"It is not a disgrace to fail. Failing is one of the greatest arts in the world."

-Charles F. Kettering

7

Pass or Fail

Harry got out of bed and looked out the window over the grassy expanse of Hogwarts grounds. Should he send Sirius a letter? He hadn't replied to the last one yet. But he just couldn't get himself to do it. Maybe he should find Draco. But he didn't want to do that either. Then he recalled seeing Hagrid with the hats, saying that they were going to deliberate on the students going to Durmstrang. Not wanting to do anything else, he left the empty room, went halfway up the stairs, and pushed the stone in the wall that revealed the tunnels.

In little over fifteen minutes, he was sitting among the dusty boxes of Dumbledore's closet, listening to the Heads of House consider the names taken from the top hats.

"I'm not quite sure if he'd behave himself, Albus," McGonagall said of a seventh year boy. "Warrington's been rather rowdy all his years here. Who's to say he'll be any different at Durmstrang?"

"Then put his name back in the hat," said Dumbledore. "Now, let's move onto the sixth years."

Harry heard someone shake one of the hats, the thick parchment hitting the sides lightly. "Alicia Spinnet."

"Excellent student…" said Professor Sprout.

"…and Quidditch player," finished McGonagall.

"She's a kind person," said Professor Flitwick, "I think she would make a fine addition to the group."

"Then we're agreed. Put her name on my desk," said Dumbledore.

The next few names were denied the privilege of joining the people to go to Durmstrang, and when McGonagall picked Adrian Pucey, they debated for many minutes over whether he should go since he was kind of a jokester, but got excellent grades. In the end they allowed him a pass. They also allowed Summers and Terence Higgs to join them. Then the names of Fred and George Weasley were picked, and the professors grew worried, wondering if they would be able to control themselves.

p"I have no doubt they know how to control themselves. I simply believe they choose not to," said McGonagall, who was, remarkably, on their side.

"They would ruin the school and everyone's impression of Hogwarts," replied Snape. "We cannot bring them there."

"They may be tricksters, but they are kind-hearted; they only do what they do to make people laugh. How bad can that possibly be, Snape?" asked Flitwick.

"Fine, let them go."

Harry wished he could actually see the teachers inside, but wouldn't dare open the door for fear of someone hearing it open or seeing him once it was. Next were the fifth years; the first name picked was Cormac McLaggen.

"Highly intelligent," said Flitwick.

"But such arrogance," said Snape.

"McLaggen excels in his classes and is friends with many students," replied McGonagall. "His arrogance has nothing to do with this decision."

"Maybe it should. We don't want Durmstrang to think Hogwarts students are full of themselves, do we?" Snape retorted.

"We'll let him go, Severus," Dumbledore said. "If someone more suitable is picked from the hat we shall choose them instead."

A few people were immediately rejected, but then a boy named Stebbins, two girls, S. Fawcett and Vicky Frobisher, were also allowed to go to Durmstrang. Then McGonagall said, "Cho Chang."

Sprout said, "Such a kind, charming girl."

"And quite the intellectual," said Flitwick.

"I agree," said Snape calmly. "She would be a great student to bring to Durmstrang."

"Roger Davies."

"I heard he is quite a charmer with the ladies," Flitwick chuckled in his high voice. "He'll be very popular with the Beauxbaton girls. And, of course, he does very well in school."

"I see no reason not to bring him," said McGonagall.

Dumbledore stated, "There's our six, now onto the fourth years."

Harry adjusted his seating on the floor, moving closer to the door than he had previously been. He leaned against the frame of the door, curious to see whether or not he would get a pass. Based on the people they were already permitting to go to Durmstrang, he knew he was a very likely candidate.

"Susan Bones."

"A little shy," said Sprout, "but I think she would benefit from going and meeting other people. She's a nice, polite girl."

"I agree," said Flitwick, and Snape replied, "So do I."

"Zacharias Smith."

