Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling

Magicks of the Arcane

Chapter XXXIII

Standing at a window near the library, Harry looked out toward the stairs ascending from the boat dock to the Great Hall. Lights flickered at irregular intervals along the battlement. Carried this way then that by the breeze, they looked like red and orange leaves in flight, as if an autumn tree was trying to shake them off without success.

Harry leaned against the windowsill, scratching his cheek and staring at nothing in particular. Today had been the first time he'd really had to shave. In this regard, Ron had it much harder than him. Ron sometimes spotted a red mane the wind would scatter in one gust were it to blow past the walls of Hogwarts. He had never missed a shave since discovering this phenomenon. Or at least that was how it had been before Harry had left.

Harry turned away from the window. The flames outside would keep dancing even with his back to them. They were pretty, and quite calming in a way. But looking at them was not his purpose today, even if they held the power to make him forget for a precious few moments.

Each day Albus played the slave driver and tried the same. He taught and lectured, illuminated and frustrated in equal measure. Then the Wizengamot usually called him in and the short reprieve ended. Harry was glad for the time they spent though. He was grateful that Albus tried his best. That made one of them at least. He felt far too keenly like he stagnated and that nothing he discovered in the Grimoire, if he discovered anything at all, had much value.

The feeling stemmed from something he did not like to think about and circumstances had done their best to make it hard for him. But that was no excuse to let something slip he could actually influence, like a friendship. He had just rediscovered that one. Discarding it without care because he stood staring at flickering lights seemed wrong.

The search for Ron might be successful, or it might fail. A look, however, would not hurt. In any case it might keep his thoughts away from troubled waters for a while. That was quite valuable these days.

He pulled the Marauder's Map from his pockets. The lines shaped the outline of Hogwarts and Harry began searching. He had luck. Ron's dot was moving on the map and kept going at a steady peace. The dot went up to the seventh floor and Harry took a few shortcuts to jump a corridor. In a mix of metal and tapestries the hallways streamed past afterwards. The lights were out and it was all silent except his shoes.

He took a detour to avoid Professor Sinistra patrolling the sixth floor and soon was two corners away from Ron. Just one row of armor and a silly bend stood between them now. Harry slowed to a careful walk, taking another glance at the map. Ron stood still and then began walking in circles.

What are you doing, mate?

The thought lasted as long as it took Ron's dot to vanished from the map. Then it was replaced by a static noise of incomprehension—a curious kind of blankness. Harry blinked. Then he pressed his face closer to the map.

Ron's dot was gone and remained as such. What? Harry rushed around the last corner, where he came upon nothing but air and an empty corridor as a whole. To the side hung a large portrait but Harry paid it no mind.

He turned, looking down the corridor on each side for a place to hide, especially one that could be concealed from the map. There was none, however, which was quite unsettling.

The castle had swallowed Ron, then. Or had he apparated away? Harry shook his head. No, Ron couldn't have left like that. Hermione would scold him for entertaining that notion even a second long. What, then? A magical solution to the problem? Or had Ron found another way to leave the castle? Earlier Harry had believed he knew every entry and exit. The assessment now turned out to be quite premature.

Closing his eyes, he extended his senses outward. The castle was always awash in colors and magic, lit by sound and suffused with energy. But there was something different here, something beside the sound and color. A concentration of magic that was easy to sense but hard to interpret. It felt spongy, and it was complex. It imposed a condition, a demand for action that had to be fulfilled before something else could happen.

Reaching deeper, Harry tried to take a peek behind the curtain of conditions. Now, what do we have here—

Icy fingertips trailed down his spine and all hairs on his body froze to pins as his senses hit on the magical construct. He clenched his eyes shut, concentrating harder. So much of… of everything.

Had the magical concentration before seemed complex, he now looked into the workings of a behemoth of which he understood nothing save that it existed. His mind reeled at the sudden knowledge that something like this was hidden in Hogwarts. Though maybe he shouldn't have been surprised. He was at Hogwarts, after all. And while part of him wished to decipher the rules of this thing he had discovered, he knew that he would never be able to unravel this construct or glimpse at its particulars in understanding. Well, if he were to reach a hundred years, perhaps. No need to be too pessimistic.

Ending his trance left him staring at the wall. In all its blandness it was now almost something to be afraid of. Had Ron stumbled on this by accident? Harry suddenly felt small again. The same feeling he had when he had first walked through the castle at eleven. Infinite possibilities, secrets behind secrets. A treasure trove unable to be depleted in a lifetime.

And even though this place now frightened as much as it intrigued him, he was thankful for its existence. To know that he was still capable of awe in a time like this, to experience this feeling once more, filled him with a sensation of warmth. For minutes he stood staring at the blankest wall one could find in all of Hogwarts, and to him it was the most beautiful of all.

