the improper use of magic faster than you can say you'd rather a detention. I fought in the first Dark War, and you can bet your mothers there's gunna be another one. Pay attention, practice Defense every moment you can, and you might survive. As many of you know from that bastard Barty Crouch, I am known for my mantra CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Moody roared the last bit as he slammed a thick hand down onto the surface of his desk, making the entire class jump. Harry glanced over at Malfoy, wondering why out of the entire class, it was only them two who had managed not to startle. Maybe neither of them were listening to Moody enough to bother.

A nervous laugh ran through the class. Ron turned from his seat beside Harry and grinned at him knowingly. Harry looked back at him, wondering how was supposed to respond to the happy grin, and nodded, his mind still focusing on his book's argument for a new casting technique for the Petrificus spell. He'd try it later.

"You laugh, everyone laughs. I drink from my own goblet, eat with my own utensils, check everything I eat for poisons and everything I touch for portkeys." Moody continued, his magical eye swirling around the class. Harry ignored the mad eye, to focus on Moody's real one, which was focused straight at him, and glaring.

Portkeys? Is this about the graveyard? Harry thought, meeting Moody's gaze until it snapped back to the class.

"During the past Dark War, every day I would make a list of who had died. If the list was small enough, I declared the day a success. Now if that won't teach you constant vigilance, nothing will."

The laughter in the class died out quickly, and left a sick kind of awed silence in its wake.

"You, repeat what you are saying for the class to hear." Moody ordered suddenly.

Harry looked around towards where Moody had gestured, and saw Malfoy leaning towards Pansy Parkinson and Crabbe, a clear sneer marring his face.

"Oh sir," Malfoy emphasized, "I was just mentioning how then you got locked in a box for ten months by Barty Crouch's son of all people." Malfoy repeated in a somehow polite voice, a joyous grin on his face.

The rest of the class turned towards Alastor Moody, obviously waiting to hear Malfoy punished.

Why do they care what happens to Malfoy at all? He's practically a fucking Death Eater and we're at war. What do they care if Moody takes points from Slytherin? Harry thought, eying the other students blandly.

"That I did, I failed to keep myself safe and almost died as the result, after spending ten months locked in a clothing trunk. But hell, take it this way, if that won't teach you constant vigilance, fucking nothing will." Moody answered.

The class laughed. Harry didn't.

Harry watched Moody drop a poison-detecting powder into his goblet and inspect it before he drank. He'd already tested it twice.

"Blimey, now I'm not sure if he's insane, or just smart." Ron whispered, apparently also watching Moody check his entire desk for spells before he replaced his goblet on it.

"Insane." Harry answered back immediately.

"I just want him to start the class." Hermione whispered over Ron's right shoulder. "We're four chapters behind where we ought to be in Defense of the Dark Arts, and with Umbridge we didn't even practice the material we did cover." She complained.

"Alright everyone, let's get something straight." Moody said gruffly, quickly gaining the attention of the class. Even the Slytherins appeared to respond to the rough tone. "Due to Headmaster Dumbledore and his requests, we will be focusing on defensive tactics. Still, this is a class teaching you how to fight, have no question about it. Some of you might call yourselves 'pacifists' but let me tell you, clean up after a single Death Eater raid and you won't be pacifist for long." At this Moody spat onto the stone floor. The spittle disappeared immediately.

"Ew." Harry heard one of the Slytherin girls say before Moody continued.

"A muggle named John Stuart Mill, born in 1806, said this: "War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse. The person who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal fucking safety, is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself."" Moody quoted emphatically, obviously from memory.

"That is my take on war. I will fight the Dark Lord with every bone in my body because I believe that this war is more important than me. Hell, Voldemort's war had already taken a leg and an eye from me. Apparently I'll make my life's sacrifice in parts. It is your choice to join and fight or hide in a hole. That is the freedom that the Ministry of Magic has given us, and ironically it is the freedom I've been fighting for for the last twenty fucking years. The freedom to choose to join this damn war. Don't worry too much about which choice you make, you'll know you've made the wrong one if you see me laughing while I blow you to chared little Death Eater pieces."Moody grinned, his scars stretching his face to make the expression look horrific.

