AN: Hey all, sorry it's been a hot minute. I had this all ready to go pretty quick after I posted the last one, but then I broke my wrist and sort of lost the motivation to continue working on this story. Also, work's been sort of chaotic with all this COVID stuff so I felt kinda bad posting without having an idea of when the chapter after this would happen. All that to say, things are quieting down and I've been managing not to injure myself too too badly lately, so here it is.

TW for the last section, there's a lot of racist swearing and pretty misogynist language once Harry and Dumbledore go into the Pensieve, for obvious reasons, so tread lightly if that sort of thing is distressing to you.

Other than that, much love, please comment with anything you think of the chapter, and I'll do my best to have the next one out in less than 6 months. 3

"Welcome to N.E.W.T. Transfiguration." Professor McGonagall's precise, clipped voice resounded around the classroom, cutting through the Tuesday morning gloom. "You have all shown great aptitude for this class, as evidenced by the O.W.L.s you have received, however, I wish you to know that not everyone who qualified for this class was allowed in." She moved around to the front of her desk. "Tests, written and practical, may perhaps speak to knowledge and ability, but they do little to demonstrate character. Transfiguration has perhaps, up till now, been a relatively amoral endeavor, but rest assured that from here on in, it shall become very clear why moral judgments are a relevant concern for us here."

Harry glanced around the room. Now that she mentioned it, there were a few less than he might have expected. Hermione was sitting high in her seat, higher than she usually did anyway, no doubt trying to demonstrate just how much she belonged here. The rest of the class seemed a bit taken aback at the proclamation that they all were suddenly moral, as well as magically gifted.

"This year," the matronly witch continued, "We will be beginning to look at organic transfiguration. That is, transfiguring things which are, or have been, alive."

Harry's eyes snapped back to the front, and from the slight gasps he heard around the room, he wasn't the only one surprised.

Professor McGonagall let the silence hang for a moment. "Therefore, I wish to be perfectly clear about one thing in particular. Anyone caught doing anything untoward in the name of this class will be expelled instantly and prosecuted to the fullest extent of Wizarding law. The homework in this class will be entirely theoretical, and any practical demonstrations outside of my direct supervision will be considered very untoward indeed."

Hermione's hand jumped into the air.

Without missing a beat, Professor McGonagall sighed and said, "Yes, Miss Granger, I shall make myself available for direct supervision outside of class."

Hermione lowered her hand again and she let out a little sigh of relief.

"Am I perfectly clear about my expectations?"

"Yes, ma'am!" chorused the class, all of them entirely earnest.

"Good." Professor McGonagall turned and walked back behind her desk. "I assume you learned about non-verbal magic yesterday?"

A general affirmative rolled through the class.

"This first week, I shall not expect you to perform nonverbally. Next week, I shall continue to be lenient, though I expect to see you make the attempt." Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes. "After that, I fully expect all of your casting to be completely silent. Five points will be taken away for each spell cast verbally after the second week."

There was a gasp around the room.

"This sounds harsh," said Professor McGonagall, looking around the classroom, "But nonverbal casting must become second nature to you all. Without the ability to perform spell chains, you will be left far behind by the requirements of the N.E.W.T.s both in this class and in Charms."

At the mention of spell chains, Hermione wriggled excitedly.

"Speaking of, can anyone define a spell chain for me?"

Harry glanced around the room again. It didn't look like anyone was willing to answer. A few of the Ravenclaws were glancing between themselves, but none of the other Houses seemed to have a clue.

"Surely someone can hazard a guess," said Professor McGonagall, frowning.

Harry glanced at Hermione, surprised. He'd have expected her to already have her hand in the air with the definition, book and author name, and page number all bursting from the tip of her tongue. Instead, the girl was biting the inside of her lip and frowning at the top of her desk.

Slowly, Harry raised his hand.

"Ah, Mister Potter," said Professor McGonagall, "Thank you."

"Er, two spells being cast..." Harry paused. What had Snape said yesterday? "Um, cast really close together?" he finished lamely.

There were a couple giggles from the Ravenclaws.

"You're not...entirely wrong, Mister Potter," said Professor McGonagall, "Though you haven't quite hit on what makes them significant."

"Er, they're spells formulated together and cast at approximately the same time, thus affecting the target almost simultaneously," said Hermione, with an apologetic look at Harry.

"Not quite," said a Ravenclaw boy, "See, you're missing the fact that the order is incredibly important and that the caster must fully formulate the chain before the initial spell cast."

Hermione glanced back. "I know that, but that's theory, not a definition."

The boy waved a hand dismissively. "The professor asked for what made them significant, and you left out two of the most important things about them."

"Please," interrupted Professor McGonagall, "Allow me to decide what I did and did not ask for. Take three points, each of you."

Hermione huffed, and the boy rolled his eyes.

"In layman's terms, spell chains let you enact multiple effects on a target at the same time," Professor McGonagall said, moving between the desks, "For example…"

The professor's pointy hat bounced a bit as she snapped her wand at an empty desk in the back. There was a bright flash of light and suddenly five doors were clattering loudly to the floor.

Professor McGonagall turned to the wide-eyed class. "What did I do?"

"B-but that's impossible," breathed Hermione, "You can't…"

Harry raised a hand. "You Transfigured the desk into a door, and then also duplicated the doors?"

"Well done, Mister Potter, take five points."

"But Professor," Hermione blurted out, "That was instantaneous! Even with a spell chain, it should take some time for the different spells to take effect."

In the quiet that followed, Harry heard the Ravenclaw boy mutter, "Doesn't even know what 'simultaneous' means."

"'Almost simultaneous' was the definition," Hermione flared, glaring daggers at the boy, "Or don't you know what 'almost' means?!"

Professor McGonagall rode right over the boy's rejoinder. "The more proficient you become with spell chains, the faster they take effect. Your spell chains will seem agonizingly slow, even to you, when you start out." She walked to the front of the class. "Now, I present you with your first assignment on spell chains. Working with a partner, I want you to devise a way to return the five doors to the one desk." A smirk poked its way onto the professor's face. "If you don't figure one out, or the one you figure out is too inefficient, you will be correcting your error as homework."

As the students began pulling out spellbooks and rushing around the room to collect more from the well-stocked shelves, Harry turned towards the Ravenclaw boy who'd spoken up (Blevins? Bovins?). He was of medium height and build, and his brown floppy hair just long enough to droop into his sharp, intelligent eyes. He seemed completely disinterested in the commotion of the classroom and was busy jotting down notes onto a scrap of parchment. He was the only student who didn't move to get a partner.

By the end of the class, Harry and Hermione had come up with what they thought was a fairly efficient chain (transfiguring one of the doors into a desk, then lashing the remaining doors together and Vanishing the lot of them) and indeed, Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly when they handed in the parchment with their three-spell answer. There was only one other bit of parchment on the desk, turned in by one Roy Blevins, that only held two spells on it. Harry frowned, only recognizing the spell for changing a door into a desk.

Harry nudged Hermione and pointed at it. "Hey, d'you know-" he stopped at the sudden stricken look on Hermione's face. "Woah, what's up? Are you ok?"

Hermione shook her head. "I-I don't-"

Harry put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, don't worry, he got lucky."

"No Harry, you don't understand." Hermione looked up, almost scared. "I've never even heard of that second spell."

Harry gulped.

It was a subdued group of sixth year students that made their way to the Great Hall for lunch after Tuesday morning's classes; apparently the first Arithmancy class that year had been even more demanding than Transfiguration. As Hermione melted onto the bench next to him, Harry winced and squeezed her shoulder.

"How bad was it?" he asked.

"Five feet due by Sunday," Hermione muttered, "Aside from the homework for each lesson during the week."

Harry's eyes snapped open. "Five whole feet? On what?"

"The choice of the parabolic over other conic section swishes and its effect on the spell matrix for Wingardium Leviosa."

Harry frowned. "What?"

Hermione waved a hand and sat up straight. "Never mind. Where's Ginny?"

As if on cue, the devil herself came into the Great Hall and made a beeline for the Gryffindor table. Despite her melancholy about the difficulty of her O.W.L. year, it seemed that Ginny's spirits wouldn't be kept down for long.

"Hello!" she grinned, "I've just had the most refreshing nap in Binns' class."

It was a testament to how tired Hermione was that she only narrowed her eyes, rather than taking Ginny to task for ignoring a whole lecture, in her O.W.L. year no less!

Harry chuckled. "Never had one of those, myself. Never could quite manage to drift off." He gave Hermione's shoulder another squeeze. "How was chess last night?"

"I lost," said Ginny, her forced light tone betrayed by a tightness around her eyes, "Not that it matters, of course. I just thought that since I played Ron so much, I'd be a little better." She shook her head. "She was weird about the DA, though."

Harry frowned and pulled over a cup of pumpkin juice as the lunch (kidney bean stew with fresh dinner rolls) appeared. "What d'you mean?"