Eventually, as the clock ticked on, a yawn escaped him. He glanced around again. Ron would return to this place sooner or later, but Harry didn't want to wait that long tonight.

In the end he kept staring for another ten minutes, then left, thinking, That's one hell of a thing you found there, Ron. One hell of a thing, I say. To where he would leave he didn't know quite yet though. He hesitated to return to Grimmauld Place; there the memories would eviscerate what little respite he now had found. But wherever he'd go, one thing was sure: Next time he'd find out where all this magic led to.

In the far west of the Forbidden Forest was a small clearing, where neither trees loomed like angry, malformed gods, nor Aragog and Centaurs held their daily dance. The canopy of leaves was a bright green and porous like a straw carpet treaded too often. Sunbeams shot in hundred little bars toward the grassy floor, stitching a motif of their own. The light liked to play with the shadows on a trunk-sized rock, at times shaping a grin.

Harry had found this spot for himself two days ago while following Albus' advice that training might yield more fruit after a change of scenery. The added benefit was that he could seclude himself. Staying away from his problems and troubles wouldn't work forever. For now it worked well enough though. Only the nights were hard. There he had nothing to do beside sleep, and sleep found him seldom.

He liked the clearing, though the grin sometimes bothered him. Especially when it stretched from one edge of the stone to the next, as it did at the moment. Driven to movement by wind, the leaves manipulated the interplay of shadow and light. The corners of the lips pulled up, then down.

On the flat surface of the same rock, the Grimoire lay open as well. It displayed the page with the tortoise to Hedwig, who relaxed on a branch above. From time to time she sent trills of encouragement Harry's way. Often she left him for a while and played at the brook that ran nearby.

Harry glared at the grin that now turned mocking. It did that frequently when he failed at his attempts to cast. In the end he concluded that it was Mother Nature's effort at stubbing creatures of lesser intelligence. He hadn't made much headway, after all. Not in deciphering Erimas Parkinson's legacy, nor in finding solutions to his other problems.

But that didn't mean the breakthrough wouldn't come eventually. Harry didn't know what drove him toward this book, but something kept him glued to the pages. As though he'd enter a state of true contentment if only he were able to unravel this mystery.

It was something intangible, which made it hard to explain his obsession sufficiently, even to himself. In the cases where he began questioning his motivations, he quickly reminded himself that Erimas had run away from his family. A secret that possessed the power to frighten a Parkinson into flight from his own blood was one worth knowing.

There was something else, too. The sensation of magic taking hold but then dispersing without effect. He knew something was happening, or was about to happen, and he wanted to see it. The result of the spell refused to show, however, as always.

"Experiment," Harry muttered. "Experiment and follow the evidence…"

He had experimented. Plenty even. He had cast the spell on stones, on spoons, on books, and all other manner of objects.

Once more he directed his wand and cast at a stone. Nothing happened. Above, the sun blazed with an unnatural heat, just as it had done these last days as well. Tired of the sweat, Harry pulled the light robes over his head. He threw them carelessly to the forest floor, shoes and socks soon following. Clad in shorts and liberated by a soothing chill he began walking to the Grimoire, from there to the edge of the clearing, then back again, and now in circles around the rock, grass padding his bare feet.

Spoons and books were non-living entities, and with those the spell seemed not to work. That much he concluded with certainty after trying his hand a hundred times at it. What else, then? It might be easier if he knew what would happen should he find the right target. If only he knew what to expect from the spell… But all he did at the moment was using the wand motions and picturing the tortoise. This had, if not produced a tangible result, then at least conjured a thrum of magic.

Harry stopped his circling around the rock. The word tortoise bounced around in his mind like an echo in a subway station. A tortoise… now wasn't that an animal and not a spoon? Maybe with a living, breathing…

Can't use a real animal to experiment though. He looked around the clearing for a suitable piece of rock to transfigure. Then he paused. Weren't transfigured animals real for the duration of their transfiguration? He sighed, raked a hand through his hair, then shook his head. No time for philosophical debates, Potter. Let's do this.

He chose the animal depicted in the book. Perhaps the visual link both in mind and in the reality outside of it would help the spell do whatever it was supposed to do.

He concentrated, and a moment later a tortoise sat in front of a crouching Harry. It moved laboriously ahead as if in flight but unable to speed up. "Well, then," Harry said, pointing his wand. "I fucking dare you not to work."

The magic, provided by every pore of his being yet having no discernible origin at all, sizzled through his body. It streamed into his wand and out of the tip, and from there toward the tortoise. Again the magic wavered in the air, wobbled as if poking a mountain of jelly, then dissipated.