Is Dumbledore honestly allowing this man to teach first years? Harry thought incredulously.

"My job right now unfortunately is to teach you how to become better at fighting but you damn well better remember to wear long sleeves to my class. If I see a Dark Mark in here, I will not ignore it, and trust me, I see quite a bit." Harry watched Moody's magical eye flicker between students, always pausing on their left arm before moving on.

How much does he already know?

"Remember, constant vigilance. I have no idea if any of you are my enemies, sitting polyjuiced before me. Right now, I don't have to care, because I won't be teaching you anything that my enemies don't already know, and I have seen a few of you fight, and the attempt, if not the results, were fucking hilarious." Moody continued. Again Harry saw Moody's real eye settle on his face.

"You are slow, hesitant, and loud. You know a wizarding duel between two experts by how intolerably bloody silent it is until the moment one of them dies. You idiots run around screaming non-lethal spells at the top of your lungs, as if by shouting expelliarmus you are three times as effective. Let me tell you, if no one else has, concentration is the only thing that makes a spell more powerful, shouting just makes your spells three times as sodding predictable. Someone here, bore me with this, what is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?" Moody shot out.

Hermione's hand shot into the air.

"Yeah?" Moody waved casually at her.

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform, which gives you a split-second advantage." Hermione answered.

"Good, some random number of points to Griffindor." Moody waved his wand casually before carefully replacing it in a holster attached to his belt.

The class laughed quietly. Harry could feel them waiting for Moody to clarify how many points he'd given out.

"Silent spells are simple, you do exactly the same wand-motions as you're used to, and concentrate on the incantation words you are accustomed to saying aloud. Split into pairs, practice it." Moody ordered, before returning to his desk and sitting down.

The class waited, looking around at each other to see if they were supposed to stand up yet or not.

"Quite honestly, that wasn't a difficult instruction. This is not a dog and pony show, I'm not going to tell you when you can get up or sit down or wind your watch or piss. We're living in a country at war, what does that mean? It means DON'T FUCKING HESITATE" Moody roared again, throwing his goblet at the side wall, which hit with a crack, instigating the screeching din of twenty-odd chairs getting pushed back across the floor as students rushed to obey.

Why on earth did I not think to practice silent incantation? Harry wondered, kicking himself.

Harry quite purposely wandered around the room until everyone was already paired up. There was an odd number of kids in the class, and he was hoping to be the one left alone to practice by himself. It worked, and he soon found himself a corner to work in.

Wingardium Leviosa, Harry cast, moving his wand in the classic swish-and-flick motion towards one of the school desks.

The motion, he'd only learned that summer, was designed to set borders for the spell. One had to swish the wand back and forth, concentrating on the edges of the object the wizard wanted to lift, to avoid trying to lift an entire wall, rather than the feather in front of it.

Harry smiled when the desk lifted on his first try. He slowly returned it to the ground, looking around for a different spell he wanted to try. He caught a glimpse of Ron's red hair and grinned.

Fuco Croceus, Harry casting, pointing his wand straight at Ron. As soon as he saw Ron's hair turn a bright, nasty yellow, he turned around, and resumed lifting his desk, laughing silently

Wasting time again? A nasty part of his brain asked him, and Harry felt himself wince. He searched through his memory for a harder spell to practice now.

Silentium Caementum Atratus, Harry cast, struggling to concentrate on the incantation words and cast the complicated silencing spell at the same time. A thin image of dark-gray stone flickered along the walls before disappearing.

Damn damn damn, I should have started practicing this weeks ago. Harry thought, cursing himself, before he dropped his concentration on magical detection so he could concentrate more fully.

SILENTIUM CAEMENTUM ATRATUS, Harry tried again, and heard the gasps of surprise from the class when the stone walls all flashed pitch black.

"An impressive display of silent magic, Mr. Potter." Moody called from the front of the class, sounding far too much like Snape for Harry's comfort. Somehow the man had made a compliment sound ugly.

"Thank you, sir." Harry answered, watching Moody carefully.