Ginny tore a roll in half. "She was sort of cagey." She dipped half of the roll into the stew, pensive. "She asked a lot of questions about last year, and the whole Inquisitorial Squad thing."

"Surely she knows that the Squad has been disbanded?" Hermione had pulled a small salad over.

Ginny shrugged. "That's what she was asking about."

Harry took a bite of his own roll. He hadn't considered how other people would think of his club's reputation. It was possible that Umdridge's ire had damaged the DA's reputation beyond what people would feel comfortable joining. On the other hand, those policies had been supremely unpopular and Harry could probably swerve into the skid there. If the DA were advertised as resilient enough to evade detection for so long, and brave enough to thumb their noses at such a powerful foe, maybe that could be a reason for people to join them.

It was worth a shot, at least.

"What if we advertised it that way?" Harry asked, "Like we lead with 'yeah we thumbed our noses in Umbridge's face' and then mention all the other reasons to join."

Hermione frowned. "Harry, I don't-"

Ginny cackled. "I love it! People would love that!" She gestured with the other half of the roll in her hand. "Ha HAH! Take that Umbridge!"

"Ginny," Hermione hissed, flicking some stew off of her robe, "Don't throw your stew!"

Ginny had the good grace to look apologetic.

"It could work well for, erm, certain people," said Hermione, "But I, for example, certainly wouldn't join a club simply because of how anti-authority they are."

Harry nodded. "Could you both make several posters then? Maybe one for each House, or something?" He scratched the back of his head. "I know it's extra work for the both of you, but…"

Ginny swallowed the last of her roll and grabbed a new one. "I don't really have homework till next week, so that's fine."

Hermione bit her lip.

"I know you said you had a lot of work," Harry said apologetically, "So don't worry about it if you can't do it."

Hermione thought for another few seconds, then nodded firmly. "I said I'd make the posters, so I'll do it. Besides," she said, her face a bit more serious than Harry would have expected, "You said this is ultimately in service of," she whispered, "The Right Side." She continued at a normal volume, "And there will probably be more things to do in service of that as we continue, so it makes sense to start budgeting that into my schedule now."

Harry couldn't keep the grin off his face. "Thanks, both of you, really. So that's one for Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff…" Harry trailed off as he saw Blaise Zabini get up from the Slytherin table. "I'll be right back."

"What-" Ginny began.

Harry cut her off. "We don't know how to get a poster into Slytherin." At the twin confused looks, Harry paused in his rush. "Not everyone's Malfoy," he said with a shrug, "I don't want to alienate anyone I don't have to."

Ginny shrugged and Hermione nodded slowly, as if connecting two bits of information. Harry waited another brief second to field any other objections, then immediately turned and walked briskly towards the doors. Not only had Zabini left before Harry had, the boy walked fast.

Harry knew he'd have to work out some plan to get Zabini to help. Both times Zabini had interacted with Harry, the Slytherin had led with a specific ploy, and Harry knew he'd have to do something similar. The obvious plan was to simply offer a one-for-one exchange, Harry would do something for Zabini if the boy would hang the DA posters in the Common Room. That seemed simple enough. Harry could simply refuse if what Zabini wanted was too much.

Perfect.

Wait.

Harry's teeth clenched. He had absolutely no way of knowing what "too much" would be. Zabini could simply pretend that what he was asking would be an equivalent trade, and Harry would have no grounds to disagree. Harry didn't even know what he was asking of Zabini. How dangerous was it to hang club posters for a Gryffindor? Was that a big deal? Harry was going into the negotiation blind, from both perspectives, and all he had on Zabini was knowing that the posters were slightly more meaningful than just a school club.

Harry sighed and took a deep breath as he walked out of the Hall. Zabini was just up ahead.

Well, here goes nothing.

"Zabini?" Harry called, trying not to seem nervous, though he was absolutely sure he was probably sweating.

The Slytherin paused. "Potter?"

A bunch of different responses ranging from a simple "yes" to a bizarre "aye, that's me name, mate" flashed through Harry's head. "Think I could bend your ear a while?" What was that?! Who talked like that anymore?!

Zabini glanced over his shoulder. "Sure." He glanced pointedly behind Harry. "In the doorway?"

"Ashamed to be seen with me?" Harry shot back, surprising himself. He hastily added a grin, attempting to make it obviously a joke.

Zabini looked down and the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. "Surely the Lion is ashamed of company with the Snake, rather than the reverse."

Ah yes. Harry knew this game. Remembering Ron, Harry took a different tactic. "Only if the Lion is a puffed up fool, too blind to see peace offered in front of him."

A real, genuine smile spread on Zabini's face. "Tracey said I was an idiot for bringing you in." Zabini reached out a hand. "I've never shaken hands with a Gryffindor, Potter."

Harry grinned and shook his hand. "The train didn't count?"

"That was you shaking my hand," Zabini said, releasing Harry's hand and motioning him away from the doors to the Great Hall, "Now, what can I do for you?"

"Um," Harry began eloquently, painfully aware that he didn't have a way forward, "I'm starting up a club this year. Well, re-starting it. It was shut down last year, but this-"

"Ah yes," glided in Zabini, "The semi-legendary violently anti-Slytherin terror cell holed up in the walls of the castle themselves." His eyes were dancing. "Draco might have mentioned it once or twice."

"Oh, er, right, then," Harry said, "Er, you know it wasn't really all of that, right?"

Zabini waved a dismissing hand.

"So," Harry began again, just as eloquently, "I'm starting it up again, and I'm going to be putting up posters in the various common rooms. You know, for recruitment."

Zabini nodded.

"And, er, Hermione's pretty confident that she can get a poster into the Ravenclaw room, and you know the Hufflepuffs will be happy just to be included."

Zabini nodded.

"Therefore," Harry said slowly, "There's only one more Common Room I need to gain access to."

Zabini cocked his head, a look of mild interest plastered onto his face.

"See, it's a really important sort of club," Harry said, his intuition suddenly urging him not to come straight out with the request. Zabini, at this point, was being deliberately dense, and so was probably playing another sort of game. Harry didn't really see how false modesty tied into this game, except in him asking in the first place, in which case Harry was already in the lead. What was Zabini looking for…? "Something that could really benefit the, uh, members."

Zabini raised an eyebrow.

Harry opened his mouth to continue, then closed it again. If Zabini was going to be this stubborn, then Harry could be just as obstinate. Harry had been totally obvious with what he wanted and if Zabini wanted to just stand here, Harry could live with that. The seconds stretched into minutes, and a thin stream of students (that quickly broadened into a rush) began to come out of the Great Hall. Zabini's expression was utterly unreadable.

Finally, the last of the students began heading off to afternoon classes, and Harry realized that he'd have to actually hurry to get to Divination on time at this rate. Wait, maybe that was what this game was? Exert pressure on the other person? Maybe Zabini didn't have a class right now and therefore could afford to simply wait and watch Harry sweat. Harry chanced a glance up towards the stairs, to maybe get a sense of what routes he could take, and when he glanced back, Zabini was smirking.

"How many more games are there?" Harry asked, figuring that was a safe way to break the silence.

"As many as there need to be," said Zabini, bouncing his eyebrows. He began to walk towards the staircase. "You lasted longer than I expected, Potter. I'll expect the posters to be ready tomorrow evening." He turned back. "You'd better run along now. Divination's an awfully long way away, isn't it?"

Biting back a soft curse, Harry dashed off towards the nearest staircase. It was, indeed, a long way. It didn't even occur to Harry until he was sitting in the overly stuffy attic that Zabini had known what class he had next. A chill burred its way down his back.

Harry had a surprisingly relaxing afternoon, after the encounter with Zabini, and was just heading to the library for a bit of Occlumenical reading, when Colin Creevey called out to him on one of the moving staircases.

"Oi! Harry! How've you been? We all heard about the ministry thing, and it's wild that you were there!" Creevey, though still small, was beginning to grow into himself. He came up to Harry's shoulder now. "I'm really curious what happened, do you think you could tell me-"

"Not right now, Colin," Harry said, well aware that if he didn't interrupt, Creevey would probably talk forever, "I'm heading to the library to do some work."

"Wow," said Colin, shaking his head, "Some work ethic you've got there. Mum's always telling me that I need to work harder and all that, set a good example for Dennis, make my future brighter, all that jazz, you know? But man, there's just so much to do here, like did you know-"

"Not to be rude, Colin, but shouldn't you be in class?" Harry asked.

"Right!" Colin said, reaching into his robes, "I gotta give this to you, then jet off to Charms. Totally slipped my mind! That always happens, you know-"

"What is it?" Harry asked, extending a hand.

"Dumbledore told me to deliver it!" Colin extended a hand with a bit of crumpled parchment. "Bloody creepers, Harry, it sure is something else to have Albus Dumbledore himself ask you to do something for him. Did you know he has three middle names? Blimey, I get lost with one-"

Harry tuned the younger boy out and looked at the parchment.