Harry stared at the slow tortoise. He didn't move a muscle. Then he slowly rose from his crouch, gritting his teeth. He resumed circling around the rock on which the Grimoire still lay. Playing with shadow, the grin of light mocked him again.

Research is a pain, Harry told himself, scratching his shoulder and doing his rounds. He wouldn't ask Hermione—the girl was stressed as is—and Albus had no time either, still being on the hunt for yet another minister. Maeve knew how long that particular quest would take him. But even if he didn't ask for help, what would Hermione do were she to solve this mess?

"Experiment," he said in voice mimicking hers. "Check."

"Observe the results." He shot the tortoise a look of contempt. "Check."

"Discard the failed experiments." Harry vanished the tortoise. "Check…"

"Find new ways to experiment and follow the evidence." He stopped in his tracks, looking up at Hedwig. She had been watching him the whole time with a stare both patient and full of the fond exasperation found in a lifelong partner. Then he looked back down to the soft moss he was currently treading.

"What evidence, Hermione? What bloody evidence?" He wanted to accuse her method of being faulty but stopped mid-breath. He exhaled slowly, then began his trek around the stone anew.

Hermione didn't even know that he was doing this. Her words were fragments of conversations long past that he had gathered up from the deepness of his memory for this occasion. They were words from when she had tried to tinker with potions on her own.

Think, Potter. Think. What happens when you use it? Your magic starts going in bold, then becomes shy like a First Year Gryffindor marching up to Angelina for a date. Does that mean it fails to connect with something? Am I failing in supplying enough juice for this to work?

First things first, he told himself. What hadn't he tried yet? Living matter was out, as was non-living matter. What's left, then? Harry narrowed his eyes in on an acorn lying on the ground a few feet away, while his mind combed the possibilities. Was there anything other than life and not-life and… magic?

Could've thought of that earlier.

Living, non-living, and magic. Those were the three dimensions to reality as he knew them.

"Hedwig!" he shouted up to the treetops. "Tell me I'm an idiot!"

Hedwig complied with a trill of amusement, and Harry went back to his experiment. How could he measure if Erimas' legacy affected magic? He needed a spell. One that traveled slow enough so he could then cast the Grimoire spell and observe the results. Harry brandished his wand. Excitement rushed through his body in waves.

This was it. He just knew it.

Harry flung the slowest spell he knew—an orange ball of light—and then flicked his wand for the other spell to—

The orange ball crashed into a tree, gouging out a round hole. A flock of birds shot up some yards away. Harry frowned. The slowest magic he knew was still too fast for him to cast the other one on it. How was he supposed to accurately measure anything like this?

"Find new ways to experiment and follow the evidence," Hermione's voice told him again.

He resumed his circling. Then he halted abruptly. With a grin spreading on his face, he began carving a simple rune scheme into the ground. Exactly seven seconds after activating the matrix, a gout of flame would rise. That should be enough time.

He readied himself, Hedwig above leaning forward on her branch as well. Then the tip of his wand met the centric rune and his magic rushed forward, setting the rune aglow. He quickly went through the casting motions while imagining the tortoise. The fire shot up, a rough line of red and orange, and he cast Erimas' spell on it.

His magic hit an obstacle once more and wavered. Harry pressed on, feeling the heat of the fire warming his whole body. Just a bit more, he told himself. The flames licked at the air, jumping this way, then that. Just a tiny bit more, he thought. Come on!

Then he saw it. Even though his magic still poked a mountain of jelly. Even though he still had to pour a frightening amount of power into the spell for his magic not to desert him.

For a moment all was clear and brilliant in his mind. Then it dulled to a hazy outline and became sluggish. Hedwig's trill seemed distant, and the heat of the flame coursed through his body like a snake, though the feeling vanished eventually.

"You've got to be shitting me," he said, his eyes oscillating between the flame and the Grimoire.

Then the fire died out.

In the seventh floor once more, and this time Harry came prepared. He had cast a concealing spell to hide himself, no need for the cloak, and was waiting patiently for Ron to come by. Earlier during his wait he had tried to delve deeper into the magic of the wall. He had tried his best to decipher more of the gargantuan construct of magic behind it. He did so even though he still believed it an impossible task.

Then Filch had ambled past, cantankerous as ever but without seeing him. It had come as such a surprise that Harry, sunken in his thoughts, almost fell over in his cross-legged position on the floor. For the first time in his life Filch imparted, however unknowingly, a lesson on Harry. He taught him that shutting off all senses but one was a bad idea when you were waiting on someone.

Having gotten schooled by Filch, Harry now waited half an hour with both eyes open. Until Ron appeared. His face was set in a mask of determination. He had shaved. Ron began pacing in front of the mysterious wall, just as his inked footprints had circled on the map back then. Three times Ron went up and down along the wall. After the third he turned, expectation glimmering in his sunken eyes.

