The rest of the holidays pasted peacefully. Harry had once again won himself a set of wizard chess pieces from the Christmas feast, and he and Ron played at least one game against each other a day. This time Harry didn't accept any advice from Percy, and thought he was doing slightly better than he otherwise would have.

He must have been doing something right, because late evening on New Year's Eve, he actually won his first game against Ron.

He also made time to play with Percy a bit, who had not a shred of Ron's chess genius. It made for a far more satisfying competition, and they each won games with a fair and even kind of regularity.

Percy thanked him after each one with a certain look in his eye. "Thank you for the game, Mr Potter. It was a close competition."

"Sure," said Harry. "Any time." He waited for Percy to speak. There was something he wasn't quite saying. But nothing happened, except a day passed and Percy challenged him to another game.

"Sure," said Harry the next night, and then the day after. "You know you can call me Harry, right?"

"Harry, then," Percy nodded officiously, but Harry thought he could see Percy trying. "I wanted to thank you for what you have done for my younger brother. He's changed since he met you, and on behalf of his family, I would like you to know we appreciate it."

Harry had in fact realised that Ron was growing up fast. "You mean that in a good way, right? He's a good friend. It's nothing he wouldn't do for me."

"I have been reporting to my mother how his work ethic has improved beyond recognition," said Percy, then added unexpectedly, "And he's happier now."

"Well," said Harry, uncomfortable with the attention, "Anything I've done is because your family has been so kind to me already. You guys helped me through the platform barrier, and Fred and George helped me on the train. Your mother even made me clothes and fudge, and Ron's a good mate. And you've given me advice on school and study yourself, Percy. You saved me with the library thing. It was…ah…very thoughtful of you."

The conversation was rapidly becoming more touchy-feely than Harry was comfortable with, but he felt obliged to express himself. And besides, if Percy didn't feel ostracised from his family…

"Look," said Harry. "Thanks for mentioning it. Is it okay if I, uh, ask you advice when I need it? Like studies and stuff?"

Percy gave him an actual lopsided grin. "That would be acceptable," and they parted ways for the night.

Harry wasn't sure how things would play out, considering all he was changing, but he rather thought that he was doing the right things.

The remainder of the holidays concluded rapidly, and soon the castle was bustling with life once more. Harry and Hermione were pleased to be reunited and discussed what they had read and studied over the holiday. Neville listened to Ron's stories of chess and snowfights, and rather wished that he had stayed at the castle himself.

He was also quick to reassure Harry about his Christmas present, having carried the irritable Mimbulus Mimbletonia in his arms all the way from home into the Gryffindor dormitory.

"It's brilliant, Harry," he enthused. "I've wanted one since I was eight and first heard about Assyrian plants in general. Did you know that Stinksap can be used as a kind of healing salve for animals? And it's an emergency first aid resource for injuries in the wild? My Gran was really impressed I know so much about it. It's a great present Harry." He continued more quietly, "I'm glad you liked yours, too."

Classes began immediately, and Harry's time was once again rapidly eaten up by his studies, his friends and Quidditch practice.

Oliver Wood had returned from break stressed, and his mood was slowly filtering down into his team mates when Quidditch practices began increasing in frequency.

For his part, Harry did not mind. He was more than up-to-date on his school work, was continuing his private studies effectively, and continued to find that the physical demands of playing Seeker gave him some much-needed head space.

Indeed, it was finally at this time that Harry achieved the first conscious step forward in his troublesome Occlumency training.

Despite his frustration with the subject, he had continued to reread his mysterious Occlumency book from the Room of Requirement, and realised with some surprise that the clearing-of-the-mind that the skill required had been realised while he focussed on Quidditch training.

The curious trance that he had learned to use while he searched for the Snitch, with no thoughts or distractions to divert his focus, was exactly the mental state that Occlumency first required to begin taking control of his mind.