A detention in the first week, Harry? My my, we have been busy. Fortunately, it coincides with a fortuitous time for our first private lesson. I shall expect you at my office at eight o'clock on Saturday. Password will be Acid Pop.

Old Harry would no doubt have whooped with joy, but Harry's stomach sank. He hadn't been able to get back into Greysight yet, hadn't even had a chance to try, and here was his first meeting with Dumbledore. In talking with Hermione, she had assumed that Dumbledore would want to teach him some sort of advanced, defensive magic, but Harry wasn't so sure. Any spell Dumbledore taught him was a weapon that Dumbledore didn't control anymore. Obviously, Dumbledore thought that Harry was his, but that didn't mean the old man would give Harry tools to become independent. Hagrid was proof enough of that. Going by Dumbeldore's pattern of attaching people to him, rather than empowering them on their own terms, Harry figured that the lessons would be slow with information, and even then only information that would shackle Harry to Dumbledore even further.

"And yeah, that's how Dennis got Uncle Marv's middle name, and I got stuck with Shidderkins. Bloody hell, can you imagine being Colin Shidderkins Creevey? It's not an easy road I walk, but-"

"Thanks, Colin," Harry said with a cheeriness he didn't feel, "You'd better get on to class now."

"Right you are, Harry," Colin nodded and began walking away, then turned, "Is the DA coming back this year?"

Harry nodded.

"Bloody capital," Colin said, before heading towards a swivelling staircase that seemed ready to take him to the third floor.

With a bemused grin, Harry set off towards the library. He needed to see Snape before his meeting with Dumbledore, that much was certain, and now he needed a sneakier way to do it. People would be confused if he attacked Snape again so quickly, especially after the first one got him in so much trouble. Old Harry hated Snape, sure, but he wasn't an idiot. Well, not in that regard at least. So Harry needed a way to communicate to Snape that he wanted to talk, yet remain somewhat civil. They'd already worked out a code word, so maybe that could be a way? Harry would just drop it in conversation, rather than attack with it. That should be enough.

Inside the library, Harry found Hermione surrounded by a fortress of books, some of which were perilously close to toppling onto her head. Only a couple of the books were related to Arithmancy, from what Harry could see.
"You alright in there?" Harry asked.

Hermione flinched and miraculously didn't knock over her pile. "Who's there? What?"

Harry sat next to her. "Just me." He pulled out Mental Magics (and You!) and set it on the small bit of bookless table. "What are you up to?"

Hermione sat back and stretched. There were several cracks. "Just following up on elf history. It's honestly criminal how little record there is of it all. Even Hogwarts, a History had nothing!"

Harry nodded sympathetically. "Oh, I'm sure you already know about this, but-" He turned over his shoulder, "Squeaky!"

With a little pop, the pink, wrinkled house-elf appeared. "You's callings, mister Harry Potter, sir?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Harry you - I can't believe - what is - this is-"

Harry grinned. "Squeaky, I was wondering if you had any books on the history of house-elves?"

Hermione's eyes grew wide.

"I'll sees what I can dos," Squeaky said, after a thoughtful pause, "Mights haves to go outsides Britain."

"Oh," Hermione said, waving a hand, "That's not necessary. Just anything you have here is fine."

Squeaky frowned. "I's has Mythological Momentses Recordsed, but I's thinking it a lots made up."

Hermione was looking at Squeaky with the astonishment she usually reserved for new books and grades. "Er, that should be fine. Do you think any of these would have anything useful?"

Squeaky glanced around the books at the table. "I's not thinking any real historicals be havings elvishness in thems. That's why I's thinking maybe Mythological is goods."

Hermione frowned. "That's strange. Surely house-elves have been hugely influential in Wizarding history."

"Oh, no's, mistress," said Squeaky, ringing her hands, "I's sure we's not anythings special. Just servantses to Wizards." She winced. "That's all we's are, nows and forevers."

"Don't you see that's disgusting?" Hermione asked, compassion sweeping over her face, "Listen Squeaky, if you hadn't helped me today, I wouldn't even know where to go with my research."

The house-elf smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I's glads I can be's helpings you, Mistress." She curtsied the best she could with the pillowcase she wore. "I's be fetchings now?"

Hermione nodded and the elf disappeared with another soft pop. After maybe ten seconds, there were a couple more pops and Mythological Movements Recorded sat demurely on the much-reduced pile of books, across from Mental Magics (and You!). Hermione immediately opened it and began flipping through it, looking for anything about house-elves. Harry managed to skim a couple paragraphs outlining a relaxing breathing exercise before Hermione closed the thick tome with a soft whump.

"Any luck?" Harry asked, glancing up.

"Just a bizarre reference to Morgan Le Fae," Hermione said, "Something about a promise to Le Fae's Children. Squeaky was right, it was very unhelpful."

"Sorry," Harry said, sympathetic, "Oh! I've got my first lesson with Dumbledore. He took my detention from Snape."

Hermione frowned. "Are you going to be alright?"

Harry shrugged. "I wanted to be in Greysight for it, but that's probably not going to happen."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Have you asked Snape how he achieved Greysight? That might be a good way to figure it out for yourself."

Harry blinked. "I hadn't thought of that. Sure, I'll do that."

"Oh, right," Hermione snapped her fingers, "Ginny was wondering what made you dash out of lunch like that. I admit, I'm curious myself."

Harry grinned. "I got our posters into the Slytherin Common Room."

"I know you said that 'not everyone's Malfoy,'" Hermione said, "But that's not a reason to just invite everyone in, willy-nilly."

Harry shook his head. "By inviting Slytherins, we offer them an alternative to the Dark Side. The bigoted Slytherins won't be able to stand learning from me, and especially you, and the more open-minded ones are chance after chance to sway power fodder away from Voldemort."

Hermione nodded slowly. "I just worry they'll betray you at the first opportunity."

Harry felt a rush of impatience, but he tamped it back down. "There's no more Umbridge, right, and the whole Right Side thing isn't going to be explicit. We three will confer about who might be open to the idea, and we won't offer it to anyone else. For the majority of the club, it'll just be a way to practice Defense."

Hermione sighed. "Ok, if you're sure. I will put my foot down, though, and say that the first meeting cannot be held in the Room of Requirement. We'll use a regular classroom first."

"Sure," Harry said with a shrug, "But if you're going to be this prejudiced against Slytherins, we might need to address that in the future."

Hermione went a little pink. "I should think I, of all people, have some right to be prejudiced against Slytherins, Harry Potter."

"Against Malfoy?" Harry asked, leaning forward, "Absolutely. You already punched him once, and that's the least he deserves. Against blood purists as a group? Again, absolutely. I'll be right there next to you, punching 'em all forever. All Slytherins, though?" Harry winced. "Probably not."

Hermione's mouth flared open, but she bit back her angry reply, and Harry could see her forcing herself to think about what he was saying. Harry allowed himself to lament that if only Ron could do this too, maybe he'd be here too right now.

"I agree intellectually," Hermione said, after about a minute, "But I'm not sure I really feel it yet."

Harry nodded. "That's fine. They're just regular people, Hermione." As she was about to reply, Harry said, "Especially the younger ones."

That brought her up short. "When did you get to be all accepting and open?" Hermione asked, faux-accusing.

Harry shrugged. "Probably when I forgave the man who set Voldemort on the path to my parents."

"Ah." A silence hung between them. "That would probably do it."

After a nice time in the library, Harry and Hermione headed into the Great Hall for dinner. Harry nodded at people, though he noticed fewer and fewer were watching him. It made sense; school had started and people had other things to pay attention to. It irked Harry even more now that he hadn't thought to be more polite, especially since the necessity seemed to be dying down rather quickly.

They were pretty early for dinner, and the Great Hall was fairly empty; only a few students sat at each table and only Dumbledore and Snape were seated at the head table. As Harry and Hermione entered, both men glanced up, and Harry plastered a smile on his face for Dumbledore, noting how ironic it was that he actually wanted to smile at Snape, but couldn't. Dumbledore nodded and the corner of his lips twitched, but he quickly looked back at the Defense professor.

Harry glanced at Snape and suddenly didn't know what to do. He had to signal that he wanted to speak, and the Great Hall was probably not the place to simply shout "Voldemort" at the top of his lungs. What could mean Voldemort without Harry being too inconspicuous? Harry's scar was the most obvious choice, but it would be unsubtle in the extreme to look at Snape, then try to surreptitiously rub the lightning bolt. Seeing Snape's inky eyes still boring into him, Harry folded his arms, putting on a show of irritation.

Harry had a brainwave.

Holding Snape's look, Harry scratched his left forearm. Snape's eyes narrowed, and Harry quickly glanced away and headed over to his table. He sat with Hermione and engaged in conversation with both her and Ginny as best he could, while every so often glancing up to the head table. Snape wasn't looking down too often, but when he did, his sneer was enough to send goosebumps down Harry's neck. Harry was fairly sure his message had gotten through.