Suddenly, the room went silent, though at first Harry didn't understand why. McGonagall said, "No, I don't think he should go. He gets good grades, but he's just so…unpleasant. I'm sorry to say this about a student, but he is."

"Sadly, I completely agree," said Flitwick. "He is very rude."

"Who's next?" Snape asked.

"Ron Weasley."

"He's somewhat shy as well, I think, but his grades are decent," said Sprout."

"Only because Granger helps him, I don't doubt," Snape retorted.

Harry couldn't help but snigger at the thought of Weasley getting help from Granger. Couldn't he just read and complete his homework on his own?

"Minerva, Filius, what do you think?" Dumbledore asked.

McGonagall replied, "Ron Weasley is a charming young man, he may not be the most intelligent, but I think he would make a great addition to the group already going."

"I agree with you, Minerva. But if only he practiced his charms more often, he would be much better," said Flitwick.

"Put Weasley's name on my desk," said Dumbledore, "and let's move onto the next student." There was an indignant sigh that Harry guessed was Snape, and then there was more shuffling of paper. The Head of Gryffindor House said, "Draco Malfoy."

"He's smart and he does very well in my class," said Snape.

"Yes, he is a clever young man," Flitwick said.

McGonagall sighed angrily and then said, "Well, lucky for him if he isn't chosen here, his father will, by some means or another, get him to go, so we might as well give him a pass."

There was a slight pause, and then the headmaster asked, "Minerva, who's next?"

"Oh, I grabbed two at once by accident."

"We'll choose the better of the two."

"Blaise Zabini and…Terry Boot."

"Hmm…" said Professor Sprout. "Both have, I think, average grades, but Boot is friendlier and would be better with our foreign friends."

"I would have to disagree, Pomona," Flitwick responded. "I believe Zabini would be better with our friends from Durmstrang and Beauxbaton. He can be rather annoying, but he is charming.

"I don't believe Zabini is charming in any way. And he is certainly more than just annoying," said McGonagall. "He and his mother are also known for being intolerant of people's blood purity. We cannot bring him to the games, where we advocate camaraderie and cooperation between the schools and its students."

"Severus, what do you say?" Dumbledore asked.

"I, too, believe Boot would be the better choice, despite Zabini being in my House. Boot is known to be a friendly boy and works well with others."

"Well said. Who else?"

"Hermione Granger."

Flitwick responded with: "Yes, yes, yes! She has a superior intellect."

"She would be a remarkable student to have at Durmstrang," said Sprout. "And not only is she incredibly smart, she is very friendly. She's made me laugh many times."

"She's a know-it-all," Snape replied. "We should let her go based on that? Yes, her knowledge is widespread, but she can be exasperating here, and will no doubt be so there as well."

"Severus, we can't deny a talented student to go to Durmstrang simply because you feel inadequate compared to her," McGonagall replied.

Harry chuckled from inside the closet, keeping his hands over his mouth so as not to be heard.

"I do not feel inadequate next to a student, I simply believe she—!"

"Severus, Minerva, enough," said Dumbledore. "This is not about you or any other teacher, it is about the students. You would all do well to remember that. Let's find the last student to go, and then we can choose the champions. How many more names are there in the hat, Minerva?"

"Just one: Harry Potter."

Harry leaned in closer, pressing his ear to the wood of the door. He was curious about what they would say regarding him. Maybe he had mentally overreacted before. Now that he knew Draco was going, he wanted to go as well. He didn't want to miss out on all the fun. But he was a double-edged sword – intelligent but famous. Would they not let him go because of his fame?

"Potter's such a kind young man, and he's such an intelligent boy," Flitwick piped. "He already knows some of the charms I teach for the first time."

"I agree wholeheartedly," Sprout added. "Despite being a Slytherin, he is very aware of other students and their feelings, and I feel he would do very well with the students of Beauxbaton and Durmstrang."

"As much as his fame would be beneficial for Hogwarts and Britain overall, it might overshadow the actual point of our visit: the Triwizard Tournament," said Snape. "You also all seem to neglect the fact that he is hot-tempered and impulsive."

