Chapter 11

It was a Wednesday night in mid October, and Harry found himself in the Hogwarts infirmary yet again.

"Really Harry, I'm tempted to designate part of the room the 'Potter Ward'. Do you think it's possible for you to stay out of my infirmary for more than a few weeks at a time?"

"I'm not sure it is Poppy. It seems that I am naturally inclined to seek out your company on a regular basis. Maybe I've got a crush on you!" Harry cheekily replied.

Poppy rolled her eyes at him and threw a pillow at his head. "You're here for the night Mr. Potter. Do try not to injure yourself further until the sun rises!"

"I'll do my best!" Harry called after her as she stalked out of the room. He sighed as he gingerly lay back on his pillows. He really was in quite a lot of pain. He was going to need to reinforce the rules of the dueling club before one of the students killed someone. He'd thought the rules were very clear. No dueling unless given explicit permission by the Professor, and only then under strict supervision. No using curses of any level higher than a basic stinging hex. No attacking while your opponent's back is turned. No attacking the Professor.

Everyone understood the rules except the seventh years. For some unfathomable reason they thought themselves exempt. They needed an awakening, Harry thought. A rude one. He set his mouth in a grim line as he began to plan it out….

An hour later Hermione slipped into the room. "Harry, you've got to do something about this!"

"I know, Hermione. I'm working on it. Have you got any idea why the seventh years are acting like complete toerags?"

"I think it's because they're the ones who remember you as a student."

"What?"

"Think about it Harry. They were first years during our sixth year. They're the only students who remember us as kids. The others all see us as adults, as war heroes. But the seventh years remember us getting told off and put in detention."

"That's stupid. You really think that's why they're being such brats?"

"Yes," Hermione sighed. "So what's your plan to fix this?"

"I'll tell you, but you have to promise me something."

"Of course Harry. Anything." Hermione replied, looking surprised.

Harry looked at her, deadly serious. "You have to bring me some food first. I missed dinner because of the little snots, and I'm starving."

Hermione looked at him in shock for a moment, then grabbed his pillow and whacked him with it.

"Ouch! Hey, I'm in pain here!" Harry yelled indignantly.

"Get over it!" Hermione retorted. Then she giggled, and ran for the door. She paused for a moment in the doorway "Dessert?"

"Of course!"

And snickering, Hermione made her way to the Hogwarts kitchens.

"Harry, this plan is crazy."

"Yep. Got anything better?"

"No, but I'm not sure you can do this."

"I'll clear it with Minerva first. Will you back me up?"

"Harry…"

"Please 'Mione? It's not like I'm going to hurt them."

"Really?"

"Well, maybe the McLaggen kid."

Hermione snorted. "I really didn't think it was possible to be a bigger prat than Cormac, but his brother certainly managed it."

"Does that mean I can hurt him?"

"Well…maybe a little." Hermione smiled.

Harry smirked. "Other than the McLaggen kid, who might accidentally get a bit maimed, I promise not to hurt anyone."

"Fine then. You have my support."

"Thanks 'Mione. I appreciate it."

"No problem. Just remember that you owe me."

Three days later Harry stood in the great hall, surrounded by the Hogwarts seventh years. The house tables were gone, and the floor was covered in mats and cushions. Harry strode to the front of the hall, ready to grab his students' attention and give them a few facts about life. Before he could turn, however, a spell clipped him in the head.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. He knew what the spell was. It was a simple color-change pranking spell, designed to make the unfortunate recipient's hair a garish color. It was not unlike the one he'd used on Charlie at the Burrow. The spell wasn't the problem. The fact that a student had cast it on him was.

He turned around slowly, letting his anger at the seventh years settle in. The air around him seemed to darken, and the students later swore that the room got colder.

"McLaggen," Harry said quietly, his voice like steel, "step forward."

Ciaran McLaggen gulped and visibly shook as he stepped forward. Perhaps firing that hex at Professor Potter hadn't been such a good idea after all….

His thoughts were interrupted as Harry waved his wand and erected a shimmering silver shield around them.

"Since proper dueling seems to bore you, I've decided to show you how one duels in battle. True battle. I suggest you all pay attention. And don't worry, you'll all have a turn in the ring eventually." Harry gave a positively gruesome smile, and turned to face Ciaran head on.

Ciaran bowed. Harry laughed coldly, and attacked. Ciaran put up a better fight than Harry expected he would. He even managed a full-blown shield charm that actually blocked one of Harry's hexes.

"Professor!" McLaggen gasped out. "What about the rules?"

"We do not bow in battle, Mr. McLaggen. Did you really think the Order of the Phoenix bowed to the death eaters? Did you think we lined up in neat rows and asked permission to attack?"

Harry fired a mild stinging hex at Ciaran, who once again defended himself with a well-made shield charm. It was a beautiful shield, perfectly round and a shimmering silver-blue. The next curse tore it to bits.

Harry lifted the dome that had shielded the students, and the smoke within began to clear. Ciaran McLaggen lay on the ground, unconscious. The seventh years were all staring and, to Harry's disgust, one of the girls was beginning to cry.

"You see? Battle isn't fun. It isn't a game. It's hard, and dirty, and people die. Your friends, your family, everyone you love is fair game. Everyone is in danger. You can't protect them. You can't protect yourselves. There's Ciaran McLaggen, the best DADA student in your year, knocked out by a simple 'stupefy'. Can any of you cast it? You certainly don't know how to stop it."

"I can teach you. I can show you how to protect yourselves, how to protect your families. I can teach you to strengthen your shields, and how to take a hit and keep on going. I can teach you to set up wards that would take Merlin himself to break. I can teach you how to survive. But only if you're willing to learn. We're done for today. Someone take Mr. McLaggen to the hospital wing."

And with that, Harry swept out of the room. The students stood in silence, terrified by the transformation easygoing Professor Potter had just undergone. There was no doubt in their minds that they'd gotten off light, and that irritating Professor Potter was not something to be done without a very, very good reason.

They finally dispersed, the seventh year Gryffindors hauling the still unconscious McLaggen with them. It wasn't until several hours later that they realized Professor Potter had thrown off the color-change hex completely. A hex that came from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. A hex none of them knew how to counteract.

"Well done, Harry" Minerva said with a slight smile. "You reminded me very strongly of Severus."

Harry paled a bit at that. "Severus? Oh hell, I suppose there are worse people I could act like."

"Indeed. Now then, would you like some tea?"

Harry groaned and flopped back in his chair. "Speaking of acting like someone else..." he said, flicking his eyes to the portrait of Dumbledore.

He ducked at just the right moment. Minerva's prank hexes were much more difficult to get rid of than anything the Weasleys could come up with.