The Tinkerer

Chapter 13

Sometime between when they left Amelia Bones's office and when they came back to the anarchist café, Harry had decided that perhaps it was just about time for him to have a chat with the Headmaster.

"But you can't," Hermione reminded him. "What if he legilimizes you?"

"What ever if," Harry wondered, feeling rather flippant about the whole thing. "He may know that I know something? Well?"

"Well, yes!" she exclaimed.

"And, what of it?" Harry asked her. "We will be needing to enlist his help in any case. No, Hermione, loathe as I may be to admit it, it's just about time I share tea with the Headmaster. Even before this, you know, there were one or two matters that begged discussion."

"Oh?" she said with interest.

"Well, yes, oh," he said. "Such as why I was sent off to the muggle world to begin with, you know? I mean, it's perfectly strange, isn't it. Susan, Neville, Ernie, Draco – why, everyone thinks it's strange! There was an editorial in the Prophet about just how jolly strange it is, you know. Well, what I want to know is why."

"Harry," she said seriously, "does it matter anymore? I mean, think of it – the muggle world is what made you who you are. I mean, don't you like who you are?"

"Good Lord!" he said in amazement. "What, am I meant to be grateful? And anyway, who's to say I wouldn't be even more self-likeable otherwise?"

She tried to suppress her laughter, but all that it accomplished was to create a great, undignified snort, causing her to cover her face and rapidly redden even as she proceeded to laugh wildly at his expense. "It's just –" she tried to explain breathlessly as he regarded her with affronted indignity "– well! That hardly seems possible!"

"Oh, funny," he said irritably. "Anyway, the point really isn't so much that I don't like how I was raised, but rather that I never should have been raised in such a way! It's just dashed odd, isn't it? I mean, think of it, my family had friends, you know? I mean, why should I have to go round like a private investigator uncovering who had some connection to Mr. and Mrs. Potter, when by rights I should have known them all since I was an infant?"

Hermione frowned. "Yes," she agreed. "That is something."

"Something!" he exclaimed. "Well, yes, I think it's something, anyway."

"But really, it's hardly the most pressing thing. I mean, not right now."

"Well," he said. "That was just one example. There are other matters I'd like to speak with him about, too. D'you know, when I went to Gringotts for the first time, they told me that my education was already paid for?"

"Oh?" she asked, perplexed. "Is that bad? Hogwarts is expensive, you know…."

"Paid for by my account, I mean," he clarified with the air of someone revealing some great scandal. "I mean, someone had taken the fine liberty of pinching gold from my bank account! To pay for my education!"

"Ah," she said, and seemed to mull it over. "Well. Yes, I see. I mean, imagine if you had paid twice without knowing? Still, though, I think you should probably focus on the horcrux thing."

"Yes, I suppose so," he said somewhat moodily. He was feeling rather put out that she was rather distinctly not outraged on his behalf. "Well," he added. "There's the matter of where's all of my post, you know."

"I hope you won't be needing any help sorting through it," Hermione said with a frown. "I mean there must be piles."

"Oh," Harry said in realization of the amount of work it would entail. "Oh, that's right. Well. It's mine, anyway. I better read it. Or, I mean, at least see it."

"I really think," she said, "if you must speak with Dumbledore, which I would really not advise since he might legilimize you, or do something else untoward, well, if you do, I think the first thing you should probably ask him about isn't the post – I realize that's what we went to the Ministry about, but in light of recent things – maybe, Harry, you might want to ask him – if you must speak with him, that is – about the horcrux."

"It's not really my favorite subject," Harry admitted.

"Or how about if you don't speak with Dumbledore at all, at least not until you have some occlumency, which seems to be a sort of necessary prerequisite of speaking to him, since as Amelia Bones says, he can legilimize people without a wand – and which, if you recall, will be necessary if you want to get that thing out of you in any case, so there will be little point in speaking to him until you've got some occlumency."

"I see your point," Harry said with a frown. "Well. I suppose you're right, at that. I mean, I wouldn't want him mucking about in my head, least of all right before I get spiritually lobotomized."

"What a way to put it!" she exclaimed. "Yes, please, another coffee," she added to the allegedly anarchist waitress as she passed by. "I mean, really. Spiritually lobotomized? It's more like removing a tumor."

Harry waved away what he saw as a merely semantic point. "I was agreeing with you, you realize? I mean, I'm just saying, it's probably not a particularly good time for wanton legilimency, if you look at it. It can't be good to go into the Department of Mysteries with my brain all scrambled from an over-enthusiastic perusal."

"Not that there's any good time," she added. "Best to avoid it at any time. So yes, quite right, before having a one-on-one with a known wandless legilimens of doubtful ethical standards and motives, let's get on with that occlumency, I think."

"You know, that does beggar one question," Harry said. "How are we supposed to know if we've made any progress in our occlumency, without a legilimens to poke and prod at our defenses?"

"Well, I should think that would be obvious to you, Harry," Hermione said, apparently ernestly surprised.

"Hm?"

"The potions, of course. Your mind magic potions. Once we can resist the effects of those, I think we'll know we've made a good deal of progress."

"Oh, yes, my potions," Harry said, feeling suddenly that they were perhaps not his most favorite invention. "We'll just take those potions over and over…. God, though, those potions were horrible. Don't you remember?"

"We'll make a nice mild version at first," she said, "and work our way up at intervals. It'll be fun, I think."

"Yes. Fun. Right. I wonder if I can just make a potion that gives you occlumency?"

"Harry, be serious," she said. "I mean – well, wait, could you?"

"I dunno," he said. "I haven't really thought about it. Well, no way to say without already being an occlumens, I think," he concluded after giving it a little thought. "Or having a legilimens around to help test it. I mean, how would we know it works? We could test it against my memory potions, but that wouldn't really prove that it's proper occlumency. More likely, even if it works, we'd just have a vaccine for memory potions. A useful potion no doubt, but not proper occlumency. No, no. I'm afraid it would be a waste of time. Still, I like your idea – well, that is to say, I don't particularly look forward to it, but I think it'll work. After we can defend against the memory potions, I'll whip up some Confounding Conconctions, and maybe some truth serums and love potions and the like, and whatever else I can dig up, and if we can beat all of that then there's a good chance that what we have is proper occlumency, and we can give Amelia Bones a call and have her legilimize us to see if it's up to snuff. Well, better her than Dumbledore, I think! It won't be fun, though – I really worry about you, when you say things like that, by the way. It'll probably be quite horrible. But, well, if it's in the name of science, and in the name of giving the old what-for to a Dark Lord too, then I guess that's a suitable reason for a dash of suffering. Anyway, it's not like we have an alternative."