Harry's senses picked up a monstrous movement of energy behind the wall, a shifting to and fro of magic, threads fading, appearing, reconnecting, ordering themselves in a completely new system. An archway appeared, a simple door set within, and in trying and failing to comprehend this phenomenon Harry almost missed Ron going through.

He managed to get a grip before the door closed and followed into a room as large as the Great Hall. Inside, Ron was already stretching his limbs, doing a few squats and jumping jacks.

Then Ron drew his wand and the room attacked him. Spellfire rained out of nowhere, and Harry had to keep himself from casting a shield on instinct. Ron though hadn't noticed him. He was weaving between spells, dodging hexes and curses, putting up brittle shields when appropriate. A yellow beam crashed into his hastily erected barrier. It fizzled out, and then Ron was already turning again, batting at other darts of colored light.

Harry observed, reassessing his old mate by the second. Ron didn't manage to escape injury, but he had become better, and much better at that. Harry couldn't remember seeing Ron that agile in… well, he couldn't remember seeing Ron like that at all. His movements had become smoother. Even though he still cashed in on a lot of spells, it was an astonishing transformation.

Harry watched Ron a while longer. Eventually Ron stopped and braced himself on his knees. His cheeks were puffy, and sweat was beading down his brow.

Harry materialized beside him. "You've been doing this for a while now?"

"A few… weeks," Ron said, trying to even out his breathing. "But where the hell do you come from? I checked each time before going in." He paused. His leg twitched in a spastic motion, but the rest of the body was too exhausted to turn around quickly. "Your dad's cloak?"

"Almost, but no prize."

Ron shrugged. He was toweling his head with his shirt. "What're you doing here?"

"Hermione's been worried. You keep vanishing."

"Last days of school, OWLs are almost over. I doubt anyone will be angry if I don't patrol the halls."

"That's not what she's worried about," Harry said.

Ron looked at him from between the folds of his dirty shirt. "I want to get better."

"Right." Harry glanced at the destroyed targets, remembering the show Ron had given him. "You are getting better," he said, wondering about the strange feeling of pride inside him that was also mingling with apprehension. "And I know what you're trying to do."

Ron shrugged again. His expression wasn't nearly as nonchalant as his gestures. "The Order," he said. "I want to join the Order… I will join them sooner or later."

Of course it was the Order. It had probably never stopped to be his goal after Mr. Weasley's death. Ron's thirst for revenge was quite similar to Harry's own. Harry wondered what he'd do if Albus were to tell him he wasn't allowed to fight Riddle.

"You think killing the guy will make you feel better?"

"I don't care."

"That's new."

Ron shook his head. "Doubt I'll find him. Not looking either… not anymore. Though I wouldn't hesitate if he finds me." There was a glint in his eyes. "Dad died to get rid of all this blood bollocks. I'll make that happen. However I can. Order seems the best way to go about it. Feel free to tell me if you find another."

The words carried conviction. They rang such a bell, Harry felt as if he contained Notre Dame. No, he wouldn't convince Ron today. Nor in the future. Harry wouldn't endorse Ron's participation in the Order, but there was something in higher ideals that appealed to him. How much of those ideals were feasible was another question altogether.

The silence stretched. Then Harry asked what had burned on his tongue since he first took notice of this place. "Seriously, mate, what's with this room? You're even vanishing from the map."

"I do?" Ron laughed, and Harry was glad to hear that it wasn't the weak, despairing one from before either. "And I thought I had already experienced all the awesome this room offers. It's pretty simple actually."

I doubt it's simple at all, Harry thought. The complex clusters of magical threads that held this thing together were beyond anything he'd ever seen.

"How so?" Harry asked.

"Well, it gives you what you need. Or want, depending on the definition. You walk in front of the wall—three times—think about what you need, and voilà. One room tailored to your wish."

"It gives me everything I need?"

"Never tested the limits. I reckon you can't magic yourself a woman, mate. For shame."

"We think alike, kind sir." Harry said this on reflex. He regretted it immediately after. Women weren't a good topic right now.

Luckily Ron kept talking. "I know that you can modify your wishes inside. Nothing too big. Like, you need water?" Ron scrunched up his brows in thought. A pitcher of water appeared in his hand. He scrutinized the pitcher. "No idea if this is drinkable. Didn't McGonagall rave about some laws or such?"

"Gamps."

"Thanks, Hermione."

Harry flicked his wand, and the pitcher emptied itself over Ron's robe. Ron blinked, then lifted his own wand. Jets of water arced at Harry, who didn't think about shielding. Ron wanted to play with water? Harry would be happy to oblige.