After dinner, back in the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry quickly left the girls making the posters and collapsed into his bed. He definitely didn't want to keep being awake, but there was also something just as adamantly keeping him from sleeping. Harry took a few deep breaths and, when that didn't settle his mind at all, he closed his eyes and began the breathing exercise from Mental Magics and You! The trick, according to Tiberius Thornbaum, was to do some quick breaths before the long, deep ones; gather up all the tension and release it all at the same time. Harry ran it through a few times and felt marginally better, well enough to try some actual meditation and organize his thoughts.

Harry had been a little taken aback by Hermione's outburst earlier, but it made sense, and it didn't really make sense that it would be keeping him up like this. Confused, Harry cast around for something else, maybe a bit further back, that could be bothering him. The DA was going forward, Snape knew Harry needed to talk, school wasn't too intense yet… what was it?

Harry switched his thoughts over to the Right Side. Recruitment was moving forward, albeit quietly. Neither of the two Lords knew that Harry had struck out yet, which gave him plenty of room to maneuver, which let him… what? What good did room to maneuver do him? To Dumbledore, Harry was still the innocent boy he'd always been. Harry doubted his slip in the shed really registered to Dumbledore all that much, but it was something to remember. To Voldemort, Harry was the consummate implacable enemy: the Boy Who Lived. No quarter asked or given there. So Harry needed to utilize the veil of innocence he had with Dumbledore to its utmost before the old man realized Harry's betrayal. Harry had to figure out how to destabilize Dumbledore, and he could use his closeness to achieve that end.

Hermione also mentioned long-term goals, right? Well, Dumbledore would probably uncover the betrayal at some point, and so Harry would then need a base of operations outside of Hogwarts. Grimmauld Place was the obvious choice, Harry made a mental note to ask about Sirius's will, and the only issue would be to assuage Dumbledore's concerns when Harry started establishing his own independence. Short-term, find Dumbledore's weaknesses; long-term, consolidate assets. Hermione was going to love this.

Harry drifted off to sleep easily.

The rest of the week slipped by more quickly. Harry handed off the posters to Zabini, who didn't make any comment on the slogan Ginny and Hermione had come up with (The DA helps you get ahead!), but Harry wasn't sure that was a good thing. Charms presented more non-verbal casting problems, and Harry resolved to memorize as many spells as he reasonably could, theorizing that's what would help the most with spell-chains. Roy Blevins continued to needle Hermione in every class they were in, but she didn't rise to the bait as much as she had in Transfiguration. Ron continued to surprise in Potions, pulling perfect marks on every practical lesson.

Hermione alerted the previous DA members via coin, and both she and Ginny alerted Harry when they heard someone new was planning on attending. Adding both sets of attendees together, Harry reckoned more than fifty people were going to be at the first meeting that Saturday. Those old public speaking butterflies began to congregate in his stomach. At least he hadn't known how many people had been interested the year before.

Snape made no mention of Harry's signal until Friday's Defense class, holding Harry back as the rest of the class left off to dinner. Harry made the appropriate frustrated sounds and received not a few sympathetic looks from his fellow Gryffindors and even, surprisingly, a wince from Padma Patil.

When they were alone, Snape gestured to the door to his office, and swept through after Harry went in. While less creepy than the Potions office had been, Snape's Defense office was definitely Snape's all the same. Darker than Gilderoy's had been, less alive than Lupin's, and less...trunkey than Moody's.

"An inspired choice, Potter," said Snape, moving back behind his desk and sinking into the chair there, "Though such an accusation would likely be grounds for a duel, much less a detention, had we not established a signal before the fact."

Harry saw no chair in front of the desk, and so simply said, "Accusation?" Then it clicked. "Oh! You mean in the Great Hall."

"Indeed." Snape's voice was pure spidersilk.

"Er," Harry faltered, "I thought it was better than something vocal."

"You were… not wrong," Snape conceded, finally pulling out his wand and conjuring a chair for Harry.

Harry sat. "Was that a common signal in the last war or something?"

"Not widely, no." Snape narrowed his eyes. "You did not know its meaning when you did it?" Before Harry could answer, Snape continued, "Know, Potter, I've killed men for less than that."

Harry blanched and quickly closed his mouth.

"Ah. I see you were ignorant. I rather thought it was too much to expect." Snape stowed his wand. "Suffice to say, aiming that motion at someone, as you did, is tantamount to accusing them of being a Death Eater. Some will, perhaps, laugh it off from one as young as you, but some will challenge you to a duel on the spot. Others will lack even that level of restraint."

"And you've ignored 'even that level of restraint' in the past?" Harry asked, doing his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut.

"Many times."

A silence stretched.

"I'll think of another signal," Harry's voice was small.

Snape waved dismissively. "I am not chastising you, Potter. As I said, it was an inspired choice. Should anyone see it, it will not seem out of character for you, especially as the Dark Lord is widely known to be back. Perhaps the only surprise will be my 'patience with the rashness of youth,' but it's been nearly a decade since my last...lack of restraint." He leaned forward. "Just be aware of what weapon you wield."

Harry nodded, committing that to memory. "I'm worried about the detention tomorrow."

"I assume you've not achieved Greysight?" At Harry's nod, Snape looked down at his desk, pensive. "Perhaps…" He looked up sharply. "Your only Greysight experience was the one directly after the ministry incident, correct?"

Harry shook his head. "It also happened over the summer."

Snape let out a heavy sigh and sat back against his chair's back. "And in your limitless incompetence, you managed to lose it again." He raised a hand to forestall Harry's retort. "I truly should have expected as much. How did it trigger this second time?"

Harry told him what happened in the shed, and about the prophecy.

"So both times, Greysight was triggered by a mental assault of some kind." Snape smirked. "A relief, as I am not quite confident in my ability to possess others just yet."

"What?! Oh. You're kidding." Harry let out a deep breath. "Don't worry, sir, I'm sure you'll manage possession one of these days."

Snape's eyebrow lifted. "Sir? From you? Truly an...honor."

Despite himself, Harry grinned. "You have to admit, it was a good one."

"Oh, indeed," Snape said, his voice silky again, "I simply can't wait to hear 'you don't have to call me sir, Professor' thrown in my face for the rest of my career." He leaned forward. "In any case, Potter, I believe it might behoove us to attempt to push you into Greysight….manually."

Harry tilted his head. "Manually?"

Snape stood and motioned for Harry to follow suit. With a quick wave, Snape Vanished the chair and moved his desk to the side of the room. "Now Potter," Snape said, an ironic grin slipping onto his face, "I shall attempt to penetrate your mind, you will attempt to...resist."

With a speed Harry hadn't known he'd been practicing, all emotion he was feeling simply fled from his mind and he stared blandly back at Snape. The older man's eyes drew Harry's in, and he seemed to grow in Harry's view, dominating the room. Harry couldn't look away, but when fear threatened, Harry calmly pushed it away. He could endure this.

After a moment, Snape pulled away with a soft chuckle. "Incredible. A few letters over the summer and the boy's a natural."

Harry swelled with pride.

"Legilimens!" came Snape's cry.

Harry's eyes widened. Time seemed to stop. There wasn't time to stop feeling! Harry was defenseless! All he could do was let Snape in! Unless…

Something snapped. And everything was grey.

Harry let out a slow breath. "Got it."

Snape frowned. "Truly?"

Harry looked up, face expressionless, "Try me."

Snape's lips twitched. "I see it in your eyes. Well done. Let's speak of what you seek to accomplish with Dumbledore tomorrow."

"My short-term plan is to seek some sort of weakness he has." Harry's voice was mechanical. "Use my guise as one of his favorites, you understand."

Snape nodded. "Good plan. He's less guarded where you're concerned."

"Do you know what he's going to show me?" Harry asked.

Snape shook his head. "I still pretend hatred towards you-"

"And it's not vital enough information to be worth being out of character," Harry finished. He grinned.

"Ah, I see I've created a...monster." Snape didn't sound displeased.

"I was also thinking about gaining access to Grimmauld Place."

Snape's eyes widened. He didn't speak for a second. "Is that so? That may take some...finesse."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"If Dumbledore didn't say anything to you about it, that means he took guardianship over you until your majority," Snape said, replacing the desk and conjuring a new chair for Harry, "Which would mean you couldn't claim it until your 17th birthday."

"Well, I'm here until then anyway," Harry said dismissively, sitting, "I just have to be sure to set things up so I can be sure it's mine this summer."

"Ah, the confidence of youth," Snape said, "Tell me, Harry, what on this earth makes you think Dumbeldore would willingly give up such a wonderfully defensible place?"

"It's-it's mine," Harry said, a little defensive, "I have the law on my side."

Snape sighed. "Remind me, who is the head of the Wizengamot?"

"Ah."