Hermione's smile was irrepressible. Harry, after regarding her secretive grin for a moment, said, "Something on your mind?"

"That old crown of thorns is back," she commented. "Why is it sort of charming this time?"

"That old crown of thorns," he balked. "Good grief. Well, you know, I'm not trying to be some martyr type person, but if taking a couple ill-advised potions can do some good in the world, well, I suppose I'll just have to take it at a gulp."

"Cheers to that," she said, offering her coffee cup for a clink. After a somewhat happy little silence she said, "Do you know what, Harry?"

"No, what?"

"I was just thinking. Well, if anyone can take on Dumbledore, and You-Know-Who, and Lord knows what else this world's got loaded up for you – well, I'm glad it's you. I mean, not that I'm glad you have to go through all of this. But they won't know what hit them!"

"Oh, well, thanks," he said, feeling somehow both uncertain and a bit proud.

"I mean it, Harry. Anyway, I was thinking about what you said earlier, and you're right, you know?"

"Probably," he said. "What did I say earlier?"

"We are going to change the world."

"Too right," he said. "This irrational organization of power is bound to collapse under its own weight sooner or later, you know that? Well, we'll have something else primed and ready to take its place when it does."

"If you'd like another coffee," the waitress said, "it's on the house, you know. Always good to see a young fellow traveler."

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed, startled. He hadn't seen her coming at all. "Thank you, but I think we were about to head out."

"More's the pity. Would you like to take a leaflet?"

"Oh, yes, please!" Hermione said, flashing Harry a very amused grin. The waitress happened to have a few leaflets stuffed in her apron, and happily distributed them. When they asked to buy some floo powder, she waived their fee of three nuts apiece, and gave them a tip: although their views may be widespread, they shouldn't speak of them in public. With that cheery reminder of how indiscreet the pair had been, which made Harry very grateful that the woman hadn't discerned his identity (thanks, no doubt, to his ever-trusty pointed hat), they flood over to the Hogsmeade café. Once there, Harry repeated the ritual that had been demonstrated to him by Becca the weekend prior: he ordered one "Hog's Finger," something which was neither a drink or a food and was found on none of the menus, but rather served as a code-word. The barista, the only other occupant of the sleepy café, favored Harry with a discrete left-eyed wink and muttered, "Glad to have another disciple on board." He accepted Harry's single galleon and showed the pair to the trapdoor which led to the Shrieking Shack.

"That was a bit strange," Hermione commented. "Where are we, anyway?"

"Oh, you'll get used to it," Harry said, attempting to hold himself with the aura of one who is wise in the ways of the world. "Anarchist cafés – ironically, an institution, whether in the magical world or muggle. As for where we are – well, under Main Street, I think. Or somewhere thereabouts."

"Comforting," she said, peering around the earthen tunnel somewhat suspiciously.

"Ravens might fly, and snakes might slither, and lions might prowl – but badgers are tunnelers," Harry pronounced in a voice of authority and pride. "Naturally, we Hufflepuffs do a fair bit of tunneling. You'll find, Hermione, that there's a whole network of tunnels under Hogwarts. And Hogsmeade, for that matter. Oh, and the forest."

"I was wondering, Harry, how is it that you know about all of this, anyway? And how was it that you knew that Professor Sprout would be tending the howling humphreyblossoms at seven this morning?"

Harry bobbed his head about speculatively as he looked at her with some consideration. "How do you feel about mischief?" he asked her.

"Mischief?" she repeated with some amazement. "Well, I don't know. I guess I find it mischievous."

"Well, yes, of course, but how do you feel about it? I mean, remember that nasty work we did with Zabini. Jolly good fun, or more sort of regrettable?"

Hermione took her time in considering this, something which Harry hadn't really expected her to do. Finally, she said, "It was regrettable that we had to do it, but it was a bit amusing to do it. And working out the potion was great fun. If only the Gryffindor boys hadn't spoiled it."

"You surprise me, d'you know that? I mean, I realize you sneaked out of your house over the summer, and of course, there's today … still, though, you don't seem like much of a one to fly in the face of well-groomed authority types."

"Well-groomed?" she repeated.

"Or even Professor Snape for that matter," Harry allowed with a shrug.

"Well, I'm not one to do anything without a good reason," Hermione said. "But, having a good reason, I'm not one not to do anything."

Harry blinked once as that turn of phrase worked itself around, then he said, "Very well put!"

"But I thought you liked Professor Snape!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed.

"Liked?" he repeated, amazed. "He's not easy to like. I appreciate and respect his skill in one of my favorite subjects."

"But didn't you say that you buttered him up with the concept of forming a defense club?"

"I didn't butter him up," Harry said, quite offended by the notion. "I think he's probably the most qualified to teach the subject in the whole castle. But that hardly means I like him or I'm trying to schmooze him or anything. Anyway, we've established that you're wholly in favor of a good bout of mischief when, as you say, there's a good reason."

"Why are you so interested in if I'm keen on mischief, Harry Potter?"

"Well, are you?"

"I've done little but make mischief since I've met you," she said. "Keen or not."

"Oh, come now, you sneaked out of your house and took the train all the way from Croydon to downtown and back again without my intervention. I might have advised against it, you know."

"Really?" she asked, superbly doubtful.

"Well, no. It was a good idea. I would have advised against getting caught, of course."

"I do wonder why you ask," she repeated.

"Well, I think you're keen on mischief, Hermione," Harry said. "So keen that, as you say, you've done nothing but make mischief since you got to Hogwarts and even before!"