"You're getting cheeky," Ron said, increasing the output of his water spell.

Shedding his soaked robe, Harry ran sideways, dodging a spurt of water and bubbles.

Adding soap now, are we? Bloody bugger. I'll show you water, mate.

As always when in need of a great quantity of water, Harry overpowered the first water shield he ever learned and did so without remorse. And like before, a waterfall rushed out of his wand, filling the room at crazy speed right up to the brim. Ron held against it, wishing himself a table to stand on, then haphazardly engorged it until his head almost touched the ceiling depending on the swell of the water.

"Ha!" Ron shot another, weaker jet of water at him.

The Engorgio must have taken a lot of energy.

If Ron thought he could hide from his attack… With wide-spanning motions, Harry called up wind and hurled it across the water, gale after gale. Soon waves splashed against Ron's large desk. It began to tip dangerously under the attack of wind and water.

"That's cheating!" Ron cried as he steadied himself, crouching on the desk's surface and holding on to the edges. "You're cheating, damn it!"

Technically, he wasn't wrong. Adding wind to a water fight wasn't exactly fair sportsmanship. But Ron had used transfiguration first, so Harry guessed it was okay. With a stab of his wand, he sent another wave (this one as large as the room) toward Ron.

Ron shook his head in disbelief. Before the wave could hit him though, he took a running jump off the desk. He dove head first into the water just as the table tipped over to the other side.

Seconds later Ron broke through the water, coughing and sputtering. "You're cleaning this up."

"The hell I will." Then Harry remembered Ron's words about the room. "Why don't you wish it away?"

Ron closed his eyes and concentrated. A large window front materialized at one side of the room. The windows opened outwards and all the water flooded through them. Once only puddles remained Harry walked over to the windows which overlooked the Black Lake.

"Not bad," he said.

"Vanishing the water didn't work. Had to improvise."

Harry wondered if students holing up near windows on the floors below had seen a sudden and tremendous gust of rain, a waterfall coming out of nowhere. But it was night, so at best, Filch might find some large puddles to clean come morning. Then he remembered that the windows overlooked the Black Lake as if they were directly above it, and his head began to hurt from the possibilities and questions this room threw up.

He decided to stop thinking about it and, crisis averted and water drained, let himself fall to the floor, where Ron joined him.

"A bit overkill, eh?" Ron said. "I mean, come on… waves?"

Harry turned his head and grinned at him, feeling a weightless kind of emotion. He had missed this. "I'm a sore loser."

"I noticed."

They lay there for a while, both silently staring at the ceiling, until Harry spoke up. "If you want to learn how to fight, you need real opponents."

"You offering?"

"I've not much time. I still don't like the idea of you joining the Order."

Ron remained silent.

"Riddle's not waiting though. If he targets Hogwarts, you'll need as much training as you can get."

"Well," Ron said, "getting shot at by the room is pretty much what I can do on my own."

"How about Hermione? You could ask her."

"You kidding? OWLs are still on the plan. This stuff is helping me get better. I doubt she'll think the same. She'll never do it."

Harry grunted. "I wouldn't count on that. Besides, she's better than anyone here at academics. If there's someone in this castle who already learned enough for the OWLs it's her."

"If you think it helps… I can ask, but the remaining school year isn't long anyway."

"That's all I want," said Harry, watching Ron's tired face. All this magic, the late hour of the night, and the frequency of his training had exhausted Ron. That was another point. Hermione would make sure he wasn't running himself into the ground.

"You should get some sleep. You look like death warmed over."

Ron didn't protest that beyond flipping him off. He heaved himself to his feet, casting a drying charm on his clothes. "I'll see you around, Harry."

"Yeah, see you later."

Next morning Harry caught up with Ron after Ron's Divination class. They walked down the corridors, Harry garnering some attention. Ron looked at him bleary-eyed. The common effect Trelawney's classes left on people.

"Making sure I'm really asking her?" Ron said.

"Yesterday was too late for going back to headquarters."

"Uh-huh…"

"Grabbed an unused room here; Dobby found me some sheets."

"Useful fellow."

"He is. Two Galleons a month."

"Two?"

"He wanted three originally."

Ron looked over. "You shortchanged Dobby?"

"He shortchanged himself. Right trade it was. He wanted to haggle for his pay. Corrected me when I said 'Yes' to the three Galleons."

"What's a house elf do with money?" Ron said.

They passed by a group of older students who must have heard them. The three Hufflepuffs craned their necks and gave them confused looks.

"I've no idea what Dobby's getting himself."

"Clothes?"

"I wonder." They walked a minute longer. "I'm not here for Dobby though."

"Figured," Ron said.