He still brought out the practice snitch to help him achieve this strange, mirror-like calm. But once he had achieved the mental state required, Harry barely noticed what he did while on his broom. Carefully at first, and then with more enthusiasm, Harry took to emptying his mind of thought. When he did so he learned, when the forefront of his mind was empty of thoughts concerning the present he could drift a little deeper in his mind, and examine his thoughts on the past. Tentatively, carefully, Harry began drawing one bad memory at a time to the front of his mind, and began to work through them. Once he had examined a memory, reliving it in all its colour and emotion and glory, Harry popped it back where he found it, and realised it was a little neater, more compact, and better understood in his mind. Harry realised that once he had worked through more of his memories, his mind would be better organised too. His recall would be better, his emotions a little more separated from past events.

He needed to review the memories in all their gory details, and yet remain entirely composed regarding the events. Harry wondered originally if he should be starting with happier memories, but it was his nightmares that troubled him, and the horror of those memories had truly existed only in his past future.

As he grasped the trick to manage his memories, and settled more and more of his nightmares in his mind, he realised that his mind was becoming ordered. More peaceful. More structured.

He realised with a shock that the study notes – colour coordinated, chronological and everything, had been helping him the whole time too.

If anyone had told him that the trick behind Occlumency was introspection and good revision habits, he would have laughed in their face.

In the beginning, each bad memory and nightmare he faced was a struggle, but over weeks he first dealt with the big ones, then moved on to less troublesome memories. He seemed to have more space in his mind, some memories had shrunk on their own.

Harry reasoned it was the logic of mental association. When he, for example, tidied his memory of Voldemort's rebirth in Little Hangleton cemetery, the associated guilt in his other memories about Cedric became a little less vivid, a little less painful.

It wasn't the concentration, it was the removal of emotion while he was viewing the memories that he struggled with. He had to watch these traumatic events again and again while feeling their horror, before he could recall the details of the event without it. Then he pushed them back into his mind, all folded up neatly and tidily.

Perspective. That was the key word.

As his memories slowly but surely lost the bulk of their emotional baggage, Harry found himself managing his own emotions better during the day. When the emotionally charged memories of him and Malfoy facing off eased, it became even easier to respond maturely to him in real life also.

It all depended on the curious trance. Or, in Snape's words, the clearing of the mind.

The state was difficult to achieve while he worried about it, but with good intuition and luck he continued to set loose the Snitch over the Quidditch pitch, and organise his memories while he searched. Ron was frustrated that Harry spent so much time on the pitch on his own. He pleaded, and whined, that perhaps Harry could play with Ron too. However, Harry had his priorities, and focused on his own practice. He was pleased when he saw Ron succeed in pulling Neville, Dean and Seamus into the air with him.

Meanwhile, Harry could regularly be found using the Quidditch pitch after classes had ended, and throughout the weekend. His closest friends occasionally chose to watch him while he flew, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team were horrified by the example Harry was setting: Oliver Wood had a new favourite person.

Even the Slytherin mutterings about first year students on the team, of teacher favouritism, and Harry's lack of skill ceased, as he continued to accumulate hours and hours spent in practice.

The frequency of nightmares lessened as Harry gradually forced the worst of his memories into submission.

They did not cease, however, but as Harry's sleep improved and his health increased, he was driven to continue and develop the work he had started.

All of his friends and Quidditch teammates, breathed a sigh of relief the day after Harry first learned to access the meditative trance without his broomstick. The excessive hours of flying rapidly decreased from that point on, and Wood could no longer use him as an example of how hard the Gryffindor team should practice.

Finally, Harry reached the point where he had roughly catalogued all of his key memories in his mind, his enthusiasm for the skill had recovered, and it was with eagerness and excitement that he returned to the beginning to refine and improve his mental discipline.

By the time his nightmares had become rare and unusual, Harry had to admit to himself that he was rather glad that the night terror situation had occurred as it had. The first stage of Occlumency was – not completed, it would be an ongoing process as he continued to accrue more memories, but – understood, and the next stage of Occlumency could begin.