"Maybe it is a bit fun to push the boundaries," she allowed. "As long as there's a good reason for it. I wouldn't do something like that out of spite, you know – that Zabini thing, even though I had fun working out the potions with you, it was really Susan's argument that it was a good way to avoid further trouble which convinced me. Anyway, in hindsight, maybe it was a mistake. But now, I would like to know why you ask."

"Well, having established that you're quite keen on making mischief, pulling pranks, working wheezes and all that, let me ask you, how do you feel about Amelia Bones?"

"What has Madam Bones got to do with it?"

"Call her Amelia," Harry reminded her. "She wants to be good friends, remember?"

Hermione gave a great roll of her eyes. She said, "Why do you ask me how I feel about Amelia?"

"Well, she wants to be good friends with us, and I want to be good friends with her, and I'd just like to know if you'd like to be good friends as well, or sort of just some casual acquaintance. It's good to know these things from the start in order to avoid any hurt feelings. That's something I learned from my aunt, you know."

Hermione huffed in frustration but she said, "Well, Harry, I suppose I'd like to be good friends with her, too."

"Oh, that's very good. Now, how would you feel about worshiping her?"

"What?"

"This tunnel is a lot shorter than I remembered it being," Harry said as they approached the rickety staircase that led up to the Shrieking Shack's closet which could only be opened from this direction. Harry took Hermione's hand as he led her up – a precaution that would only ensure that if one of them fell through a stair, they both would. "This place is sort of interesting, isn't it?" Harry commented as they emerged through the closet.

Hermione took a long look around the place and said, "In a way. Not really, though."

"You know, I've never really explored the shack. You fancy scoping the place out?"

"I think I've seen enough," Hermione said, her eyes locked on the giant pile of rubbish in one corner. "There's a perfectly good barrel over there. Why don't they put their beer bottles in the barrel?"

Diligently, Harry peeked into the barrel. "Already full of rubbish," he said.

"Lovely. So, are we meant to just jog across the lawn to the school from here, or…?"

"My dear Hermione," Harry said, resuming his prior air of wisdom. "Have I not told you that this castle's grounds is a perfect mess of badger tunnels? Why, it amazes me sometimes that the castle doesn't sink into the ground below, considering!"

"Fascinating," Hermione said without feeling. "So, that trapdoor, I suppose?"

Harry frowned in disappointment. He hadn't spotted the trapdoor nearly as quickly. Plus, he had really wanted to give the upper level a look-in, just to see. "Yes," he admitted grudgingly, supposing that he would have to poke around some other time. "That's the way back to school."

Once they were walking along the new earthen tunnel, not so different from the last one except perhaps a bit less straight and narrower, Hermione said, "Anyway, what did you mean before?"

"Oh," Harry said, suddenly inspired to mess around a bit more. "I just meant that all anarchist cafés are a bit similar. Whether muggle or magical, the far left make the best lattes."

At this she huffed, and her face, dimly lit as it was by their Lantern Light Charms, was so priceless that he could not help but laugh. "Oh, leave me alone," said she. "You know what I mean."

"Sorry for laughing," he said, although he still was laughing. "But you got me pretty good earlier, you know?"

"Well, you did walk right into that. What was it you said? You might have liked yourself even better if you grew up magical?" And she laughed again at the memory.

"I used the word self-likeable, I think," he said, joining.

After they had enjoyed the moment for a while, Hermione got back to business. "I was referring," she said, suddenly very pointedly, "to your strange questions from before. About mischief-making and Amelia and secret societies."

"By the sound of it, you've already put it all together!" he exclaimed.

"I really hope I haven't," she said faintly. "Are you meaning to say that Amelia Bones is part of a secret society within Hufflepuff which is devoted to mischief-making?"

"Ding ding ding!"

"No," she breathed. "Preposterous. She's the head of police!"

"Well, she may or may not ever have been part of it – I don't really know that much about our sacred and secret history, being a new initiate myself –"

Hermione made a noise of indignation but couldn't seem to form words.

Harry continued, "What I do know is that the Disciples work in her honor."

"The Disciples?"

"Of Our Lady," he clarified.

"What?"

"The Disciples of Our Lady the Saint of Mischief, Amelia Bones."

Hermione did little other than blink rapidly for a few moments, finally coming back around to a state of complete consciousness only after tripping on the root of what must have been a most virulent tree, for its roots to crop up from under the tunnel's floor. Harry caught her even though it was obviously unnecessary. Fortunately, it was sufficiently dark that she couldn't possibly have seen the heat under his cheeks and behind his throat.

"Nonsense," she finally said. "You're having me along again."

"Afraid not," he said, going to rest his hands casually behind his neck before realizing that that defeated the purpose of his Lantern Charm, then returning them awkwardly to his sides. "It's quite true," he added.

"Amelia Bones," Hermione breathed, aghast. "A trouble-maker."

Harry's laughter couldn't be contained no matter how many times she hit him on the shoulder. Finally it abated, and he said, "We prefer to call her Our Lady, so as to protect her identity."

Hermione just shook her head. "Impossible," she said. "Unreasonable, unthinkable, utterly asinine."

"True," he agreed. "It's impossible, unreasonable, unthinkable and absolutely asinine. Still, it's true."

"Explain."

"It's a club," he diligently did. "A very exclusive club within Hufflepuff. You might even call it a secret society. Founded by Amelia Bones – or founded in her honor, maybe. Not really sure. Anyway, Amelia is known as Our Lady the Saint of Mischief, and her disciples, as we call ourselves, seek to cause quite a bit of mischief while keeping very hush-hush about the whole affair. Anyway, you should join up. Or don't, it's up to you. Of course, you can't go around babbling about it."

"I don't babble," she said, offended. "But I won't talk, if that's what you mean. Anyway, this has something to do with Sonny's sister, doesn't it?"

"Perceptive as always. Er – that is to say, I couldn't confirm or deny."

"Well, what kind of things do you and Becca Albright get up to in this ridiculous club, anyway?"

"I couldn't say," Harry repeated. Hermione's look, however, didn't accommodate that. So he put his palms up in peace as he walked backwards facing her, and said, "All right, I could say. As long as you don't say. Anything about this to anyone, that is to say."

