Tests
The school was more abuzz than Harry had seen it since the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. No one talked about anything besides Malfoy. Flitwick ended a lesson early, McGonagall threatened to put an entire class in detention, and according to the fourth years, Snape did.
Crabbe and Goyle looked lost without the third member of their trio. As they'd helped Malfoy, Harry wondered how much of this was a surprise to them. Pansy Parkinson, Malfoy's sometime girlfriend, accosted Tonks after breakfast on the second consecutive day of Malfoy-related headlines in the Daily Prophet and had to be taken away by Professors Slughorn and Vector to receive a calming draught from Madam Pomfrey.
"He didn't hurt anyone!" Pansy shrieked through hysterical tears. "You just hate him!"
Harry had just enough time to register that she'd raised her wand before it flew in the air, landing in Tonks' outstretched hand. "You don't want to do that," warned the Auror, her even tone at odds with her cold eyes, handing Pansy's wand to Slughorn.
"You want to calm yourself, Miss Parkinson," he soothed.
"You'll be sorry!"
"Now, Miss Parkinson, you can't go talking to an Auror like that," scolded Vector. "I think we'll go speak with Professor Dumbledore after you see Madam Pomfrey."
Tonks watched her disappear down the corridor, and Harry sensed she was restraining her amusement. When she turned around, a crowd of eagerly watching students greeted her, Harry, Ron, and Ginny among them. Tonks regarded the students for a moment before lifting her eyebrows. "Don't you lot have somewhere to be?" She winked at Ginny before they dispersed.
"Potter," a voice hissed as Harry headed for the Grand Staircase. He had a mountain of homework to do.
Harry turned, spotting Eric leaning against a window. "What's up?"
"You have something to do with this?" He waved a newspaper.
Harry didn't need to read the headline. "No, why?"
"I just remember you being very curious about Malfoy. Thought it was interesting is all."
"Malfoy's always been a big talker," replied Harry carefully. "I suppose he finally stopped talking and actually did something. Did you know anything about it?"
"What, because I'm a Slytherin?" Eric retorted, though his voice was free of acrimony. "No. Malfoy's always been a little shit, but I never knew he was into this. I asked Daphne—she's friends with Pansy, you know—but she said if Pansy knew, she kept her mouth shut."
"She'd have to be dumber than she acts to go around running her mouth about something like that." Eric laughed. "So you and Daphne are good friends?"
He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so, why?"
"Just wondered."
"I know you lot are taught to hate Slytherins on sight, but Daphne's not bad," Eric said defensively.
"Yeah, she's friends with Pansy and Pansy's a bitch, but she's not like her. I always figured they're friends because they kind of have to be. It's not like you see Granger or any of the rest lining up to be her best mate, do you?"
"I didn't say anything."
"You don't have to say it, Potter. Anyway, give Daph a chance and forget about her friends. Especially Tracey. Merlin, that girl never shuts up."
Harry raised his hands. "Yeah, I got it."
He thought about Eric's words as he trudged up the stairs. While Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw intermingled freely, it was a rare occasion indeed to see one on friendly terms with a Slytherin. True, those Harry had had the most exposure to—Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode, Marcus Flint—often redefined nasty, but the rest were mostly names and faces to Harry. Eric had turned out alright. Perhaps all the negative things Harry had heard about the House over the years weren't always as true as he had believed.
Harry's first proper lesson with Burke was put off due to some mysterious business of Burke's. He chafed at the delay, but after picking up some clues in his continuing correspondence with Mad-Eye, he put two and two together and waited patiently. He wasn't the only one demanding some of Burke's time.
And, as he finally crawled into the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow late one night, his own uneasiness reminded him that perhaps a delay wasn't such a bad thing. He still had very little idea as to the true nature of Burke's character, and there was a distinct possibility he was setting himself up for disaster by trusting him. Nevertheless Harry had committed, and even as he steeled himself, tendrils of intrigue wound their way through him.
"Mr. Burke?" he called cautiously, emerging into the Shrieking Shack.
"In here, boy," was the reply in the familiar gravelly voice, not upstairs as Harry expected but down.
He found Burke in what looked to be an old drawing room on the first floor, except that it was far larger than indicated by the exterior size of the house. Torn, broken furniture was pushed aside, and Harry's de facto tutor stood in the middle, accompanied by nothing but his wand.
"Mr. Burke," Harry said as a greeting.
Burke acknowledged him with a nod. "Are you ready?"