"Well, I suppose you would know better than anyone, wouldn't you?" McGonagall asked.

"Why would you say that?" Snape sounded taken aback.

"Potter spent last summer at your home, didn't he?" McGonagall asked.

"Yes, he did."

"Well, Severus, you mentioned the fact that he is hot-tempered, but you never said whether or not you believe he should go."

There was a slight pause. "Despite his fame, and his arrogance…I do believe Potter should have a pass to Durmstrang. It is quite clear that last year was hard on him."

"Severus, have I heard correctly?" Dumbledore teased. "I believe we are turning you to the dark side by making you like Harry."

"No, I would certainly not go as far as saying that, Professor."

Dumbledore chuckled happily. "Let's move to the candidates for champion."

Harry left about forty-five minutes later after the ten candidates had been chosen, remembering only three of the names since they had been popular among the professors – Angela Johnson, Cedric Diggory, and Montague. The others had been discussed casually and with not much enthusiasm. He wasn't sure which he would choose as champion since he had only met Johnson on the Quidditch pitch, had never met the boy named Diggory, and wasn't much of a fan of violent and quick-tempered Montague.

He made his way down the stairs to the dormitory to find that Draco, Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott were already in bed.

* * *

The post arrived early Monday morning, as Harry ate his eggs beside a tired and groggy Blaise. He hadn't seen Draco since their minor tussle in the corridor, but he honestly didn't mind. He knew they would get over it eventually, but it was just a question of when.

Blaise opened his Daily Prophet, and Harry looked over to see that the front page news was about the reinstated Triwizard Tournament taking place at the Durmstrang Institute for Magical Study. It said that the students would be arriving at the school, which was speculated to be near Bulgaria and Romania, around the 30th of October.

"I wonder when Dumbledore will tell us who's going to Durmstrang," Blaise said.

Harry didn't want to tell his friend that he already knew that he wasn't going, but that he and Draco were. He only nodded and replied, "Hopefully soon."

As breakfast was drawing to a close, Professor Snape went down the table giving the students their schedules. Harry saw that his schedule was mostly similar to his schedule last year, but this year he had Defense Against the Dark Arts first thing Monday morning with the Gryffindors.

He was intensely curious about the professor teaching his favorite subject this year. Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody was definitely an interesting person, and no doubt his classes would be quite fascinating as well.

Despite being mad at each other, Harry and Draco sat at the same table out of habit fifteen minutes later in class. The room was vastly different than how Remus Lupin had kept it. Where before there had been cages containing unusual creatures, there were now numerous circular glasses, like magnifying glasses without the handle, around the windows and door. Mad-Eye Moody was standing in the front of the room, watching and waiting for all the students to be seated. Now that he was closer, Harry saw that he had gray hair, thick scars all over his face that had long ago healed, and his broad nose was crooked and seemed to have a piece missing. Of course, the man's main attribute was not his wooden leg, but one of his eyes, which was larger than the other, electric blue, and was constantly twitching to look around the room.

Moody cleared his throat, used his wand to close the door behind the last student, who gasped at the sudden movement, and said in a gruff voice, "Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts. I can guarantee you all that this class is not to be taken lightly. The Dark Arts and the people who follow it are constantly vigilante, and so you should remain always alert, always cautious, and always aware of your surroundings."

His magical eye looked around the room. "Now, according to the Ministry, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses, only how to defend yourself, and not how to attack; none of the dark curses and spells that one would need to really to ward off other witches and wizards. You lot aren't supposed to know about illegal curses until your sixth year, but Headmaster Dumbledore reckons you can cope, that you're old enough to deal with it, and I believe the sooner you know what you're up against, the better.

"How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen before? A wizard who's about to curse you, whether illegal or not, isn't going to tell you he's about to do it. There are no pleasantries involved – no handshakes or hugs or smiles. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert at all times.

"So today, right off the bat, we're going to start with the worst offenses of the Dark Arts."