"You're babbling," she declared.

"They helped me sneak out and taught me how to fly a broom," Harry said. "Other than that, not much, yet. Well – we stole some furniture. And we regularly do little pranks, mostly on the girls in Slytherin. That's because most of our members are girls."

If there was a dark gleam in Hermione's eyes at that proclamation, Harry didn't have enough time to be certain, because as it turned out walking backwards wasn't the ideal way to traverse a windy earthen tunnel, and he tripped on a large rock, dropping hard on his bottom. By the time Hermione helped him up, her face was sufficiently serious and disapproving that Harry could only conclude that he had imagined the flash of her eyes. She said, "And why, Harry, do you think that I – of all people – would ever want to be part of such a foolish club?"

"I'm member," he said plainly. "And we're partners."

"And?"

"And, it's really annoying trying to hide things from you. For one thing, you're too smart so you always figure it out anyway. For another thing … it makes me feel sort of weird. Like, I don't know. Guilty, maybe? Anyway, it's just a club. We do fun stuff, nothing bad. It's sort of a Puff perk for the cool kids. You want to be cool, don't you?"

"My Lor – Merlin, Harry. You really think that that sort of obvious peer pressure will convince me of anything?"

"Peer pressure?" he repeated as though he were unfamiliar with the phrase. "I really don't know what you mean. I'm just trying to outline the benefits and utter lack of downsides. Besides, I already said, you don't have to join if you don't want to join."

"It doesn't really sound like my kind of thing."

Harry shrugged. "You don't have to join," he said. "But you really should. Anyway, Ernie's joined."

"Oh, good," she said sarcastically. "Ernie's joined."

"Don't you like Ernie?" he asked, surprised.

"He's a bit … overbearing, sometimes," Hermione admitted. "Not that I dislike him."

"Well, Susan will be joining, I'm sure. Her being something of a legacy."

"You won't convince me with this everyone's doing it argument!" she repeated.

"Not everyone," he said, amazed. "There's only about seven or eight of us, I think. I haven't met everyone yet, though."

"I'm not one to give into peer pressure," Hermione repeated.

Harry frowned. While it was true he had teased her a bit about being 'cool,' whatever that was, nobody in either world would mistake the great scrawny nerd that was Harry Potter for someone that was cool, and he hadn't actually meant to pressure her. "I told you that you don't have to."

"On the other hand," Hermione said. "You'll be running off with Susan and Ernie every other night, is that right?"

"Well, rather frequently, probably."

Hermione's lips scrunched up to the side. "Meanwhile, I'll just be staring at the ceiling in the suite, wondering if you've gone and blown yourself up, until Susan comes back and tells me that you had ever so much fun without me – can't tell me the specifics, of course –, and then I'll feel like such an idiot for worrying, and I'll be kept up the rest of the night by feeling like an idiot. Then at breakfast, you and Ernie and Susan will be sharing looks and laughs and I'll just be wondering what it's all about, but I won't be allowed to know, not being a club member. Eventually you'll probably invite Neville and Cerie and Justin and Wayne and Hannah to join in the fun, too, but I'll be stuck staring at the ceiling of the suite because I made such a big deal about how it's too ridiculous and childish and I won't be a part of it. And pretty soon, you'll have so many secret looks and laughs with everyone else but me, we won't even have anything to say to each other! I'll spend the rest of my Hogwarts career playing gobstones with Megan every night while you're off gallivanting around – and I hate gobstones – and of course I won't have anyone to complain to at all, because my stupid Hufflepuff loyalty will completely prevent me from saying anything to anyone who's not already part of the club, and of course they'll just say 'why don't you join too, then?' until eventually I finally will join!"

Harry coughed. "Breathe, would you?" he said. Then he decided to tease her a bit, because why not? "We'll probably invite Megan eventually, too," he said most unhelpfully. "I don't see why we wouldn't invite Megan. She's a good sport. Anyway, I mean, you might have to learn how to play gobstones solitaire."

"Very funny," she said. "Fine, you know what? I'd rather be an early adopter. So I will join your club, Harry Potter."

"Not my club," he reminded her. "Actually, come to it, I'm not entirely sure if I'm meant to be recruiting. But ah well. It's Becca Albright's club, as you deduced. We'll be talking to her this evening about your membership prospects."

"There better not be any dues," she said sulkily.

"Only due diligence, Hermione. Ah, what's this?" he added, regarding the root structure before them. "Did a tree grow in the way of the tunnel? Admirable fertilizer, though, making a tree grow up in a week. Good way to close off a secret tunnel, too. Merlin, this might be a problem…."

Hermione wasn't falling for it, though. She rolled her eyes and just demanded that he open the passage. "Fine, fine, ruin everything," he muttered in mock disgruntlement as he prodded the root with his wand. It didn't open, however. "Odd, that," Harry said, looking at it in confusion.

"Oh, just open it already, Harry."

"Come to think of it, Becca used some hex or other on the root. Hermione, you know any good hexes?"

"You're serious, aren't you!" she said in accusation. "We're really stuck!"

"Maybe just a firmer prod," he said nervously, giving the root a jolly hard poke. To his immense relief, that seemed to do the trick. The roots somewhat begrudgingly parted, allowing daylight to come through and forming a structure that could be negotiated more or less like a staircase. Harry peeked his nose out to make sure that the coast was clear and that the ferocious flora was well and truly stunned before he reached down to help Hermione climb out.

"You really will be the death of me, Harry Potter," she muttered as she brushed the dirt off of her robes.

"Yes, well, you're probably right – best not to loiter under this tree, though, if you're not in a hurry for me to be the death of you. Fancy lunch?"

Occlumency, as they discovered once they dug into it after lunch, safely alone within the confines of the potions lab in the collapsed secret passageway at the end of Hufflepuff Hall, was not particularly well-understood even by those who deigned to write volumes on the subject. The general idea of it seemed to be that one must empty one's mind entirely of emotion, free oneself of obligation, and yet retain a firm sense of oneself's self. "But where does the magic come in?" Harry wondered.