"For wha–"
Harry barely had time to react with a shield when a stunner shot unerringly for his heart. He was forced back a few steps while it ricocheted into a nearby chair. Spells seemed to flow without end from Burke's wand. Harry rolled to one side, flicking his wand with an experienced twist of the wrist in an effort to knock the older man off his feet. Leaping out of the way of another spell, he threw out an incarcerous jinx as he landed. Harry dodged and parried and cast, but he might as well have been fighting a brick wall for all his success.
It was only a short time before a jet of light landed on his right wrist, numbing all the nerves in his hand and sending his wand clattering to the floor. He dove for it with his left hand, but something drove him back to the ground, feeling as if an invisible hand pinned his throat down with just enough pressure to be uncomfortable.
"I believe that's enough for now."
Harry was released, and he massaged his throat while reclaiming his wand, doggedly climbing to his feet.
"I do hope you have more spells in your arsenal."
"Of course I do," Harry muttered. "I was trying not to hurt you."
"Why? Do you not find me capable of defending myself?"
"It's obvious you are."
"Very well. Might I ask why you expended so much energy in your legs?"
Harry stared. "What do you mean?"
"Look at me." Burke gestured. He was more or less in the same place he had been when they started. "Most of my movement was due to you running in circles around me. You wasted more energy in moving than you did spellcasting."
Harry shuffled his feet and ran a hand through his hair, feeling stupid although he didn't know why.
"You shouldn't present a fixed target to your opponent."
"Ah." Burke observed him dryly. "You've spent quite a bit of time with your Auror girlie, then. No, don't deny it. Whatever you do, don't lie to me, boy. I recognize Auror training when I see it.
They're so physical. And if it works for them, great. You might be interested to know that both that silly girl and her late partner would have put up far more of a fight than you did."
"They have years of training," Harry pointed out, on the defensive.
"Exactly. Look in that mirror, boy, and tell me what you see."
Caught between irritated and confused, Harry did so, staring at his reflection in a dusty, tarnished mirror hanging crookedly on one peeling wall. He blinked back at himself. Same Harry as always— green eyes, round glasses, messy black hair. He supposed he looked a bit weary.
"Er, I see me."
"More."
"What do you want? I'm Harry. I'm sixteen, a sixth year. I'm Quidditch captain and seeker for—"
Burke waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Enough. You are exactly as you say—a boy. A mere student. I know you've been told how special you are for your entire life, but I—"
"No," Harry interrupted, forcing a lid on his rising temper. "I haven't. If you must know, I was always told I was worthless until I came to Hogwarts, not that it's any of your business."
Burke raised one bushy eyebrow. "Interesting. Nevertheless, I want to make sure we're on the same page. What I can do is the summation of years upon years of study, and both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord have decades upon that. I will not waste my time with an arrogant boy who believes he's the Chosen One capable of being their equal after a summer of study."
"I'm not arrogant," Harry snapped angrily.
"Yes, you are," Burke returned in such a matter-of-fact manner it was almost hard to argue.
"I know I'm not as good as them, probably won't ever be, but that doesn't mean I can't try to become better. And I'm not useless, you know, I've fought Death Eaters and stuff."
"Defeating Death Eaters is different than being able to defeat Death Eaters, boy."
"What? I don't even" Harry rubbed his head, glancing at the door, filled once again with doubts about this working out. "Don't call me boy. I have a name."
"Stop acting like one. Are you done pouting?"
"Are you done being an asshole?" Harry fired back.
Burke sighed, massaging his temple as he took a seat on a disgusting sofa Harry wouldn't have touched for the world. "Some would call that case in point, boy. Sit, sit. You look like you'll bolt for the door any moment, and it's highly irritating."
Startled at the about-face, Harry took a seat on the floor, leaning against the wall. Might as well at least hear him out. Stalking away like a child wouldn't get him anywhere.
"Magic is a tool of finite resources," Burke began quietly. "No one, not even Dumbledore himself, can cast spells forever, and despite his many faults, Dumbledore is a superb wizard. I spent much of my life traveling the world and seeking the beauty in magical artefacts. During that time and after, I have come to see the beauty in efficiency as well. Why waste your time and energy flourishing your wand when a simple swish does the trick? Why bother injuring an enemy when you can incapacitate him?"
"You can't go around killing everyone," Harry objected. "Sometimes you need to know what they know."
Burke inclined his head. "That is true, but there are ways to disable someone without it being fatal. My point is the way I wield magic values efficiency above all. Every twitch of your wrist, every shuffle of your feet, every thought means something. The largest arsenal of spell knowledge means little if you do not know how to properly apply each one to its best use. You have a spell which allows one to pierce through a human body. Where is the appropriate place to aim?"
"The torso, I suppose."
"Why not the hand, for instance?"