Namely, managing the memories when an intrusion was felt in the mind. Again, Harry wasn't quite sure where to start, but he thought he might sense invasions in his consciousness now. Perhaps if he was worried about Dumbledore or someone, he could start thinking about homework, and the Dursleys. There must be some way that he could shuffle memories off to one side, if he wanted to hide any secrets. He began looking into the discipline required.

It was just in time: Dumbledore, Snape or Quirrell would only have had to look into his mind at an opportune moment to see their futures laid bare before them. And as the school year began heading towards its close, Harry knew that he could face any or all of them at any moment.

Eventually, when a rare bad dream or memory jerked Harry awake at night, he calmed himself by throwing on his invisibility cloak and sneaking into the kitchens for a midnight snack. The house elves were ecstatic to meet him.

His mental resilience grew rapidly, fuelled as it was by his immediate need. Thus his good humour rose too.

The Gryffindor verses Hufflepuff game approached with speed, and Harry found himself relieved when the rumours about Snape refereeing the match began.

His teammates were bemused by his attitude, but Harry rebuffed them gently.

"Don't you think we play better than Snape can handicap us?" He grinned in front of his fellow players. "We have been practising like crazy, we've got a great team. I honestly think we have the skills for this, never mind Snape."

They looked at him, encouraged, but unconvinced. Harry's grin turned cheeky.

"Just imagine it this way. Playing in front of Snape will be practice in case we ever need to play in front of Dementors. If we can get this game, we'll get them all."

The gathering broke up with laughter and good cheer.

The game began shortly thereafter, and Harry, remembering clearly his surprising success in his last timeline, kept his eyes peeled.

Five minutes came and went without success, but Harry supposed that a repeat performance was too much to ask for.

It would be the time ripples changing the future, he assumed absently, as the Snitch appeared to be avoiding the spot he had his eyes on.

It was almost an hour later when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glint of gold, and the crowd gasped in appreciation as the Gryffindor seeker threw himself into a howling dive.

While some fans screamed in excitement, the less competitive Quidditch audience were tense in worry as he missed the ground by mere inches, and Harry pulled out of his dive with a swoop, one hand raised in triumph above his head.

Gryffindor beat Hufflepuff, 280 points to 70.

Dumbledore watched keenly from the stands, Snape's face pulled tight in dissatisfaction, but Gryffindors were already crowding the pitch, slapping and hugging and congratulating Harry as they swarmed around him.

Harry escaped the throng just long enough to follow after Professors Snape and Quirrell, to confirm that events were proceeding more or less as he expected them to.

He was quick to rejoin his friends.

The party that night in the Gryffindor common room went on until the early house of next morning.

It wasn't long before the normal castle life seemed to ratchet up a few notches as the next few weeks passed, and Hermione and the teachers kept mentioning the approaching exams. Harry, Neville and even Ron buckled down under her strict supervision to revise their notes.

And when Harry, who was driven to occasionally escape the now-stress-filled library to relax at Hagrid's hut, surprised his friends with the news that their half-giant friend had managed to get his hands on an illegal dragon egg, they were amused to see Hermione almost thrown off her game.

In contrast to Hermione's breathless protests, Harry seemed calm and in control as he sat Hagrid down firmly, and with great patience and care, organised for Hagrid to get Dumbledore's permission to raise the young beast on school grounds.

With legal consent, and the careful oversight of Professor Kettleburn, the young dragon kit was integrated into the advanced Care of Magical Creatures course until it was big enough to travel to Romania.

No fuss, no illegal escapades, no rule-breaking (on their behalf, anyway), no midnight detentions or fights with Slytherins occurred at all.

Harry was quite proud of how neatly he managed to resolve that little problem.