"Supposing that it's intent-based, like really all magic is, I guess the magic that actually defends your mind must somehow bring itself about once your mind is prepared for it," Hermione said, although she added, "I mean, I guess that's how it works."

Harry frowned deeply. "This won't do at all," he said. "You know, I thought there would be something more to it than this. I mean, what's the point of these books, anyway? Nine hundred pages worth of drivel if you ask me. You know, I've already got my mind better compartmentalized than this –" he checked the author's name "– P. R. Bowflanter suggests. If I didn't know any better, these so-called master occlumens don't know anything about the subject!"

Hermione gave him a most puzzled look. "You think you already have occlumency?" she repeated.

"I said that my mind is better compartmentalized than these kooks deem necessary," he clarified. "But yes, it has had the effect of making it somewhat easier to resist magic of suggestion, I think. That's not the end goal of occlumency, of course, but it's one of the things beginners notice."

"You know, for some reason I actually believe you," Hermione said with obvious reluctance. "After all, the mind works in mysterious ways, as they say, and your mind –"

"Careful," he said, although he knew she was taking another playful prod and didn't mean anything by it. "Anyway, I can prove it."

"Can you really?"

Harry cleared his throat, stood, and pointed at a rock. "Try to move that rock out of the way," he said.

"Do what?"

"Just try to clear it out of the path. Well, imagine that you want to make a path going past this lab, and that it's in the way, and move it."

Hermione just frowned at him. "Why would we want a path going deeper into this mess?"

"We'll be needing to build another room for enchanting," Harry explained patiently. After all, the demonstration would be most effective if she thought that they were clearing out the debris for a reason, and besides, they did need an enchanting workshop.

Hermione took out her wand doubtfully, but Harry said, "No, with your hands."

"Are you having me on again, Harry?" she said in irritation.

"No, I promise. This is for occlumency. We don't joke about occlumency. Or, at least, we don't so far. Anyway, move the rock."

Hermione gave a huff of irritation and briefly bent over, but then stood up again without touching the rock. "This is so pointless!" she complained. "I mean, even if I move this rock, what's the point of it? You know, it's a nice day, maybe we should just go outside."

"I'd love to go outside," Harry said. "But not until you move that rock."

She scowled quite darkly at him. "It's really pointless. I mean, there are plenty more rocks in the way. So why should I? I'd rather be doing something else."

"Well, I'd rather this silly argument be over with and you just move that rock," he said.

Hermione's flustered and frustrated expression only intensified. "Fine!" she said. "I'll do it." But then she just stood there.

"Go on," he egged. "At least try."

With another huff of frustration, she bent over again and put her hands around it, but then she just gave up and stood up again, saying, "It''s too heavy."

"Did you actually try to lift it?"

"No, but it looks so heavy. I don't want to throw my back out just to amuse you, Harry Potter! Do you know, my dad threw his back out when he was redoing the yard, and he just sat there in the armchair for three weeks! And then it rained and half of his work on the yard had to be done all over again! It was terrible! Do you want the same thing to happen to me?"

"No, of course not," he said calmly. "But it's not a very heavy rock, really, and you're young. You won't injure yourself. At least try."

"I don't want to move the damn rock!" she suddenly yelled. "It's pointless! And I'm really getting sick of your stupid games. Honestly, what has gotten into you today?"

Harry nodded. "Of course you don't want to move it," he said. Harry smiled, nodded again, cleared his throat with an elegant fist over his mouth, and walked over to her. Then he bent over, picked up the rock, and moved it to the other side of the room. "You see?" he said.

"See what?" she asked, completely confused.

"See how I moved the rock?" he clarified.

"It's just a rock," Hermione said. "I don't see what you're driving at. Wasn't this supposed to be something to do with occlumency?"

"I think you're forgetting something. There's a reason why you refused to even try to move the rock, Hermione! Our Lady the Saint of Mischief placed a powerful Why-Try Charm over this cave-in debris. That's why nobody's ever cleaned it up, even after … I dunno, sixty years or so."

Hermione looked around the cave with new eyes. "That's why I don't want to even bother trying," she realized. "The charm makes you think it's pointless."

"Yes," he said. "It also makes you think of a laundry list of other things you'd rather be doing, or which are more pressing matters to attend to. The point is, look around you! I made this great big clearing right in the middle of her Why-Try Charm. How do you suppose I was able to do that?"

"You really do have occlumency!" she exclaimed, looking at him with surprise.

"No," he amended. "I think what I have isn't proper occlumency, only something similar to it. Anyway. The idea isn't really to ignore emotions and impulses so much as to acknowledge and then overcome them. Once you recognize the compulsion, it becomes much easier to do exactly the opposite of what it wants you to do, or to carry on without it having any impact on you."

"Acknowledge and overcome," she repeated.

"Try it again," Harry instructed, pointing at another rock.

Hermione moved over to it. "It's weird," she said. "As soon as I think about moving the rock, I think of ten reasons why I can't be bothered, or why it's not possible."

"That's all right," Harry said. "If you want, you can look at all of those reasons and realize how silly they are. Your brain is telling you it's too heavy – but you just saw me move a similar rock. It isn't that heavy. Your brain is telling you that you have to get started on your Charms essay – but it's not actually due until Wednesday. Your brain is telling you to go get something to eat – but you're not actually hungry. Your brain is telling you that you shouldn't be here – but we hang out here all the time. Your brain will keep telling you this and that and the other thing until you decided not to move the rock. That's what Amelia Bones's charm does to you. But they're all bad reasons. Most of them don't even make sense, and besides, it's just a rock. No harm could come from moving it."

"All of the bad reasons sound so good though," she said, chagrined. "They're all illogical, but they don't seem illogical."

"It's a good spell," Harry agreed. "But it's just a spell. And you, Hermione, are a witch. So go on."

The rock, as it turned out, actually was rather heavy for her, but after screwing up her face and seeming to think very hard, she managed to pick it up, take a few steps, and deposit it elsewhere.

"It's just a matter of figuring out how to resist the charm," she said when she was done.