The man's scarred face looked back at him and Harry thought for a moment that the auror was going to scoff.

When did I anger him? He stood with me against the Dursleys last summer, and I haven't spoken to him since. Harry thought, before noticing the class gaping at him. Even the Slytherins had yet to shake the surprise from their faces and replace it with something uglier.

Am I sure I want to show the world how much my magic has improved? Harry questioned himself quickly, before remembering that he'd already made his decision, and for good reasons.

I'll hide the wandless magic. I can practice with a wand around the students without slowing myself down, and maybe I'll keep a little bit of that element of surprise I'd hoped for. Yeah, sure Harry, you know exactly what you're doing. Harry thought sarcastically, double checking that he'd cast the spell with a wand.

I can't even remember if I'm using a bloody wand or not. I couldn't have even done that spell without one.

Harry glanced up at Moody, and winced away from the scorn he saw there.

And bleedin' hell, I do not need another professor on my arse all the time.

Harry took out his transfiguration book, Transfiguration: an advanced study Volume II, and a quill, planning on practicing far more difficult, and less spectacular spells for the rest of the class.

He started on an intense transfiguration spell meant to change a benign object into a perfect, working watch. It was difficult because magic disrupted electronics, so the watch had to be an older style, mechanical wind-up. Every part had to be transfigured perfectly, and Harry wondered if doing it silently would be too much of a challenge for him.

"Blimey Harry, what spell was that? That was wicked!" Ron interrupted him.

"A silencing spell." Harry answered, trying not to let his concentration break.

"I think this class is going to actually teach us something!" Hermione announced happily, coming over to join them. Harry looked up at her and saw the rest of the class had left, apparently along with Moody. The classroom was empty but for Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle still trying to hex each other silently.

"Hey err..sorry guys but I've gotta focus on this." Harry said, gesturing to his book. He had a free period next and was planning on staying until he had a watch in front of him.

"What are you studying mate? It's only the first day of class." Ron asked, obviously missing the point.

"Transfiguration." Harry answered, feeling the spell he was building in his head start to fall apart. He'd been halfway through focusing on it and was losing it fast.

"What book is this, it looks old." Hermione asked, holding his place as she flipped the book to see its cover.

"OH MY GOD!" She screeched, jumping up and down. Harry looked over calmly, wondering why she was exploding.

"You alright there, Herm?" Ron asked, glancing back at Malfoy's group who were now staring at their corner.

"Apparently the muggle-born just discovered the written word." Malfoy sneered from across the room.

"Shut up, ferret-face." Ron snarked back.

"Haven't you heard the mudblood phrase, people who live in dole houses shouldn't throw stones?" Malfoy responded with a pleased grin.

"Glass houses." Crabbe whispered to him.

"You're an idiot." Malfoy replied, staring at Crabbe with an incredulous expression.

"Can't get anything past you, Malfoy." Harry said with a bark of laughter. He wasn't even sure why he was getting into this, but once he spoke, it was too late to bring it back, and Malfoy turned to face him instantly.

"What is that supposed to mean?" The Slytherin asked aggressively, turning back to the exchange.

"That you don't have any friends. You have thugs, and guess what, thugs aren't really known for their engaging conversation." Harry replied, flickering his eyes over Crabbe and Goyle, and almost feeling bad for Malfoy for a moment.

God Draco must be bored.

"Unlike you? You have nappy-haired Granger and Ron Acne Weasley for company. A half-blood, a mudblood, and a bloodtraitor. The great Golden Trio of trash." Draco replied looking the three of them over carefully.

Sympathy gone. Harry thought.

"Oh you bastard-" Ron growled, starting forward.

"RON!" Hermione yelled, grabbing his arm to pull him back.

"Oh no, Granger. Let him go. I want to see him prove how refined his family is by trying to punch me in the face. Talk about thugs then, Potter." Malfoy replied, leaning casually against the classroom wall.

"I'd do more than punch you in the face." Ron threatened.

"Oh, you mean, if you weren't getting fiercely held back by a girl?" Draco replied with a horrid grin.