"That's just the beginning of it," Snape said, "There are a multitude of ways that Dumbledore, even if you did gain nominal control of it, could suborn or even flat out sabotage the residence."

Harry frowned. "Defeats the purpose if I can't use the place."

"Indeed." Strangely, Snape's voice sounded almost sympathetic. "Even if he didn't think you were hostile, he might well sabotage it regardless, just to keep track of loose ends."

"I'll…" Harry was loath to admit defeat. "I'll keep thinking about that."

A low gurgle broke out of Harry's stomach.

"Right! Dinner!" Harry stood up. "Thank you for your time, sir."

"It's...unnerving to hear that word from you, Potter." Snape seemed to be chewing his next sentence. "Snape will do just fine."

Harry nodded, a surge of emotion welling up, "See you around, Snape."

"Farewell, Potter."

The next morning was a blur of preparations and anxiety. Hermione had managed to secure one of the larger classrooms next to the Great Hall for the DA's meeting, and there were a lot of desks and chairs to move to the walls. Harry was somewhat grateful for all of the physical exertion, as it allowed a small relief from worrying about what he was going to say to all of the students this year. Last year, Harry had largely relied on his past acts and he'd likely need a more forward thinking vision for the club this time. Combine that with the fact that Snape, whatever else he might be, was absolutely a competent Defense teacher, and Harry knew that his opening speech would need to be special.

Obviously, Harry could simply say something like "Voldemort is more active now" and just rely on that to be enough to motivate everyone. While true, however, it was singularly anti-climactic, and Harry was loath to start off on a new year with that sort of speech. Dumbledore managed to give the same speech every year and still make it different and interesting, and there was no way Harry was going to fail at something Dumbledore could do. Well. Not something this easy, anyway.

A bit before lunch, the classroom was finally ready. Hermione and Ginny met Harry in the middle of the cleared floor, a bit flushed from the exertion, but both glowing with excitement. In the grip of Greysight, Harry found himself thinking that it was almost childish to be so proud of such a mundane accomplishment. Neither of them would be in the spotlight for the actual meeting, and yet they both were so self-satisfied. Juvenile in the extreme.

Harry shook himself out of the thought spiral. He forced a smile. "Thanks, you both. It looks really really good."

Hermione beamed. The minimal decorations had been her idea. On the wall behind where Harry would be speaking, there was a large stylized DA cleverly detailed with all of the different Houses' colors. The D was made up of the primary House colors (red, green, yellow, and blue) while the A was made of all of the secondary colors (gold, silver, black, and bronze), and it somehow didn't look horrible. A real accomplishment.

"Harry," Ginny began, wiping her forehead with a sleeve, "Are we really sure we still want to be Dumbledore's Army?"

Harry blinked. "I'd almost forgotten that's what it stood for." He frowned. "I can't exactly just change it. People would wonder why."

Hermione nodded, biting her lip. "It's certainly not ideal. Besides," she said, looking adoringly at the DA on the wall, "It's such a lovely design."

"It really is," said Ginny, wistfully, "Ah well, we all know it's not for that old coot anymore."

"Ginny," gasped Hermione, "That's-" she paused, "That's…" She ran out of steam. "I guess that's fair."

Ginny grinned evilly. "That barmy old codger."

Harry chuckled, while Hermione continued to look scandalized, despite not being entirely sure why.

"Batty, senile, snake!" Ginny roared, really getting into it, "BLOODY GODDAMN-"

"Ginny!" Harry said, holding up his hands quickly, "We're still in his school."

Ginny broke off. "Right, sorry," she said sheepishly, "Just sort of exciting to say it, you know?"

Harry nodded as Hermione regained her composure. "Just be a bit more subtle about it, eh?"

Ginny had the good grace to look abashed. "Sorry."

Harry shrugged. "Let's get lunch."

Weekends at the Great Hall were never as consistently full as the weekday meals since students didn't have any particular schedule to adhere to and, as a result, food was made available whenever students managed to stumble in. As Harry entered, he immediately glanced around, trying to see what DA members would be eating before the meeting. More than a few of them waved, Zacharias Smith being one of them was a surprise to Harry, and Harry estimated that a decent chunk of his old guard would be returning.

When Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, he saw Ron sitting a few yards away, holding court with Dean and Seamus. Harry caught the redhead's eyes and attempted a conciliatory nod, but the sneer he got in return was anything but inviting. Noticing Ron's look, Dean and Seamus both turned and sneered at Harry too, Seamus going a step further and expertly Transfiguring his hand into a two-finger salute. Harry was exasperated by the open hostility, but also on another level at the sheer childishness of the display.

Neville, for the second time, wasn't sitting with Ron.

Harry turned back to his company and tucked into a delicious steak sandwich. Ginny and Hermione chattered back and forth about who would come back to the club and who might join that didn't the year before. Harry was content to let them talk as he scanned around for Neville. Neville was possibly the only sixth year Gryffindor boy that would stay at least polite with Harry, and that was enough to cultivate the friendship, but Harry also had a soft spot for the accident-prone, awkward boy who had nonetheless done his best to save Sirius and then to comfort Harry in the aftermath. Neville was good people, and Harry needed as much of that around him as he could get.

Neville didn't get to the Great Hall until Harry had finished his sandwich and was halfway through his chips. Harry rose quickly.

"No, I don't think Corner would come back," Ginny was saying, "Doesn't seem the type to do the right thing for its own sake."

"You're just saying that because he dumped you," Hermione replied, "And besides - Oh, Harry? Where are you going?"

Harry jerked his chin at Neville. "Neville."

Hermione nodded hesitantly. "Good luck."

Ginny picked right up with, "Look, I know him better than you do, and he was always complaining about DA things," as Harry walked away. Neville was looking around the Gryffindor table, scanning for someone, anyone, to sit with, and his desperation was evident in his eyes. Harry felt an odd pang in his chest that he only identified as sympathy after a couple steps.

"Neville?" Harry asked, stopping a bit further away from the chunky boy than he normally would, "You wanna come sit with us?"

Neville glanced over at Harry, discomfort obvious in the tightness around his eyes. "Er, hey Harry." His eyes jumped back to the table over Harry's shoulder, then back. "I, ah, thought I might sit with, erm…" He trailed off, looking again at the table.

"I know Hermione's been looking forward to catching up," Harry said, with a warm smile, "And Ginny's alright for a fifth year." When Neville failed to even crack a grin, Harry soldiered on, "Are you coming to the DA meeting today?"

Neville met Harry's eyes for a second before darting them to the floor. "Ah, was that today? I, uh, I might not be able to. You know, homework, ha ha…" he trailed off.

Harry frowned in confusion. "What's going on, Neville? I know Ron's said some things, but-"

"Look," Neville said in a sudden, hysterical whisper, "I wanna go, but Ron'll kill me if I do. Please, you gotta understand. He's got the whole dorm on his side. If I went, I wouldn't even be able to sleep."

"Woah, woah, slow down, Nev," Harry put a hand on the boy's shoulder, "Let's talk about this. We can make up an excuse. We can figure all this out." Harry thought through his options. "Look, here, as a sign of good faith." Harry turned away from Neville and threw up his hands. "Oh, well, then, if you're too good for my club," Harry said, trying to make his voice carry, "Then I guess I won't be able to help you in Defense anymore, Nev."

There was a brief, awkward silence as Harry made his way back to the table. With quick, furtive glances at Ron, Harry saw that the boy was grinning at the debacle and waving Neville over to sit. Hermione and Ginny were looking at Harry with disapproval and confusion, respectively. Harry sat as conversation began to pick back up around them.

Harry held up a hand at Hermione. "Before you say anything, that was a ploy. He's scared of Ron finding out that he wants to go to the DA, so I offered him an easy out."

Hermione's look shifted into one of bemused disbelief. "Be that as it may, Harry, that was so out of character for you that you needn't have bothered."

Harry nodded to where Ron was welcoming Neville to the table. "Clearly."

Ginny glanced down the table at her brother. "How'd you know that would work?" She frowned. "Why did it work? Ron's been your best mate for how long now? Surely he should know you're not that petty."

Harry shrugged, ignoring the probably unintentional back-handed insult. "Once Ron thinks you're bad, he's willing to believe you're capable of anything bad. It doesn't matter what you 'would' do; to him, bad people do bad things."

Hermione frowned. "You know, that sort of explains why he accused me of making Crookshanks kill Scabbers back, um, before we knew Scabbers was a person."

"One time," Ginny added, "I stole his Greatest Worst Canons Games or whatever, and he also accused me of trying to make the ghoul strangle him." She shook her head. "Mum was so shocked at that, she wouldn't even let him finish, and she sent him to bed with no supper."

"Regardless," Harry said, standing again, "We should probably head over to the classroom. Wouldn't do for us to be late to our own club."

A short walk later, Harry was leaning against the wall detailed with the DA, idly tracing the crimson veins. Hermione and Ginny were over by the door, discussing how they'd welcome people. Harry still didn't have a great pitch for the club, but he figured that worrying about it any more would be fruitless.