"Right!" Harry said with a grin. "Now, moving a rock is one thing: the charm isn't at its full strength when you're just purposelessly moving the rocks around. However, once we start trying to actually clear out the debris, that's when the charm works the best. It was cast with the purpose of preventing people from clearing the debris, not necessarily to prevent them from touching the rocks at all, you see."

Hermione looked at the massive pile of detritus all around them. "Don't say it," she pleaded.

"That's right!" Harry said happily. "We're killing two birds with one stone, Hermione. Practicing occlumency, and making a new room for our enchanting workshop! By the time you've finished making the room, you'll be as good as me at resisting the Why-Try Charm, and then I think we'll have a better starting place for our occlumency studies, since we will have some experience."

Hermione stared at the mound of detritus dubiously.

"Now, you'll be levitating the rocks out of the way, starting from the top obviously, and shrinking them. You can use the Shrinking Charm if you know it, or just transfigure them smaller. I bought some larger cauldrons last week, so just pile the rocks in them once they're shrunk, and we'll dispose of them later."

"You want me to do all of the work?" she repeated, amazed as his gall.

"Well, there wouldn't be any point in me doing it," he explained. "I already did this room, after all. Anyway, there are potions that need brewing, so I'll be keeping busy."

Over the course of the day, Harry had done and said a number of things to earn Hermione's ire, but asking her to build an entire workshop was apparently the last straw. "I can't believe you want me to build a whole room!" she exclaimed.

"Oh, just start with a nice, long hallway," he said with a cheery grin. "I'll help you build the room once the hallway is long enough. Don't be mad, though! Remember, this will help us with occlumency and enchanting!"

Harry did help her for a few minutes, giving her a few more pointers both on the mind arts aspect of it and on avoiding collapsing the mound on their heads. Then he let her get to her tunneling work while he directed his own attentions towards the potions that would be needed for the next stages of the curriculum he had devised for their occlumency training.

"Harry," she huffed after a while, sweat dripping down her face. "What is the point of this, again?"

"We're building up your mental fortitude," he explained as he ladled and corked phials of thick honey-like goo. "And giving you an idea of what resisting mind magic feels like. Once you've got this exercise down, we'll move on to the potions I'm making. Then eventually I'll teach you a few neat tricks you can do with mind magic to make a lot of things easier."

After taking ten minutes or so to have some water and get her breathing under control, Hermione resumed her tunnel digging.

Half an hour or so later, Harry became aware of Hermione's incantations suddenly coming more and more rapidly and went over to have a look at what she was doing. Her spells had several rocks levitating simultaneously, making their way leisurely to her cauldron, even as her transfiguration shrank the floating blocks and debris. The way she was doing all of this all at once reminded Harry of an orchestral conductor. As he watched, her pace continued to increase. A minute or so later, though, she abruptly stopped and bent over, holding her knees and breathing heavily.

"That was brilliant," Harry said.

"That was … exhausting!" she panted.

"Simultaneous multiple levitations, and transfigurations at the same time!" he gushed. "All while fighting the Why-Try! No wonder you're exhausted – and no wonder why you're the best witch in our year! Come on, you should sit down for a while."

Hermione, face very red and wet, allowed Harry to lead her over to one of the rocks they used as a chair. "Thanks," she breathed. Harry watched as she slowly caught her breath, then gave him a chagrined smile once she was mostly back to normal. "I think I'm out of shape," she said.

"Hmm," Harry said. "I wonder, do people with physically fit bodies do magic better?"

"I think they'd have more stamina," she said. "I just ran out of air … I felt like I was about to faint. My vision got all weird. It was like phys ed all over again. I bet if I got used to running long distances, it would help."

"A plausable theory," he said. "That was some impressive magic, though. It looks like you managed to beat the Why-Try."

"I had some kind of epiphany, I think," she said. "Suddenly it was like the Why-Try wasn't affecting me at all … then I was trying really hard! Like, I was doing the opposite of what the spell wanted me to do, out of sheer stubbornness."

"That makes sense," Harry said. "You've got to be careful. Remember, I almost magically exhausted myself when I built this lab. You've probably done your quotia of magic for the day, I think."

"I got a bit carried away," she admitted. "I think I was trying to prove a point … I'll try as hard as I like, thank you very much!"

Harry had to laugh. "That sounds like you," he said. "I think that's the first step, though. The second step would be letting it have no influence over you at all, rather than doing the opposite of what it suggests. That was really good progress for one session, though."

"Thanks," she said tiredly, her eyes shut as she drank more water.

"I've made several potions," he revealed. "But let's put that off until later. You need to recuperate your strength."

"I don't want to hold you back," she said. "Why don't you get started?"

Harry shook his head. "If something goes wrong, I need you to be able to help me out, you know. What will happen to me if you can't levitate me to the infirmary?"

Hermione sent a skeptical glance at the potions that he had neatly labeled and set in the rack. "Are they dangerous?" she asked.

"They're mind magic potions," he pointed out. "Memory-foggers, not as potent as the memory-erasers we made before. I made them intentionally weak, so that we'll have a chance of fighting them off. I'll make stronger ones later."

"Well, I don't want to feel like I'm holding you back, Harry. I mean, it's nice that you want me to catch up with you, but it's really more important that you do this anyway. I think you should go ahead. You've made an antidote, right?"

Harry was secretly rather hoping she might say that, so he relented with a simple shrug. "Of course. The antidote is just here. I suppose you're right, I can't let you have all the fun, can I?" he said, regarding the tunnel she had dug out.

The first potion he wanted to take was a general memory-inhibitor he had just formulated and concocted. If he was right about it, it would make the last few hours hazy in his mind without exactly erasing them. The occlumency practice would then consist of trying to throw off its effects. Harry explained all of this to Hermione, and then added, "I'll need you to explain what I'm supposed to be doing. I probably won't be able to remember why I took the potion. I probably won't remember coming up with the formula, either, so it'll simulate an unknown, foreign attack."

Hermione seemed rather nervous about the whole affair suddenly, but she agreed, taking the antidote in hand just in case.