"I think he means if he were willing to go anywhere near your face, Malfoy. Who knows, that level of ugly might just be contagious." Harry answered for Ron, almost grinning too now. This wasn't the full out fight he'd been itching to have for months, but at least this verbal sparing was more engaging than Dudley or the hostel grocery store man.

"At least I'm not recognized purely by a scar on my face. Which, by the way, is hideous and disgusting." Draco replied.

"I think it looks fine!" Hermione yelled.

"Oh shut up, streetwalker. No one here cares what you have to say about it. Potter certainly doesn't." Malfoy replied flippantly, before focusing his eyes back on Harry.

"You don't, do you, Harry. 17 years old and kissed once. And the entire school knows you described it as 'wet'." Draco drawled. Harry struggled not to blush.

"What's your point, Malfoy?" Ron spat out.

"It's obvious, Weasel. Your girlfriend's already blushing about it." Malfoy replied, smirking at Hermione. Harry turned and saw that indeed, Hermione was quickly turning red.

"Herm?" Ron asked quietly.

"Oh fine, I'll put you out of your misery and explain it myself. Harry "Golden Boy" Potter likes flying broomsticks a little bit too much." Draco answered with a triumphant grin.

"Jokes are usually funnier if you don't have to explain them, Malfoy." Harry commented, attempting to sound dispassionate and avoid blushing at the same time.

"I still don't get it." Ron added triumphantly.

"That's hardly an insult against me." Draco replied. "Here, I'll give you a muggle phrase for it, to help you out. Harry Potter drives stick."

"Isn't that a term about cars?" Ron asked Hermione, whispering too loudly.

"He's calling me queer, Ron." Harry explained finally, supressing his reaction to roll his eyes.

"Oi!" Ron yelled, instantly defensive. Draco looked straight at him, chuckling, flanked by his two goons. They laughed whenever he did. Draco seemed to notice that, and glared at them before turning back to Ron.

"You're not the finest argument for pureblood breeding, I must admit." Draco commented.

"Neither are you." Harry spat out immediately, his mind racing for the next insult. "A half-million sperm and you were the fastest? Doesn't say much about your daddy."

Ron came out with a choked laugh, obviously split between being furious at Draco and laughing at Harry's insult.

"At least my daddy isn't six feet under, Potter." Draco shot back equally quickly.

Harry had to force himself not to wince.

"No, he's just spending the summer bent double playing some dementor's jail-bitch. Malfoy's don't bow, right? Well then your father had better learn to kneel." Harry snarled out, and heard Hermione gasp behind him.

"But oh wait, refined Lucius Malfoy learned to kneel when he became Voldemort's lapdog, didn't he? So jail must be no trouble then." Harry continued.

Harry saw Draco pull his wand into his hand furiously, and cast a strong contego shield around the three of them to hold up wandlessly while they fought.

"Caronius-" Draco started what Harry recognized as a Dark curse that contego would block. It was only in the last minute that he realized that Draco's wand motion didn't fit the spell he was incanting, and what that meant. He rose a different magical shield just in time to block the green jolt of magic that shot at him faster than he'd have believed. The spell that broke against his shield was an eviscerating hex, Harry identified.

This could be bad, Harry thought, as he realized he hadn't even started to fight back yet, and then had to decide which class of offensive magics he wanted to use. Draco was already fighting with Class 2 'painfully debilitating' hexes. Was this supposed to be his first Death Eater kill?

Harry started a wandmotion for a freezing hex, hoping he'd be able to catch Draco off-guard and stun him. He needed to think, damn it.

"Stop." A gruff voice ordered from Harry's right.

And surprisingly, Harry saw Malfoy immediately start to obey. Harry watched him carefully, maintaining his contego shield as he saw Malfoy put away his wand.

Moody slowly shuffled into Harry's sight as he made his way between Harry and the three Slytherins. To Harry's surprise, the auror continued past them all, to sit at his teacher's desk, looking almost bored.

He's pretty damn convinced we're going to obey him. Harry thought, glancing distrustfully at Draco.

Or he's pretending, thinking we're more likely to obey if he acts like we're going to. Harry second-guessed, remembering using the trick with Dudley a few times.