"Talking with you and Hermione seems a good plan. She's the one who asked me for help."

"If you say so."

"It's only right that I'm presenting the findings," Harry said. He smiled at a surprised First Year. The kid almost dropped her books, then gathered herself and made for the next floor.

"Interesting case," Harry said. "The mystery of Ronal Bilius Weasley. Didn't make it easy with that room."

"Don't use my full name. You're not my mother."

"Won't happen again."

"Great." Ron's enthusiasm was muted. "Let's search for Hermione. Ought to be around somewhere."

Now with a common goal they began their search and failed, quite unexpectedly, to locate her in the library. Next they went to the Gryffindor common room to ask if someone had seen her. There they found Hermione. She sat in a chair, a tome open in her lap. She was leafing through the pages, but her eyes were fixed in a far-away stare, as if looking at the ink and not the meaning of the words.

Two first years were lazing in front of the fireplace. They played wizarding chess. The other students had probably taken to the library for the last days of their exams or were laboring in class or had moved outside to the Black Lake.

Harry let himself fall onto the sofa next to Hermione. "Hey."

She jolted. "Harry!"

"My name. And look who I've found." Harry pointed at Ron. "Big surprise. He's not doing anything stupid."

Ron made sure to kick at Harry's legs as he took the chair opposite them.

"Well," Ron said, "I'm sorry for not doing my rounds?"

Hermione sighed. She was smiling though. "It was never about the patrols."

"It wasn't?"

"What have you been doing?"

Harry cleared his throat. "Millicent Bullstrode."

Both lashed out with their legs and Harry lifted his feet expertly and let them kick each other instead. The two first years grinned as they saw it, and Harry winked at them. Then he nodded at the door. They understood and packed up their chess-set, moving out of the common room, leaving them alone.

"Horrible," Ron said.

"He's right, Harry. You're a terrible human being."

"Continue," Harry said. "Shower me with praise."

Hermione looked to Ron for guidance, but Ron shrugged and scratched his nose. The companionable silence ended when Hermione picked up her previous question. No one was there to overhear them, and Ron and Harry told her. It was cute how her lips parted with each bit of information about the room on the seventh floor. It was the same look Ron often showed when he sniffed bacon, just more womanish.

"It transforms into anything?" Hermione said.

"Far as I know, yes," Ron said. "You've to wish for the big things in front of the door though."

"There's a limit on what you can do inside, then. We should test that out next year."

"Why don't you two test it out this year?" Harry said. "Ron needs a partner."

Hermione glanced at him. "I'm not good at dueling, and our OWLs start in two days, Harry."

Putting the OWLs at the end of the sentence, now that's something new.

It created hope, and Harry was committed to finding Ron a good partner for several reasons. One, after not telling him about Jean he felt he owed him. Second, the valid problem of Riddle's possible attack. And third, Hermione could keep an eye on him to stave off possible revenge recurrences. The last wasn't as prevalent anymore as Ron seemed to have gotten a grip on it, but you never knew.

"Time to get better at dueling then, I say," said Harry.

Hermione frowned. "Is You-Know-Who planning something?"

"Isn't he always?" Harry took off his glasses, cleaned them, then put them on again. "Hogwart's as secure as can be, but I wouldn't put it past him to attack eventually. He doesn't like to be predictable. I want you two prepared should it happen."

"The OWLs…"

"It's good practice," Ron said.

"He's right. Working your magic daily helps."

"… but—"

Harry leaned forward to Hermione. "I doubt you'll need more studying. I know you." He grinned. "That's the reason I know that you know all there is to know for the OWLs."

That made her brighten up. She still took a minute to think it over, but then the furrows in her brow vanished.

"I'll do it," she said. "Only an hour a day. And you do your rounds again."

"So it was about the patrols."

"It's always been about the patrols, Ron"

They talked back and forth after the decision was made, and Harry liked the banter and how both of them cheered up. It made it easy to not remember other things. But all good things end eventually. Students came from their lessons and the library and the Black lake, and they filled the common room up tighter than a can of sardines.

"Well," Harry said, rising from the sofa, "that's that. I better get back to my research."

"See you around?" Ron said.

"Your research?"

Harry laughed at her. He waved at them and then pushed his way past the other students.

The Hogwarts Express stood at Hogsmeade Station, red and long. Everyone was searching for seats or loading up their trunks and securing their pets. They made a lot of noise, like a swarm of bees, and they talked about their upcoming holidays. All Prefects save two tried to keep order on the platform.

"You'll take care training with Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione had a heavy bag with books slung over her shoulder. The rest of her luggage was already secured in a sealed compartment.

"Will do." Harry saluted her. "Albus already powered up and I'm still alive. Don't see that changing anytime soon." It was a pretty little lie. Albus was far from hitting any ceiling.