The potion's acid yellow color belied a surprisingly pleasant fruity flavor. Harry made a mental note to figure out just how to predict the resulting flavor of potions as well as their effects, then realized that he'd never remember that mental note, then everything got confusing for him.

Harry looked around the room, puzzled but not completely disoriented. "I've taken another memory potion," he realized as he spotted Hermione and the changes she'd made to their private lab.

"Yes," Hermione said. "You're practicing occlumency. You've come up with a potion that should make remembering the last few hours a bit difficult."

"I remember … flying rocks, and chopping grombite tails. I think I remember lighting the Torch-Light stones. It's all kind of like … a dream that you forgot the point of."

"Then the potion is working. Remember that dream, Harry," she coached. "Know that it is real and remember it. It might help to sit down and close your eyes."

"I'm not really sure how," he said. "I mean, did I have a plan?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Right," Harry said. "Of course not. All right."

Harry decided that the best way would be to focus on the most prominent memory and work his way out from there. So as he closed his eyes, he tried to focus on the image of the flying rocks.

He remembered them floating around, bobbing about, making a conga-like procession towards a cauldron, and being shrunk slowly during the process. It was like something out of a Disney movie. He had felt inspired and impressed.

He remembered gently crushing the gromite tails with the side of his knife, then rapidly dicing them, until he had a large pile of the foul-smelling things. The smell was what he remembered best – it was an acrid stink that affected the whole face. It reminded him of when he once misread a recipe and poured vinegar onto a hot frying pan and it all boiled away, filling the kitchen with its repulsive vapor. His aunt hadn't let him cook anything for a month after that.

The blurry area all around these images was affected by whatever potion he had made. Something with bromite tails, quite possibly. He thought about the main purpose of bromite tails: they were used in analgesics potions, meant to numb pain but maintain sensation otherwise. He must have used it to make a memory potion that only partially blocked recent memories.

He did his best to isolate and characterize the effects of the potion, and then he pushed.

Then he remembered Hermione, orchestrating the procession of stones. He had been so impressed by it.

He remembered throwing the gromite tails into the cauldron, his face turned away from the stench.

Then he remembered what he was meant to be doing, and screwed up his face as he put his mind to the task.

The fog broke, and he remembered. It was a mundane memory, but it was his again. Brewing the potion – he'd come up with a last-minute modification that made it work his mind over in a spiraling sort of way, which he was rather proud of. He hadn't brewed an antidote at all, thinking to put more pressure on himself to get to the task of breaking its effects. A lot of good that would do, since he didn't know there was no antidote!

"It's not so hard," he said when he noticed Hermione's anxious expression as she watched his progress. She sighed with relief just as soon as he made it clear that he'd done it. "It's just like the Why-Try, really. Well, that is to say, it's different, but it's all about neatly packaging and processing the sensation."

"Packaging and processing," Hermione repeated with thoughtful interest.

"That is to say, first you isolate the sensation, and then you analyse it, and then from there it's a simple matter to disassemble it."

Hermione just shook her head in amazement. "All right," she said. "My turn."

"No, no," Harry said. "First of all, you're magically exhausted, or nearly. Secondly, you still haven't fully mastered the rock-clearing exercise. No, you're not taking this potion today, sorry."

Hermione huffed in irritation, but Harry thought she might have looked just a little bit relieved, too, and she consented without complaint to putting off the next stage until a later date.

"Anyway," Harry said, "there are some exercises we should do, I think."

"Exercise?" Hermione repeated, aghast. "I can barely feel my arms, Harry."

Harry laughed. "Academic exercises, obviously," he clarified, causing her to pinken. "Stromm's Guide emphasized the importance of meditation exercises as a precursor to proper occlumency. I think your arms aren't so tired for meditation."

"I suppose I could probably manage to sit still for a while," she agreed. "But how does it work?"

"According to Alfleaf Stromm," Harry said as he opened the book to the relevant section, which was the first section, "for outright beginners, the best practice is to just sit in a comfortable position – it could be cross-legged, or just sitting in a chair, whatever is best – and just focus on your breathing, how it goes in and out. And sort of calmly push your thoughts away, not ignoring them but just trying not to dwell on them or solve whatever problems you're having. Then there are more advanced techniques, too."

"Sit comfortably," Hermione noted as she assumed the cross-legged posture on the floor, then seemed to wonder what to do with her hands before finally clasping them over her lap. "Focus on breathing," she added as she closed her eyes and started doing so. Harry joined her on the floor, sitting far enough away that they wouldn't be aware of the breathing of the other. After a moment, he decided to take off his shoes to make himself more comfortable with his legs crossed.

Now, Harry didn't really understand why meditating was important for occlumency, since from what he understood occlumency was all about ordering the mind, while meditation was all about emptying it. However, as he sat there in silence, doing absolutely nothing but breathing, it slowly dawned on him that this was exactly what he'd been needing to do for a very long time. In his life, he was always either reading or taking apart a machine or coming up with code, or otherwise occupying his mind. To just sit there, and allow his mind to be explicitly unoccupied, was something that he found to be incredibly soothing. Although he wasn't sure if he actually reached a state of proper meditation during that session, he was absolutely positive that it had had some beneficial effect on his psyche to just sort of sit in his humanity like that.

Hermione didn't seem to be having quite as much success as he was having, unfortunately. He heard her moving around frequently, apparently getting fidgety with the passive activity. Eventually Harry opened his eyes again and saw that Hermione had assumed a more comfortable position leaning against the rock behind her, and was staring off into the corner of the room. She was definitely being quite still, but he wondered if that counted or not.

"That's probably enough for now," he said, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"I don't know how you do it!" she lamented. "I mean, you looked like a perfect little Zen Buddhist, sitting there. Have you done this before?"

Harry smiled. "No," he said. But then he remembered how he had just sat there in introspection for about two hours during the creating of BrewPotion, and how he had similarly spent several long hours simply sitting and thinking over problems various times throughout his life. Whether it was in trying to understand how a machine worked, or in trying to design a new bit of code, or more recently, trying out a new spell for the first time, he'd always seemed to just sit there and think about it for a long time before taking any action. So he added, "But I've done similar mental exercises. I'll tell you all about it when you're ready."