Harry stared at his professor, listening carefully to his words. He saw Moody's magical blue eye stop at him for a moment and then continue its wiggling glances around the room.

"There are three Unforgivable Curses. Using any one of them on another witch or wizard is a deep offense and results in a life-term imprisonment of the individual at Azkaban," continued Professor Moody. "Does anyone where know one of the curses?"

Granger, sitting at the front of the class, instantly raised her hand, her arm extending straight into the air. "Yes, Miss…"

"Hermione Granger," she said. "One of the Unforgivable Curses is the Imperius Curse; it causes the victim to do the caster's bidding unquestioned. Some don't even know they are under the curse since it is said to feel as if the victim is in a dream-like state, but if the victim has a strong enough will they can fight the curse."

"Well-said, Miss Granger," Moody stated, moving around his desk to open a drawer. He took out a glass jar in which three large, hairy spiders were scuttling around inside. With his large hand, he grabbed a spider, keeping it in his palm with some difficulty. Wand pointed, he muttered, "Imperio!"

Harry leaned forward in his chair to watch as the spider was flung around in the air, doing spirals and summersaults and then crawled upon some of the students' desks. A bunch of students laughed – he could hear Draco and Blaise chuckling – but Harry was too busy watching Mood's scarred, stern face.

"Do you think it's funny? Would you like me to do that to you?" Moody paused, the spider stuck mid-air, and the class stopped laughing. "Or rather, would you like me to force you to jump, say, out the window? Or how about the lake? I could force you to drown yourself, or someone else." He placed the spider back into the jar, as he continued, "With this curse, I would have total control. Like Miss Granger said, the victim does the caster's bidding completely unquestioned. Therefore, I could make any one of you do as I wanted without hesitation. But the Imperius Curse can be fought, and in the coming months I will teach you how. Now, who knows another?"

Moody's magical eye looked around and landed on Neville Longbottom, who was sitting towards the back of the room. "What about you? Do you know one?"

Harry turned in his seat. Longbottom gulped, his face turning red. "Err…I know one – the Cruciatus Curse."

"Ah, yes. Longbottom's your name?" Moody asked, and the boy nodded, looking down. He grabbed another spider. "This curse is one we will not be practicing in class, as well as the last one." He pointed his wand and said, "Engorgio!". The spider swelled, and Harry heard Weasley whimper nearby.

"Crucio!"

The spider began to jerk and twitch, a pained screech emanating from it, as it rocked back and forth on Moody's hand. Harry stared, teeth clenched. He knew that pain. He had felt it not too long ago, and he couldn't stand watching the small creature feel it, like knives in flesh, like he had.

Harry slammed his fist to the desk. "Stop it!" Moody relented, and the spider's body relaxed. He placed it on his desk instead of inside the jar. Harry turned in his seat to see the class looking at him, except Longbottom, whose fists were clinched like his and whose face was white.

"You don't need knives or spikes to torture someone," said Moody. "Pain is powerful; it can be a very coercing force. Some wizards don't even need the Imperius Curse when they can use the Cruciatus Curse instead. And the last curse?"

The room was silent. Harry didn't see Granger raise her hand, though he was positive she knew the answer, just like he did. "Anyone?" Moody asked.

"Avada Kedavra," Harry replied in a quiet tone.

The professor's magical eye looked at Harry before his normal brown one did. "Yes, the last and the worst. I imagine you know more about this spell than anywhere else in this room, Mr. Potter. Avada Kedavra…the Killing Curse."

Professor Moody reached in for the last spider and placed it on his desk. Wand fixed, he exclaimed, "Avada Kedavra!" Brilliant green light flashed before their eyes, and suddenly the spider that had just been trying to scamper away was motionless, its legs suspended stiffly in the air. It was clearly dead.

A bunch of the students gasped. Lavender Brown had a hand over her mouth. Harry's gaze was fixed on the spider, but he could feel Moody looking at him. "There is no countercurse for this spell. There is no blocking it once it's been spoken. And no one has ever survived it, none of course, except Mr. Potter."