Harry's own studies continued apace, his private interests developing rapidly now that his memories were better stored and retrieved in his own mind. It seemed he could remember things better now he had an organised mind. The thought hadn't even occurred to him until recently, but he took full advantage of it. His studies seemed more interesting now that he was good at it, and he learned to understand Hermione a little bit more.

He was slightly astonished to discover, now that he had the luxury of energy and could afford to notice, that Neville and Ron had begun studying together. His two friends were working closely with each other, compensating and offsetting their weaknesses in an effort to replicate Harry and Hermione's study progress.

Somewhat bemused, Harry followed their example and redoubled his efforts in his own pursuits. And when his interest failed, Harry remembered Cedric, and kept going anyway.

Neville and Ron had been inspired by Harry's work ethic throughout the year, especially considering that he had been so focussed despite his exhaustion.

They were unaware what had changed, but Harry was clearly feeling better, so his two dorm mates relaxed their worried vigilance, and turned their focus to their own exams.

Harry himself, however, continued to up the ante.

He overheard Neville and Ron bringing the topic to Hermione's attention one Saturday afternoon.

"How's your study going, Hermione?" Neville began, with a quick glance at Ron.

"Hrm?" Hermione looked up from her book in the common room. "Alright, I think," she admitted. "I'm a little concerned about the transfiguration theory when concerning metals. I believe there is some kind of relation to the periodic table, but the logic is escaping me for now. There are some that seem to take more energy than others, but I can't seem to integrate those with the wand movements. Yet they insist on reacting a little less predictably than the others, and I'm not sure why."

Ron and Neville looked at her with wide eyes. Ron looked blank, while Neville did his best to channel an impressed-and-thoughtful look.

"What's that?" Ron began, before interrupting himself. "Actually, never mind."

There was a little awkward moment while Hermione met their eyes, before pushing the topic aside.

"But you probably weren't asking about that. Are you guys okay? Did you want me to make changes to your study schedule?"

Ron was quicker than Neville, but both boys shook their heads.

"Not quite," Neville answered. "We were just wondering how much study you do after we say goodnight each evening."

Hermione cocked her head.

"At night? I usually read a chapter or two of a textbook before I sleep. Is that what you mean?"

Ron frowned.

"It's just, we're a little worried about Harry again."

"Oh," Hermione pursed her lips. "Is he looking tired again? I thought he had been better lately."

"That's just the thing," Neville explained eagerly. "We think he's trying to make up for lost time. He's been acting obsessed, Hermione!"

She gazed at them in confusion.

"You mean, he's sleeping too much? Having naps? Carrying a pillow around? He's not charming his dark circles away again, is he? As if we didn't notice last time."

The boys shook their heads.

"Not quite. We don't quite know what's going on. But sometimes when we're all getting ready for bed, Harry just drops out of the conversation. Because he's reading, Hermione. Before bed. It's practically an illness, now. Surely even you can see that."

Neville continued Ron's explanation. "We were wondering, you know, if you think that's normal, reading whole books before bed."

Hermione opened her mouth to comment, and then, after a pause, closed it again.

"Whole books, you say?" She cocked her head. "Are we talking, Hogwarts: A history thickness, or Quidditch Through the Ages width?"

Ron and Neville stared at her aghast. "It's normal!? Hermione, that's horrible."

There was an awkward pause, while the three friends looked at each other blankly.

Finally, Hermione offered conciliatorily, "I think, as long as he doesn't start looking sick again, and manages to keep his grades up and still spend time with us, we should let him enjoy his hobbies without judging him."

She nodded absently to herself as she spoke. "Perhaps he would be willing to recommend some further reading for us too, for background information."

Hermione promptly began a short list on a nearby piece of parchment, leaving only Neville to watch as Ron backed away, pale faced.

There was silence, as each figure retreated into their own thoughts. From his unnoticed place on a nearby couch, Harry was amused to see the conclusions that each of his friends had reached regarding his hobbies, but the incident passed without a further word.