"Everything comes so easy for you," Hermione said somewhat bitterly.

Harry quirked a brow at this. "I don't think that's true," he said. "I don't think that there's anything worth doing that's easy. However, I also believe that anything that you deem worth doing should be done efficiently. Efficiency is one of my highest values. I think that's the difference."

"I value efficiency," Hermione said.

"Yes, but not in the same way," Harry said delicately. "You're always trying to find the best way to do a given task. I'm always trying to find the best way to find the best way to do a given task."

Hermione squinted at him. Harry squirmed slightly. Then, before she could tell him just what she thought about that assessment, he said, "You'll understand soon. It's one of those side-benefits to occlumency. You see, I've been doing something similar to occlumency for years, but what I've been doing has had the purpose of bolstering what are considered to be side-benefits of occlumency, rather than actually protecting my mind."

"But why? I mean, why have you been doing this, anyway?"

Harry thought about that for a while. Finally he said, "When you were growing up, you had your books. You used to read encyclopedias and practice maths for fun. And no, you didn't tell me that, but I know you did. I spent most of my time taking apart machines and writing programs and coming up with clever solutions to everyday problems. I enjoyed reading, too, but mostly technical books, which I skimmed for relevant information for my current problem. I didn't do maths problems for fun, so it was always about finding the quickest way to get the solution I needed. Over time, my magic helped me to make all of this more and more efficient, because efficiency was always my goal. I always had another project I needed to get to, you see. You and I are very similar people, but the main difference between us that I see is that I never particularly liked learning things the way that you do, but rather I learned everything I needed to learn as quickly as possible in order to get back to work. I rather suspect, though, that your mind isn't entirely unaffected by magic, either."

As Harry gave his little monolog, there were various points at which Hermione looked like she wanted to break in and interrupt, but his statement at the end saw her putting all of the other questions she had brewing aside. "You think that I have been doing occlumency, too?" she repeated.

"No," he said again. "Only something similar. You have a remarkable memory, Hermione. You remember just about everything you've ever read, is that not right? Bear with me," he said as he sorted through his bookbag, finally retrieving the Ultimate Survival Guide to the Wizarding World for Muggleborns by Muggleborns and opening it to a random page. He glanced over it before his eyes landed on an interesting fact. "Hermione, could you tell me, what law was put in place in 1875?"

"That's rather broad," Hermione said. "1875 was the middle of the Resolution Period, so a lot of laws were passed in that year. But I suppose the most important one was probably the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, which forbade wizards and witches under seventeen from doing magic without accredited tutors or teachers present, except in self-defense of course, as well as instituting the practice of placing the Trace on all wands sold to underage wizards and witches."

"And who was the chief sponsor of the law?"

"That would be Wrynbald Blotter," she recalled easily. "He authored the law and, some people say, used dubious means to coerce several Warlocks to help put it through."

Harry just smiled and put the book away, looking for another. After a while he retrieved his copy of Hogwarts: A History, which he had purchased from Wayne for just thirteen sickles after the boy complained that it took up too much space. He said, "I assume you've read this all by now?" and received a nod, then opened it up to a random page. "All right. So, it was only in 1543 that Hogwarts began teaching a History of Magic course. Could you tell me, who was the first History professor?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's an easy one," she said. "The subject was added at the insistence of the youngest-ever at that time and extremely popular Chief Warlock, Henry Bumblepuft, who gave up his Chief Warlock position in the Wizengamot in order to teach the subject himself."

"If only we had such men to teach it today," Harry said sadly. "That's correct," he added as he flipped to another page. "All right, here's a trickier one. When was the last species artificially introduced to the Forbidden Forest?"

Hermione frowned. "Out of the species that are still there?" she clarified.

"No, not necessarily."

"Well, that would be the wampus cat," she said. "Twelve adult specimens were introduced into the forest in 1885, but unfortunately only four survived the first winter, and they never bred."

Harry shut the book with a snap, saying, "Well, I think I've made my point. Hermione, your memory for facts is really remarkable. You've only read these books once each, and yet you know everything they say. I mean this in the nicest possible way when I say, that isn't normal."

Hermione gave him a frown. "You really think that I've been using magic to improve my memory?" she said.

"Yes. Well, I'm making an assumption. It's possible that you're just brilliant, and there's no magic. But were you always like this? I mean, think back to when you were a kid. Was your memory always perfect?"

"No," she said after thinking about it for a while. "It used to frustrate me, actually. Sometimes, it seemed like I could almost but not quite recall something I'd read or heard. Then I would have to go through all my books, or go to the library, just to read it again. Then … after a while, that problem just went away."

"That's a problem that everyone has," Harry pointed out. "Or, nearly everyone. Having a perfect memory is exceedingly rare in the muggle world, but in the wizarding world it's a characteristic strongly associated with skilled occlumens. Believe it or not, even I have had to read something more than once for it to sink in."

"It's mind magic," she breathed, ignoring his arrogant statement as she finally admitted to it.

"Yes," he said. "If my theory is correct – and I strongly believe it is – you and I have both been doing mind magic for years. However, we've been using it for different things. In your case, you've been using it to remember things, while in my case I've been using it to make understanding and solving problems easier. I think that the way that I've been using mind magic is slightly more helpful in learning proper occlumency, but that isn't to say that your way isn't helpful, too. The progress you made today with the hallway demonstrates that you have an aptitude for it."

Hermione boggled on this for a moment, then said, "But still, it isn't proper occlumency."

"No," he agreed, "but I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss it. You see, the witch community has long focused on the defensive aspects of occlumency, and treated the other benefits as perks. But it's my opinion that this isn't necessarily the right way of looking at it. Perhaps having a more efficient mind – essentially becoming more intelligent – should be the goal, and having a defensible mind should be seen as the side-benefit. In other words, what I'm proposing is that we don't merely study occlumency, but reinvent it."

Thanks for reading!

Some notes

This entire chapter is basically a dialog between Harry and Hermione. I hope you will forgive me for not making it more action-packed, but I thought it might be nice to have a bit of an interlude here.

Cheers!