Now he could feel more eyes on him than before, but still Harry looked at the spider. He had first read about the spell at Snape's house last year, but to hear the words spoken, to see it done was much worse than he could have imagined.

"Although we will not be practicing this spell, though I doubt any of you could do much damage if you pointed your wands at me right now, those are curses – Imperius, Cruciatus, and the Killing Curse – are what you need to be familiar with. You need to know about them should certain circumstances arise. No point pretending they don't exist. You need to be prepared, and that's what I'm going to teach you. I'm going to teach you to fight. But I'm also going to teach you constant, never-ceasing VIGILANCE!"*

The class flinched, and then the bell rang loudly, and the entire class was startled once again. Harry gathered his books and his parchment, stuffing it carefully into his messenger bag. He heard Seamus Finnigan ask Dean Thomas, "Did you see how Moody just killed that spider? It was so quick!" By the time he stood up, Harry saw that Draco had disappeared from his side, as had Blaise and the rest of the class. The only other person remaining was Neville Longbottom. He was staring, grim-faced, at the desk in front of him.

Harry walked toward the door, but then hesitated, looking at Longbottom. They weren't friends; they had barely said a word to each other ever, but somehow he felt compelled to say something.

"Hey, Longbottom…err…are you all right?"

Longbottom glanced up at him quickly, and then merely nodded.

"Are you sure? Was it about the spells we learned?" Harry asked, curious. "It's all right to be afraid of them, I know I am."

"I'm not afraid of them," Longbottom muttered, finally getting up from his seat. "They make me angry."

"I know what you mean."

Harry turned when he heard Moody walking toward them, his wooden leg clunking against the floor. "Longbottom, would you like a cup of tea? I have a Herbology book I would like to show you." Longbottom nodded, and Harry decided that was his cue to leave.

He pulled the strap of his bag higher onto his shoulder as he exited the room to find that Draco was leaning against the wall, waiting. "Oh. I didn't know you were still here."

"That was certainly an interesting class, wasn't it?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, it was. Did you hear Moody say that we're going to practice the Imperius Curse? I wonder what that means. How are we going to practice it when it's illegal?"

"I have a feeling Moody doesn't give a crap about whether these spells are illegal or not."

"Yeah, that's probably true."

There was silence as they descended the stairs towards the Transfiguration classroom, and Harry wondered why Draco was finally talking to him again, why he had waited for him. Draco abruptly stopped walking and said, "Okay look, I didn't mean what I said before."

"You didn't say anything! That's the point."

"I know! Can you let me finish? I was wrong to get mad about you being friends with Hagrid again. Obviously I can't stop you from being mates with him, but I guess it was just…sudden, that's all. You had such a big fight last year, a rather loud, public fight I should say, that it seemed so out of the ordinary and sudden that you're friends again. It's not that he shouldn't forgive you, I just didn't think he would."

Harry started walking down the stairs again and Draco followed. "We're not buddy-buddy like you said before, and I don't know that you'd call us friends, really, but we're getting there. And he hasn't necessarily forgiven me either."

"Oh," was all Draco said, but that was all Harry needed to know that they were all right again. "Yep," Harry replied. And they walked to Transfiguration a few minutes late, much to Professor McGonagall's intense dislike.

* * *

As Harry lay on one of the couches near the unlit fireplace, reading the first chapter of the Dark Arts textbook, the stone wall opened and Severus Snape walked in, a piece of parchment in his hands. The students in the room perked up, their gazes following him to the notice board. Harry got up and walked over with a bunch of others to see that it was a complete list of all the students going with Headmaster Dumbledore to Durmstrang.

Wanting to confirm that he was indeed going, Harry looked at the list and saw his name in print. He smiled, closed his book, and went downstairs to his room. He placed the book under his bed with the others and grabbed the box with his stack of parchment and quill. He had to tell Sirius that he was going to Durmstrang and that he would be witnessing the Triwizard Tournament. But then he realized he couldn't send the letter until he had the Two-Way Mirror transformed.