Either way Moody was right, Harry noted as he watched Draco even moved to hide his wand back in his robes.

And a single word from a professor was enough to stop all of us from a hexing duel? Harry questioned, glancing between Draco and Moody. Draco looked angry, and was quite obviously grinding his teeth, but didn't look prepared to kill anyone anymore. Moody seemed relaxed. He was sitting at the professor's desk, rubbing his hands up and down his peg leg.

Either Moody has considerable authority over Draco, or Moody's act worked damn well. Harry thought, watching the crippled auror.

Harry concentrated on keeping his shield up wandlessly as he lowered his own wand and slid it into its sleeve-holster. One of the nice things about spells without casting images, Harry realized, was no one without magical detection could tell whether or not they were still in place. Draco certainly didn't realize, Harry noted, glancing at where Draco had stored his wand.

"Now sod off. Get to your next class or wherever you've got to be." Moody ordered them with a casual wave of his hand toward the door.

"You can't speak to me like that." Draco whined, putting considerable emphasis in saying 'me'.

"Alright, you can either fuck off, or I could drag you down to the Ministry and tell them I caught you attacking the great golden Harry Pottter, the Boy-Who-Lived-to-be-the-Savior-of-the-wizarding-world. We'll see how long you last sucking-face with the Dementors." Moody replied, though oddly he was glaring at Harry the entire time. Harry looked back, intrigued more than offended by the man's hostile gaze. Draco left, his robes swirling around himself as he went, which somehow gave his exit some dignity.

Draco threw a last sneer at them and turned his back on them all as he walked confidently from the room. Harry watched him carefully before leading Ron and Hermione from the room, still holding the shielding over them all.

"Blimey Harry, that was wicked. He almost pissed himself with some of those disses!" Ron exclaimed as soon as they left.

"It wasn't wicked, Ron." Harry responded carefully, trying to figure out how he could get out of the coming conversation and return to his dorm to practice silent magic and think.

"Harry, what happened back there? You've always fought with Malfoy but-" Hermione stopped, obviously struggling for words.

Harry thought about the fight they'd just narrowly avoided and started to realize how stupid he'd been.

"It was more serious this time because both Malfoy and I have apparently grown up enough to say crueler things, and apparently neither of us are old enough to stop wasting the time it takes to make them." Harry answered, angry at himself. "I'm supposed to be studying, not running around doing stupid shit like that." Harry said, gesturing down the hall at the classroom they'd left.

"Bloody hell!" Harry cursed suddenly, throwing a wandless ball of fire down to explode in a shower of sparks on the ground. Wasting magic didn't help, and it didn't keep him from seeing Hermione's pale, scared face.

Aaand there's the expression I never wanted to see with her looking at me. God DAMN do I hate this war.

"You know what, I'm supposed to be studying in the library now, and you've gotta go practice that silent magic. I'll see you two later." Harry dismissed before heading towards the closest staircase.

"Hey! Potter boy!" A rough voice called from behind him. Harry turned to see Moody leaning out of the classroom.

Didn't he just tell us to leave?

Harry growled in frustration, Hogwarts wasted so much of his time.

"What?" Harry barked back at the man.

"Come here." Moody ordered, before disappearing back inside the classroom.

"We'll meet you at lunch, okay Harry?" Hermione asked, obviously hesitant about leaving Harry alone with Moody.

She's becoming less trusting of teachers. Harry noted approvingly as he gestured for his friends to continue on their way to the Great Hall.

Harry entered the Defense classroom, and found Moody sitting in the chair beside the professor's desk at the front of the classroom, rubbing his hands over the spot where his pegleg met his knee.

"You'd think after twenty years the Ministry would provide an auror with something better than a damn twig strapped to my damn stump. And now they come and say I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. "Post" being the operative word." Moody grumbled, before glancing up at him and standing up.

What the hell does this man have against me? Harry wondered again.

"Sit down, wonder boy" The man ordered, waving towards the classroom chairs. Harry glanced over them, and instead chose to lean back against one of the individual student desks. He had a feeling he wouldn't want to be trapped in a chair during the coming conversation.