The door opened, and most of the Gryffindor girls walked in. Harry started forward, a genuine smile stretching across his face. He paused, a few feet out from the wall while Ginny and Hermione signed the girls in. The fact that Ron had been unsuccessful in swaying the girls was not entirely unexpected, but still very welcome. As Lavender, Parvati, and the rest of them came in, Harry nodded to each in turn. Katie was the last of this wave, and she gave Harry a significant look before grouping off with the rest of the girls.

More and more people began trickling, then pouring, in and Harry was hard put to nod to each of them individually. Familiar faces, Ernie Macmillan, Luna Lovegood, Justin Finch-Fletchley, the Creevey brothers, Susan Bones, and Hannah Abbott; less familiar faces, Terry Boot, Zacharias Smith, Michael Corner (wonder of wonders), a few of the girls who hung around with Romilda Vane, and was that the girl who had brought Harry the invitation on the Express? Rinoa? Something like that.

There was a general lack of Slytherins, as Harry expected, though there were a few younger students clad in green and silver awkwardly clumped in the back. As the minutes to the meeting's start time counted down, Harry began to wonder if Neville even understood the events in Great Hall. He probably hadn't known what Harry meant by "a show of good faith," and probably wouldn't think to come, now that Ron was thrown off the trail. Harry resisted outwardly sighing, but the sinking feeling was real enough. He could theoretically still salvage the friendship, but it would be a lot harder now.

Hermione glanced at her watch and glanced up towards Harry, nodding that it was time to start. Harry gave one last sweep of the room, and realized with a bolt of disappointment that Blaise was nowhere to be seen. Harry had been sure that Blaise would be here to support the few Slytherins attracted by the posters, and at the very least to justify his placing of the posters. No Neville, who wanted to be there but couldn't, and no Blaise, who could have come but apparently didn't want to. At this, Harry did sigh.

"Alright, everyone," Harry began, his words having absolutely no effect on the crowd, "Ok, it's one, everyone. Let's, uh, start this thing."

Some of the people closest noticed and began nudging each other. In the short while it took for the room to fully quiet, Harry saw Neville and the dark haired Slytherin witch from Potions and Defense come in and sign their names. Harry felt a surge of relief and he didn't have to force any bit of the smile he put on the gathering.

"Alright, cool," Harry said, clapping his hands together, "Thanks for coming, everyone. It means a lot that you're all interested in the DA." He gestured to the clump of Gryffindor girls. "From returning faces," he gestured to the group of Slytherins in the back, "To fresh faces, you're all welcome here." He cleared his throat. "The DA is a club for learning practical Defense Against the Dark Arts. Hermione thought of it last year when Umbridge-"

"Umbitch, innit!" came a cry, leading to a gale of laughter.

Harry chuckled. "When Umbitch herself wouldn't teach us anything useful." He sighed. "Of course, that was only half the story. And, whatever else he is, Snape is certainly a better teacher than she was."

There was a bit of good-natured grumbling at the compliment.

"But there was a second reason we started the club, wasn't there?" Harry asked, looking around the room. "Anyone remember?"

A silence fell over the room. After a long moment, Neville piped up in a squeaky voice, "V-Voldemort."

Harry let the word wash over the room. "Thanks, Nev. Voldemort has returned. It is beyond dispute."

A solemnity hung in the air.

"Now," Harry said, finding inspiration, "Protecting yourself from Voldemort is all well and good. It's what Defense is all about. Becoming proficient in defending yourself is the expectation." He stopped pacing and let a twisted smile creep onto his face. "But I've always preferred to Exceed Expectations, myself."

A bunch of groans echoed around the room, along with a few "Toss off, Potter,"s and a few retches.

Harry chuckled. "That's what this club is for. Training you to be able to do better than just protect yourself." He pinned a few different people in the crowd with his gaze. "Equipping you all to protect anyone in your vicinity. Empowering you all to be an unseen force for good in this war." In the expectant silence that followed, Harry let the grin slide off of his face. "It'll be hard. No question about that. It'll be dangerous. Again, let there be no doubt in your mind. It's always harder to protect others than to just worry about yourself."

There were a few murmurs of agreement. Harry glanced around, taking stock. Most of the students were with him. Neville was gripping his robes, knuckles going white, his face fiercer than Harry had ever seen it. Hermione and Ginny were both grinning, and Hannah Abbott seemed to be choking back tears for some reason.

"But it's worth it."

Harry blinked, looking around for the speaker. After a moment or two, he noticed the dark haired, blue-eyed Slytherin sixth year holding his gaze, a wry smirk on her face. What? Why? What possible benefit could come from supporting him so openly? Obviously, she was here because of Blaise, right, so maybe this was just an extension of that? Maybe-

"That's right!" a Ravenclaw fifth year shouted, then added more quietly, "That's bloody right."

Slowly, the cry was taken up around the room, and various shouts in support of Harry's points quickly became an indistinguishable roar. Students wearing all colors vocally supportive of protecting people other than themselves. House unity indeed.

Harry held up a hand and, slowly, the roar quieted. "Yeah." His throat constricted as he thought of Sirius. Anytime Harry thought of protecting people, his godfather was the first one to his mind. That wonderful man falling through the Veil, a grin still on his face. Harry's inability to do anything. It wasn't grief. He'd gone through that. It was a promise. A promise to do better. "It is."

After a second, Harry shot out a breath and said, "Now, any questions?"

The rest of the afternoon was mostly figuring out the logistics of the club meetings. With the crowd of people present, Harry figured that the Room wouldn't be appropriate. It had been hard enough to keep it quiet with just the people last year, who had also been sworn to secrecy about the club as a whole. After conferring with Hermione and Ginny, Harry set the meeting place for this same classroom.

Harry made sure to mingle around with as many people as he could. Hermione had planned for refreshments to be brought (Harry was fairly sure it was elf-made, but then again, pretty much everything was), and the meeting quickly lost the gravitas of Harry's welcome speech. Harry also quickly flitted to all of the old guard he could reach, and most of them agreed not to tell anyone about the Room, and though Harry had no guarantees, it was probably good enough for now.

Harry also spent a good deal of time bringing Neville around to as many groups as possible, giving the awkward boy as large a potential group of friends as Harry could manage. It was the least he could do, after Neville was willing to risk Ron's wrath to support Harry. Much to Harry's amused disappointment, Neville and the Slytherin girl hadn't arrived together, just at the same time. Harry made an oblique joke about House unity having certain benefits that left Neville red and sputtering, but Harry dropped it after that.

Some of the students wandered out through the course of the rest of the afternoon, but a surprising amount of them, including all of the old guard, remained all the way until dinner. Sure, most of it was probably just catching up and excitement about the upcoming year, but it still warmed Harry that so many would stay. Perhaps it was a little disingenuous, but Harry let himself daydream about this being his Right Side for a short time. Everyone wanting to protect the others, strong camaraderie, members content to just hang out with the others for an afternoon; a real community.

Harry felt a welling of emotion and he quickly shunted it off. It wouldn't do to lose Greysight so close to his meeting with Dumbledore. Harry frowned. What? Where had that come from? He thought back to the two times he lost Greysight, and, sure enough, they had both been times that he'd felt a strong emotion. Rage in the Hospital Wing with Hermione, then a huge, chaotic swirl (acceptance? affection? something?) in Florean Fortescue's the day before getting on the Hogwarts Express. So maybe emotion was a way to break out? Interesting. Harry made a mental note to explore it with Snape later.

As the large group headed off to the Great Hall, Harry chatted and joked with the Patils and Lavender Brown, Greysight ironically helping him to see the value of banal banter in cementing loyalty, and thus helping him to come off as interested and caring. Harry had worried that the cynical, cold worldview that Greysight gave him would make it difficult to empathize with the people around him, but it seemed when there was an actual purpose to it, Greysight actually made it easier. Another thing to mention to Snape.

There was an immediately apparent problem when the multi-Housed gathering arrived in the Hall. Harry was loath to have them separate after an afternoon of bonding, but there was no way he'd be able to swing bringing such a large group to the Gryffindor Table. Harry pursed his lips, then turned to the group.

"I was thinking that it'd be nice to have dinner together," Harry said, glancing around to everyone, "What d'you say?"

There was a short chorus of agreement.

"So then, whose table should we join?" Harry spread his hands.

The group looked around at itself.

"We should make our own!" joked Zacharias Smith.

"Ugh, agreed," said one of the younger Slytherin students, "I'm so tired of all of Prefect Malfoy's bull."

Harry perked up. "Malfoy comes after you all?"

The fourth year flushed a bit at being the center of attention. "Er, yeah. Says it's all part of the process for choosing the next year's prefect."

"Well, that's...reprehensible." Harry scratched the back of his head. "Well, everyone, what say we practice what we preach. Let's go protect one of our own."