"Make sure it stays that way," Ron said. His trunk lay at his feet.

Last year Ron and Hermione had traveled back to Kings Cross in different compartments. This time they would share again. Hermione looked wistful when she glanced at the castle, but she seemed happy. The other students didn't share that feeling after their OWLs. There were no results in yet, but her expression after each exam had told a story of its own. Ron had weathered everything as well, better than the exams the year before.

"You two will continue training once you get back?"

"Not just then," Ron said. "I went to Professor Dumbledore."

Harry looked at Ron. He had tried and failed to get a hold of Albus for over a week now. But that was not the reason his face settled in a featureless shape. "You asked him to let you join".

"I did."

"Ron—"

"Hear me out," Ron said. He took a deep breath. "Dumbledore didn't let me join. It's not about the age, he said, but the lack of skill. I asked him for a permit though. He's big at the Ministry, after all."

"He gave it to you?" Harry said.

Ron grinned unsurely. "I can train at the Burrow over the holidays. Dumbledore didn't even look surprised when I asked. Man's unflappable, I say. And I got one for Hermione too."

"I'll come by during the last two weeks of holidays," Hermione said to Ron. "It'll come in useful."

"Definitely," Ron said.

"You should make good use of them," Harry said. The steam whistle of the Hogwarts Express sounded. The conductor was leaning out of his window and nodded sternly at them.

"We'll do that, no worries," Ron said.

Harry nodded. He gave Hermione a quick hug and slapped Ron's shoulder. Then they went inside, and Harry waved lazily goodbye. Slowly the red train moved out and Harry stared at its retreating form.

He wasn't against them training, but Albus' action reeked of possible recruitment in the future. Harry wanted to avoid that if possible. This war had cost too much already. He didn't want to involve them. Not after he had just found them again.

Soon the train wasn't visible anymore, and Harry turned sharply toward the trail leading up to the castle.

Harry entered the office, sparing his surroundings only a short glance. Albus was standing in front of the war tapestry. Britain glowed a sickly orange.

"Harry," Albus said, turning to him. "It's been a week already."

"You've given Ron and Hermione permits."

Albus took a seat behind his desk. He folded his hands in front of his white and yellow robe. "I did."

"The Order is too dangerous for them. They can get killed any minute."

"Has young Mr. Weasley failed to inform you that I denied his plea for entrance?"

"You still want to recruit them."

"That is a long time off. But when the time comes I will ask them, yes."

"I don't want you to," Harry said.

Albus raised an eyebrow. "Explain your reasoning to me, then. Why should I refrain?"

"I don't want them anywhere near a battle. Mrs. Weasley is already grieving enough."

"You speak as if young Ronald is dead already."

"If he joins it might happen quick like that."

"Forgive me, Harry, but that is rather presumptuous." Light flickered in Albus' eyes. He rose from his seat and went around the desk to stand in front of Harry. "Had young Ronald asked purely for the sake of avenging his father, I would not have given him anything beyond consolation. But he did not. He asked to continue the legacy of Arthur Weasley, who was the kind of man found once in a thousand."

Albus' voice was calm, though he seemed larger. "Do you deny your friend that right? Would you judge him unworthy of continuing in his father's stead, too young? Is his fate yours to command?"

Harry's throat was dry. "I'm his friend."

"You are indeed," Albus said. "And if the roles were reversed? If Ronald Weasley were to render the judgment that the world was too dangerous for you, that you could not be allowed to continue what your parents died for?"

Harry jerked back as if struck a physical blow.

Albus sighed and clapped his hands on Harry's shoulder. He looked him directly in the eyes. "Your wish to see them free of harm is commendable. It is what makes you the exact opposite of Tom Riddle. But you should never forget that it is they who, in the end, decide which way to go.

"That we should never presume to decide another's fate is a lesson I had to learn the hard way when it came to you, my boy. I learned it far too late though, and I implore you not to make the same mistake. You are far too good to repeat the errors of an old man like me."

Harry understood, he really did, but even if he comprehended it on a logical level, all that he was rose up against the thought of them joining the Order. He clenched his eyes shut for a moment and tried to get the overly emotional part of himself under control again. Albus' hands still weighed on his shoulders, at once reassuring but also foretelling that the inevitable was coming whether he liked it or not. It wasn't his place to decide for his friends though. Someday they might join the fight. And someday they might die as a result.

Only one thing could solve this problem. It seemed improbable, but it also suffused Harry with a new sense of determination and urgency. He had to become better, fast. All these problems he had were distractions. He needed to focus on Riddle, or nothing of this would work out in the end.

"I'll have to kill him before they join."