Time proceeded apace, and the teachers seemed to encourage the pervasive sense of panic in the school, as they began handing our more and more homework.

While Harry himself was practically immune to the pressure, Hermione became more and more nervy as the days went past.

He was careful to spend time in the library, where he often cast a notice-me-not charm on himself while studying, and was pleased to overhear Professor Quirrell being once more browbeaten into agreeing to steal the Philosopher's stone.

Exams began, which Harry swam through with ease. His wand subjects were easy, and Harry's written work had improved beyond measure due to his new interest in understanding the basics and background of class work.

He felt he even did well in the History of Magic exam, having studied the textbook avidly, and taking advantage of his self-writing quill notes.

When not revising, Harry took to haunting the corridor on the third floor within sight of the locked door, while under his invisibility cloak.

Long hours passed each day as Harry stood there, his friends elsewhere – at dinner, in the common room, perhaps in bed, hopefully assuming that Harry had gone to sleep early, and he used the time to practice his Occlumency control. Harry was intending to avoid notice as Quirrell slipped into the room, and hoped anxiously that all of his preparation this year had been sufficient for this moment.

Far too soon, Harry saw the nervous Defence Professor creep down the hallway, wand in his outstretched hand.

Harry practically snapped to attention, although he did not allow his body to move an inch, assuming that any shifting of fabric could alert his enemies to his presence. He shuffled the thoughts in his mind to a kind of blank emptiness – hoping his basic insights into the mind magics were enough for the moment.

He watched with baited breath as the turbaned Professor glanced nervously along the hallway, before muttering a small charm into the lock in the door, and slipping inside.

Harry remained silent, and his listening ears heard from behind the door a low rumbling growl begin immediately. Immediately, a gentle harp melody rose up from inside the room, and the growling decreased, finally stopping. It was after only a few short moments that a heavy tap rang out as the trapdoor fell open.

Harry noticed with some surprise that his breath was coming in short, gasping pants. His adrenaline was already running high. He tried to calm down.

Then, having heard proof that the Professor had overcome the first hurdle, Harry turned and dashed quickly away from the room, around the corner and towards the stairs.

Taking advantage of the lack of audience, he quickly slipped out of his invisibility cloak, rolled it up tightly, and called for a house elf.

"House elf," he tried, sounding firm. Nothing happened. "Pookey, I need you."

A small house elf dressed in a slightly rumpled pillowcase popped loudly next to Harry.

"Mister Harry Potter sir, is needing Pookey?" it asked with a lopsided bow. The young house elf, while professional, was still new enough to the job to be excited when given small tasks. "What is Pookey needing to be doing for young Mister Harry?"

Harry smiled at the creature. They had become close when Harry snuck into the kitchen for snacks at odd hours of the night.

"I need you to give an important message to Dumbledore, Pookey," he instructed. "Send it through his Phoenix, Fawkes. Can you do that?"

The house elf squeaked in shock, her eyes growing larger and larger.

"Mister Harry Potter is wanting to disturb the Great Professor Dumbledore, sir?"

"Yes, Pookey," Harry confirmed. "It is very important that Professor Dumbledore gets a warning from Fawkes in ten minutes. I am trusting you to do this."

The little elf shivered in nervous silence. After an expectant moment, Pookey nodded her head.

"Ten minuteses, a warning from the Phoenix. Yes, Pookey can do that."

Harry nodded his head decisively, and patted her on the head.

He snatched his hand back quickly, what if the creature felt insulted?

From Pookey's raised chin and sparkling eyes, Harry supposed that she was pleased with the responsibility and encouragement, so with a final reminder, Harry spun around and returned to the corridor.

He carefully stuffed his cloak into the mokeskin pouch, still resting safely around his neck. It was a tight fit, but he managed to jam the fabric into the bag without too much trouble.

Then, feeling nervous, Harry crept back into the third-floor corridor, and through the door.