The chorus of agreement was a bit hesitant.

Harry shook his head, bemused. "Look, you'll have to practice somewhere and if anyone deserves to be put down a bit here, it's Malfoy, right?"

The chorus of agreement was a bit stronger now, and Harry set off confidently towards the Slytherin Table. Maybe it was the shock of seeing so many people protecting his prey, maybe it was the shock of Harry so brazenly breaking the unspoken rules of the Great Hall (sit with your House and, if you must move, you do not move to Slytherin), but for whatever reason, Malfoy didn't make any trouble that night. Halfway through the meal, Harry realized that this was sort of the perfect table to come to, regardless. Everyone had seen the posters, and now Harry Bloody Potter, Lion of the Lions, was sitting at the Snake table with his whole group around him. Surely it actually was a good group to be a part of. Surely Harry was a good leader to follow.

Harry snorted into his fudge cake. All according to plan?

After dinner, Harry's group slowly disintegrated as they all made their ways back to their Common Rooms. Harry absently joined Hermione and Ginny's excited conversation about how successful the afternoon had been, but his mind was back to worrying about the meeting with Dumbledore. Harry had to make some sort of progress either in figuring out a weakness of Dumbledore, or in regards to gaining access to Grimmauld Place, but Harry wasn't entirely sure how to go about either. Old Harry would probably never even think about a will, or an inheritance, so Harry would need an explanation for why he asked about that. Not to mention-

"Harry?" Hermione broke into his thoughts, "Are you ok?"

Harry blinked. They were in front of the portrait hole. "Sorry. I was-"

"Thinking!" Ginny offered, "Told you, Hermione."

"Yeah," Harry said, putting on a self-deprecating smile, "Dumbledore's on my mind, I guess."

Hermione put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "It'll be ok. After this afternoon, I don't know, I really think we can do this." She squeezed. "You were incredible this afternoon." Her smile threatened to rip Harry out of Greysight forever.

"Er thanks," Harry looked away, "You both really outdid yourselves, too." He took a deep breath, then squeezed Hermione's hand and put his other on Ginny's shoulder. "We make a great team." He managed a crooked smile at the both of them, while studiously avoiding direct eye contact with either. "Have a good night, you two. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night!" chirped Ginny, with Hermione's coming a moment later, and a little more subdued.

Harry spun around and headed off towards Dumbledore's office. It was impossible not to compare it to the last time Harry went there. It seemed a lifetime ago, though it had only been a few months. Harry passed by the same framed shifting lines and was completely oblivious to the castle's whimsy. It didn't even occur to him to be annoyed at Peeves throwing ink bombs. There wasn't any reason to be.

It seemed a long time ago, but really, what had actually changed? Harry had "struck out on his own" but what did that even mean? He didn't even have the conviction to actively recruit. Hadn't that been what he was saying to Hermione and Ginny? Wasn't that his MO with Tonks? Harry was simply pretending to be this "Third Way"; nothing was going to change because of him. All he had was fame and this new ability that he blundered into through pure luck.

Harry paused in front of the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. "Blundered into" was how Snape had phrased it. Snape, though caustic about it, supported Harry. Snape supported Harry. Harry almost laughed out loud. How much more could he possibly have expected to achieve at this point than bringing around the man who'd hated him for the past six years. Harry blew out a long breath. That was close. It wouldn't do to fall into despair. Things couldn't happen overnight, and Harry was doing the best he could. If there was more he could be doing, he didn't know what it was.

"Acid Pop," Harry said, shaking out his suddenly clammy hands.

The gargoyle nodded and sprang aside, revealing the rising staircase. As Harry rode the staircase up, he took some deep breaths and did his best to empty his mind. That sudden downward thought spiral, and more specifically how rapidly it had darkened, was a thorn in Harry's mind. Definitely something to think about, and absolutely something to guard against in the future. As the staircase slowed, Harry stepped off and knocked on the door.

"Ah, yes, come in," came the exasperated reply, "Right on time."

Harry opened the door and walked in. Dumbledore's office was much as he remembered it. Portraits on the wall reduced to incomprehensible visual white noise, the dull brown desk cluttered with junk, and the man himself sitting comfortable in a plush, leather chair. This time, however, Harry noticed a nearby cupboard sitting ajar, and he could see a familiar stone bowl atop a podium. So, he was to see a memory tonight.

"Welcome, Harry." Dumbledore rose and moved around the desk. "I trust your returning to school has been easy so far?"

"N.E.W.T.s seem to be pretty difficult, sir," Harry said, doing his best to affect what he thought of as "old Harry" voice, "Nonverbal casting is going to be real pain." He forced a self-deprecating grin.

Dumbledore nodded, his voice dripping in condescension, "I remember the difficulty I had in my seventh year." He winked, and Harry tamped down a shudder. "Not much."

Harry figured that was a joke, so he chuckled. "Right. Sir, could I ask a question before we start?"

Dumbledore smiled, and Harry felt a jolt of surprise at how nice he looked. A genuine smile? Odd. "Of course, my boy." The voice was still raw and grating, though.

"Did, er, Sirius leave a…" Harry took a deep breath, as though this was difficult to say, "A will?"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed in what could be a frown of sympathy or suspicion. "He did. I labored to keep it from you, since his passing was so difficult for… us all." He put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You do not need to worry yourself. It is in safe-keeping until next summer."

Harry nodded. "Thank you, sir. I'm not sure I could have brought myself to see it back then." He took another deep breath. Careful not to overplay it… "But I think it would be good for me to see it. It might help me to accept that he's-" Harry choked back a "sob," "R-really gone."

Dumbledore squeezed Harry's shoulder. Harry was vividly reminded of the shed, where it felt like Dumbledore had been a bird of prey with a bit of Harry in his talons. "If you think it would help, my dear boy-" Harry internally winced at how that sounded, "Then I shall have it for you at our next lesson."

"Th-thank you, sir," Harry said, attempting a sad smile, "That means a lot."

"Now," Dumbledore said, moving away from Harry and over to the cupboard, "I believe I told you that I would be teaching you about how to defeat Voldemort."

Harry nodded. "I remember."

Dumbledore smiled again, but this time it was anything but nice. Did the old man also use magic to disguise his expressions? But not all of them? Another thing for Snape, Harry supposed.

"I have, with some difficulty, obtained some memories for us to view." Dumbledore pulled the Pensieve out of the cupboard and Levitated it into the middle of the room. "The first, which I'll show you tonight, is the memory of one Bob Ogden, an Auror active about seventy years ago."

Harry nodded. "Was he the first one to try and arrest Voldemort?"

Dumbledore chuckled; actual, genuine amusement. "Oh no, Harry. This was before-" he paused, "Well, you'll see."

Dumbledore took a vial of some sort of silvery substance out of his robes and tipped it into the Pensieve. It didn't pour like any sort of liquid Harry had seen before, but it did drift down to the bowl. It almost seemed to float. Bizarre.

"Shall we?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry took a big breath. "Sure." He dunked his head in.

Harry and Dumbledore are standing on a country lane that runs forward towards a small, disheveled cottage. Further up, the lane turns left and snakes up a small hill before a smaller path forks off towards a large estate. Harry surveys the idyllic scene before turning to Dumbledore.

"Where's Ogden?"

There's a small crack and Harry jumps. A man, clearly a wizard in Muggle clothes to judge by his mismatched wardrobe, strides firmly towards the cottage. Dumbledore nods at him and both he and Harry follow the Auror. Ogden strides up to the door of the cottage and raps firmly on it. After a moment of nothing happening, the door slams open and a short man with dirty hair, dirty clothes, and dark eyes that point in decidedly different directions bursts out, startling both Harry and Ogden.

In mere moments, the man has a knife at Ogden's throat and a wand at his head, and is spouting off, "Get the fuck outta here you filthy, damned Mugglefucker, I'll fuck the inside of your head with my knife if'n you don't clear the fuck outta here right fuckin now."

Harry blanches at the profanity, and Dumbledore quietly murmurs, "Ah, I see you can understand our attacker."

Harry frowns, then focuses a bit harder and, sure enough, there's the telltale hiss of Parseltongue.

"Please, sir, I have a warrant from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Ogden says, "I am the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, and I will not hesitate to use whatever necessary force to protec-"

Harry has a bare moment to snort at Ogden's bravado before the attacker fires off a curse into Ogden's nose at point-blank range. Ogden stumbles back, into the lane, and ends up colliding with a muggle horse and buggy that is clip-clopping down the lane. Ogden turns to the muggles and, with thick yellow puss pouring out of his nose, manages to choke out an apology, before turning back to the short, dirty man.

"Oy, come off it, Morfin," calls out a voice from the inside, "You know we don't do the brass like that."

With a few more Parseltongue curses that set Harry's ears blazing, Morfin backs up into the cottage, his eyes (well, one of them) never leaving the Auror. With a quick spell, Ogden appears to fix the problem with his nose, and he also moves into the cottage. Harry notices a small sign valiantly hanging onto a shabby mailbox that reads "Gaunt."