Harry avoided looking at Albus. He feared to see denial in his mentor's expression—not of him killing Riddle, but of doing so in time. Albus voiced no opinion to that effect, however. Rather, he hummed in agreement, his hands leaving Harry's shoulder as he walked back to his desk.

"We will have to accelerate your training during the holidays. And it just so happens that the Wizengamot found a replacement Minister at last, which means nothing else than that my time, as of now, is readily available once more."

"Who is it?"

"That I cannot tell you, unfortunate as it is. To save his identity until he can be protected by a thoroughly vetted group of guards we decided—not entirely unanimous, mind you—to bind ourselves by oath. Which leaves us now with but one issue to talk about, your training."

"Right," Harry said. And now that he had calmed some, and that the matter with Ron and Hermione was, if not solved, then at least under control as far as his own inner turmoil concerned it, he could finally show Albus what he had discovered a week ago.

And boy, Harry thought, rubbing his hands in his mind, it'll kick you out of your precious socks, old man.

"I got what I wanted from the Grimoire," he said, leaning forward and watching Albus' face in anticipation.

"Oh?"

If Harry had been looking for surprise, he found none. It seemed, rather, as if Albus took him eventually finding the answer as a matter of the obvious. Which was heartwarming if disappointing in the sense that Harry really wanted to surprise the man. But, he told himself, the best is yet to come.

"That book important?" Harry pointed at a leather-bound tome on the desk

"A cheap copy of an original I have at home."

"I want you to throw it at me."

"If that is your wish." Albus didn't question any further, took up the book, and hurled it at Harry.

As the book sailed through the air, Harry twisted his wrist through the wand motions, thought of the tortoise, and called up his magic. Just as the tome was about to hit him, the spell took effect. The book slowed in its flight as if suddenly traveling through gelatinous mass and Harry, moving at the same speed as always, went in a relaxed manner to the left, feeling a pleasant warmth emanate from the lit candle on the shelf to which he turned. Albus' arm, pulling back from the throw, moved in a nature similar to the book, as did his mimic, and Fawkes, who was in the process of flapping his wings.

In a rush everything returned to normal, the book thumping against the wall Harry had stood in front of earlier, Fawkes flapping away, and Albus' arm pulling back to its prior position.

Immediately after, Albus shut his eyes. Harry could only guess as to what he was doing. Harry sat down, rubbing at his eyes. It wasn't that late, but he was easily exhausted these days.

"Did you make yourself faster?" Albus muttered in such a quiet tone Harry doubted he had spoken at all. "No," Albus continued, "or if you did, you would have had to improve your perception and reflexes as well. What, then?" He stopped in his mumbling, eyes still closed. "The magic affected the area, however, so it was focused neither on yourself nor on my own perception. It went out from you to the corners of this office, a bit beyond even.

"But if you didn't make yourself faster, didn't enhance your reflexes or alter my understanding of the world, then…"

Albus trailed off and became very still. His eyes opened slowly. They locked in on him with an intense stare that had a lot of weight behind it.

"This magic is dangerous, Harry." His voice was laden with gravity. "Insanely so. You are not the first to play with time, and those that came before you went mad more often than not—an assumption also supported by what you told me about Erimas Parkinson's ramblings in the Grimoire. Have you observed any side-effects? Anything bodily or in your psyche that poses a threat?"

"Not more than the usual," Harry said. "A constant state of wariness, maybe. But that's more from Riddle, I'd say."

"Paranoia, then."

"Not necessarily induced by the spell. You're grasping, Albus."

Albus sat down in one of the armchairs before his desk, leaning forward, his hands clenched together. "I know that I am reaching, my boy, but no consideration is too improbable when it comes to matters of time. What you have found, or rather what Erimas has found, is remarkable, but also dangerous. So much so, in fact, that I'd like nothing more than to tell you to never use it, to lock up the Grimoire and forget about it in all its aspects." He glanced up at Harry, a weary smile on his lips. "An interesting turn of events regarding our earlier conversation, wouldn't you say?"

"True enough. But this could work, Albus. This could be what I need to get on even grounds with him. I'm sure it's something he wouldn't expect coming from me, or has heard of in the first place."

"And you have felt nothing? Nothing at all?"

"Nothing that comes to mind," Harry said. "It takes some concentration and a lot of juice, but I've been at it for a week now and it's getting easier by the day."

"Then I pray to magic that it will stay this way."

"Will you help me?"

Albus hesitated for moment. Then righted himself, taking up his usual relaxed and unintentionally graceful posture. "If this is the sword you have found for yourself, then we have to make it the sharpest it can be. Just be aware, at all times, that its edge can cut you as well. That is all I ask, Harry, that you are careful."

AN: There we go. Hope you had fun!