Harry went into his trunk and grabbed one of the mirrors and the small book of spells, leaving to find an empty corridor. He saw Blaise sitting off by himself, looking annoyed and upset. He thought of going over, but knew that Blaise just needed some time alone.

The second floor was relatively empty. He passed only Professor Flitwick, who smiled at him casually. He knew the back halls were usually unoccupied since there was only one classroom, an office, and Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Harry took the mirror from his robe pocket and stared at it, turning it over in his hands. He had to transfigure it, but only so it stayed until Sirius held it in his own hands. If the mirror transformed back before he got it, then the guards would keep it from him.

He searched through the small book and found a spell called Scribblifors, which turned an object into a quill.** But how would Sirius get the mirror back from a quill? He obviously didn't have his wand. And Harry wasn't sure how to add a timed limit to the spell.

pWith the mirror placed on the floor in front of him, he took a knut from his trouser pocket to test the first spell on it, to see how he would do. He held his wand tightly, pointing it at the coin in his other hand, and said, "Scribblifors!" A brown quill flickered into existence, but then flickered back. He took a deep breath and tried again, and suddenly, there was a real brown quill on his palm. He couldn't help but smile, but really he had done nothing. The mirror would be more difficult and he still had no idea how he would get it to turn back./p

Harry dropped the quill and stared at the mirror on the floor. He pointed his wand and said the spell, but it only flickered like a flame. "Oh, come on!" Harry shouted, not realizing he was so loud. "Scribblifors!" But it only flickered again. He grunted in aggravation. "Scribbli—!"

"What on earth are you doing, Potter?" McGonagall exclaimed. Harry jumped slightly and then turned quickly toward her. He hadn't heard her footsteps.

"Err…sorry. It's just that…" Harry glanced at the Two-Way Mirror and saw McGonagall follow his gaze. "I need this looking glass to appear as something else, but only until someone gets it in a few hours, and I don't know how to do that. I was trying to get it to look like a quill first."

"Why do you need it to look like another object?"

"I'm—I'm sending it to someone and he can't have it look like a mirror or he won't get it."

"I see," McGonagall said, a hint of a smile showing. "Well, that spell is a bit complicated for a fourth year. Besides, you don't actually want to transfigure it, you simply want it to appear so. And you don't know how to do that because I didn't teach it to you yet, so if you don't mind, Mr. Potter, I think I'll do it myself and teach you this later on in your schooling."

"Err…sounds good to me."

Harry took a few steps back to give his professor some room. She pulled her wand from her pocket, and then he watched her brandish it in the air, making loops a few times, before flicking it at the mirror. Instead of the Two-Way Mirror, there was a blank piece of parchment.

"Thank you, Professor!"

"I wouldn't mention this to anyone, Potter."

"I wasn't going to."

"Good, because I shouldn't be helping students smuggle things into Azkaban, but say hello to Sirius for me, Lupin, and Dumbledore." McGonagall gave him a wide smile, and then walked away, leaving Harry in slight shock. He should have known that she would realize who he was sending it to. Who else couldn't receive the actual object but someone in prison?

Harry picked up the parchment and the brown quill he had transformed and walked back down to his dormitory to write a letter to Sirius.

------

* Loose paraphrasing and quoting of Moody's speech in Goblet of Fire.

** Scribblifors is a spell from the Harry Potter Trading Card game.

A/N: Sorry the chapter was a day late. I've been pretty sick lately, and I've been really busy with schoolwork, so I haven't had time to do any writing. I only have one more chapter to update with, so I'm going to have to put the story on a small break. Sorry, guys! The next update will be April 17th, in two weeks. So that I can get some writing done – hopefully many chapters will be written, though I'm still swamped with work. Thanks for being patient!


Preview of Chapter 8—Dirtied Hands & Unintentional Words:

Montague finds out he's been chosen as champion and celebrates with Dungbombs, and Harry finally speaks with Sirius through the Two-Way Mirrors…