Inside, the cottage is probably the dirtiest thing Harry's ever seen. Squalor would be insulted to be used on this place. The dirt is thickly lining every square inch of it, all of the seating, all of the walls, even all of the windows to the point where they are difficult to see out of. The only part of the place that is even somewhat livable is the kitchen, where Harry sees a young woman scrubbing some dishes with a furious abandon.

The speaker who called off Morfin moves forward to greet Ogden, and is revealed to be an elderly man, though still clearly possessing some measure of vitality. "Awright, what are you here for?"

Ogden reaches into his pocket and removes a crumpled bit of paper. "Your son, Morfin, is accused of both performing magic near a Muggle and then also performing magic on that Muggle, causing-"

Morfin, from across the room, pipes up, "Filthy fuckin shitblood, my magic's the only good thing that thing has in 'im now, fucking Mugglefucker comin in here shittin' on me just for teaching a shitblood what's what…" he continues to trail on and on.

Ogden, not understanding, is courageously attempting to present his warrant. "And he is therefore summoned to a-"

"Summoned you say?!" roars the older man suddenly, "Summoned like the filth on the ground?!" He lurches forward, grasping at something in his pocket. Ogden, obviously assuming that he's under attack again, goes for his wand, but before he can draw, the older man has procured a surprisingly clean silver locket. "You see this, shit-stain?!" The man jabs it into Ogden's face. "This was Salazar Slytherin's personal fucking locket! Know what that shit means?!"

Ogden staggers back, doing his best to maintain a safe distance.

"It means that I, fucking Marvolo Gaunt himself, am the direct fucking decendent of Salazar Slytherin hisself." Marvolo planted his feet proudly. "What do you say to that?"

Ogden takes a deep breath, though Harry sees his hand resting where his wand is. "I say, sir, that in the eyes of the law, it matters not what ancestry you have. Were Slytherin, or even Gryffindor, himself accused, I would be here all the same, delivering the same thing to them."

Marvolo goes cross-eyed in rage (ah, there's the family resemblance). "You ain't fit to lick the shit off o' Slytherin's fuckin arse. How dare you-"

He's interrupted by Morfin suddenly going off, pointing out of the grimy window. Harry hears voices drifting in through the cracks in the plaster walls.

"Oh gawd, what an eyesore," comes a posh, female voice, "Isn't that on your land? Can't your family tear that absolute pile down?"

"Terribly sorry, Cecilia, my dear," answers a male voice, "Afraid not. Some absolute crazies have the deed, and we can't do much about it, unfortunately."

They pass by quickly enough that Harry doesn't hear any more. There's a brief silence in the Gaunt cottage, suddenly broken by Morfin quietly saying, "Hear that? Your shitblood's got himself a cunt. He ain't have no use for you."

"What's that you say?" asks Marvolo, now also in Parseltongue.

"Shitfuck, Da', why'd you fuckin figure I went off on that shitblood." Morfin comes forward and is clearly directing his words at the young woman in the kitchen. "Your shitty fuckin whore daughter caught herself a case of Mugglefever."

The young woman stops washing the dishes.

Ogden clearly sees that the mood has changed drastically, but also just as clearly can't see why.

"Is this true, Merope?" Marvolo's voice is soft and dangerous. "Are you pining after that shitblood?"

The young woman's voice is quiet and fearful. With a pang of sympathy, Harry realizes that's exactly how he spoke to his aunt and uncle all those years ago. "No, Da', please. I hain't look'd at him no way. I know they's shitbloods-" she spits onto the floor, "And I's a good pureblood girl, I is."

"You fuckin liar," sneers Morfin, "I seen you mooning out the cunting window at him as he shits on by! I seen you fucking stall out your chores so's you could fuckin wave your tits at 'im as he passed. I fuckin seen you, Mugglefucker." He cackles insanely. "But your little shitblood ain't look so pretty covered in my fuckin magic shit DID HE?"

Merope is white as a sheet, and that's all the confirmation Marvolo needs to dash forward and wrap his hand around her neck.

Ogden is a bare shade behind the older Gaunt as he whips out his wand and begins rapidly firing off spells. At this aggression, Morfin begins firing blindly, blisteringly fast, and Ogden is forced out of the cottage. Harry feels a hand on his shoulder, and Dumbledore is looking down. "Shall we?"

Back in Dumbledore's office, Harry collapsed into a chair. "Bloody hell." After a moment, Harry's eyes snapped to Dumbledore. "Oh, sorry sir."

Dumbledore smiled indulgently, surprisingly genuine. "From what I gather, 'Bloody hell' is perhaps the tamest thing you might say after hearing that Parseltongue." He handed Harry a mug of butterbeer.

Harry nodded, "It was pretty vile, sir." He took a sip of the warming beverage.

Dumbledore sat himself behind the desk. "Would you like some context on all of that?"

"Please," Harry said, sitting back up, "I mean, it was interesting for sure, but I don't see what that has to do with Voldemort."

"That man, Marvolo Gaunt, was Voldemort's grandfather."

Harry spit out the butterbeer he was drinking.

Dumbledore smiled, again genuine, though his voice was dripping with sarcasm. "The man you heard riding by, the one whose family still owns that land to this day, was Tom Riddle Sr. The man poor Merope was so hopelessly infatuated with." His voice took on a cruel edge. "After the male Gaunts were arrested, and she was left to her own devices, Merope learned that she was quite a Potioneer." His eyes narrowed, and Harry assumed he was trying to demonstrate tragedy. Harry thought he just looked disgusted. "Imagine how easy it would be to invite Tom over for a refreshing glass of lemonade one hot day. The little bit of Amortentia mixed in wouldn't have even registered as an odd taste.:

Harry blanched. "That's...horrible."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said gravely, steepling his fingers, "However, this is where the story becomes more interesting. You see, for some reason, Merope eventually simply stopped dosing Riddle Sr with the Amortentia. He returned to his family with claims of bewitchment, which no one believed, and Merope was left to struggle on her own."

Harry felt a flash of confusion. "Sir? If she was a witch, surely she'd have any number of ways to get by, right?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. This is all speculation on my part, but I surmise that Merope could simply not bear to live with enslaving her husband any longer." The condescension in his tone told Harry that Dumbledore thought of that as weakness, rather than compassion. A small chunk of rage fell into Harry's stomach. "Perhaps she thought that Riddle Sr would stay for the child, which was a mere two months away from delivery. Perhaps she thought that he had actually grown to love her. Regardless, I believe that her grief was so great that she wanted nothing to even do with magic after her husband left." Dumbledore paused, as if expecting Harry to break in and, when Harry did not, Dumbledore continued. "The last known sighting of Merope Gaunt was at Borgin and Burkes, yes the very same, where she was pawning off a singularly spectacular silver locket that she claimed to be Slytherin's own."

Harry nodded. "I'd guess that it didn't hold many great memories for her."

Dumbledore nodded. "Doubtless it was both a burden and a windfall for a poor, starving woman without any way to survive. Borgin immediately performed certain tests on it, and verified it as genuine. Despite this making it nearly priceless, Merope was asking for a mere three hundred Galleons. Ever the efficient businessman, Borgin drove her down to two hundred sixty-five."

Harry felt the anger flare, and couldn't stop some of it from bleeding into his eyes.

"Indeed, no one has ever accused Connelly Borgin of being generous," Dumbledore said, a sneer evident in his voice, "Regardless, those are the regrettable details of Voldemort's birth."

There was a vast silence.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, suddenly reminded to put on the "old Harry" voice, "This is really interesting."

Dumbledore rose. "I again apologize for putting you through all that vitriol." His voice was taunting.

"It was nothing," Harry shot back, before he could stop himself, "Er, I mean, you know, I hear Malfoy talk. It wasn't too much worse than that." Harry's eyes tightened.

"Ah, I see," Dumbledore nodded, as if confirming something to himself, "I had not known Malfoy was so hateful." The smile that surfaced on his face was close to a sneer. "I'll see you later, Harry."

Harry's head was abuzz all the way back to the Gryffindor dormitory. It certainly explained Voldemort's blood-purist mania. Wait, no it didn't. Wasn't he an orphan? Did Voldemort actually independently discover this bigotry? That was ironic. If Merope had simply been allowed to pursue the elder Riddle, maybe she wouldn't have been so desperate as to brew up Amortentia. Well, maybe she would have regardless. In any case, it meant that Voldemort probably grew up an orphan.

For a moment, Harry felt an unwelcome pang of sympathy for the most evil wizard in living memory. That was something to look into, for sure. If there was anything Harry would be in denial about, feeling sorry for Voldemort was probably very high on that list.

Harry flopped into bed, utterly exhausted. Sleep embraced him, a gentle guide to sweet oblivion and, after what he'd seen, Harry was very glad to dive right in.