Harry stifled a grimace at the mental images he was entertaining. "If you pierced through someone's hand, he wouldn't be able to use that hand, but he could keep fighting. In the torso, he's more likely to go down and stay down."
"Precisely. The heart, if one wishes to kill."
Burke drummed his fingers together and studied Harry, who lifted his chin, returning the gaze steadily. Each evaluated the other. Harry, for his part, hadn't lost his misgivings, but he remained intrigued. Burke certainly seemed to know what he was talking about, even if it jarred with what Tonks taught him at times.
Burke stood abruptly, his assessment apparently at an end. "There are drawbacks to my style of magic, of course, as there are to any style. It works best in a one-on-one situation and therefore craves a partner, someone you trust implicitly. Stand."
When Harry did so, fingering his wand, Burke conjured two thin wooden sticks, tossing one to Harry. He caught it on reflex, turning it over in contemplation. It looked like a small sword of some type, not the large one of medieval knights nor the curved blade of old-time pirates, but something more delicate. What was it called? A
"A rapier," Burke announced, sheathing his wand, "is a graceful weapon. Much like the innocuous sticks of wood we call our wands, in the right hands it is capable of doing much more harm than it appears. Put your wand away and grasp your sword in your wand hand."
Harry didn't make a move. "Fencing? You want to teach me fencing?"
"Style first, spells later. You're learning magic up at the school, aren't you? Learn how to wield magic properly and save yourself a lot of wasted energy. I'll not have you waving your wand around like some upstart teenager who fancies himself half an Auror."
Harry gritted his teeth. "I don't fancy myself an Auror."
"I'm sure you don't. Now sheath your wand, boy."
More because he hoped to be able to wipe that derogative 'boy' right out of his mouth, Harry obeyed, albeit grudgingly. Burke walked around him, adjusting his stance and pose before standing opposite and mirroring his posture. Then they began.
At first the only instruction Harry received was to find a gap and exploit it. But everywhere his wooden rapier went, Burke was there first, meeting him with a THWACK. Bit by bit, Burke tossed out commands.
"Thrust and jab. Do not slash."
"Quicker. Out and back, out and back."
"Know where your feet are."
"Every step should have intention behind it."
"Loosen your wrist."
"Parry, boy, parry."
And so on and so forth. Harry's arm, unused to the weight, began to ache, and on a whim he switched to his left hand. He was clumsy, but as best he could tell, Burke approved of the move. He wasn't sure he had the energy to make it back to his dorm by the time Burke called a halt. Amazingly, the older man wasn't nearly as out of breath as Harry.
"Make every single movement count," he said as Harry wiped the sweat from his brow. "Excess only wears you down. And for Merlin's sake, learn to close your mind. You may have some shielding when you're sitting there like this, but it drops the moment your mind moves on to other things. You must focus. An open mind is an open book for all the world to read, and that includes your opponent."
"How do you " Harry panted.
"Years, boy. Years. If you only have months, you must work harder."
"Months? Why would you—how did you—" Harry was flabbergasted. There was no way Burke could know of Harry's trepidation regarding his upcoming birthday, the one when his mother's protection would disappear, not even through Legilimancy. That was hidden far too deep for Burke to penetrate without Harry's awareness.
"Guard your body as well as your mind, boy," was Burke's parting shot as he headed for the door, their session evidently over. "The same way I knew you lost your Auror girl."
Harry's return to Gryffindor Tower, his pride as bruised as his body where Burke's sword had gotten through, was slow, turning his thoughts and feelings over in his mind. Burke wanted to set his teeth on edge, that was clear, and Harry knew it worked. Calling him 'boy' just like Uncle Vernon, for a start, and insinuating he had a swollen head like Snape did.
Harry stopped so quickly he nearly tripped over himself, a lone figure standing stock still on the dark Hogwarts grounds. That was it. His irritation at Burke's treatment of him, the man's knowledge of things Harry never put to words, the warnings to close his body and remove his heart from his sleeve—Burke wasn't reading Harry's mind, he was reading his reactions.
Torn between admiration for Burke being able to read him so easily and shame at himself for the same fact, Harry resumed his trek, thoughtful. Burke may have been irascible and cryptic, but he wasn't an enemy. If he could exploit Harry's weaknesses, then so could someone who truly wished him harm.
For the first time since he sent off the original letter, Harry felt a glimmer of hope that this was the right choice. Perhaps Burke was teaching him more than fencing.
Another Saturday, another meeting with Dumbledore. Harry offered the latest password to the stone gargoyle like they were old friends and soon found himself seated in his customary chair, wandless and currently inhabiting a potion-induced dream state.
He was walking through the corridors of Hogwarts, the castle empty and quiet. He turned suddenly, certain he heard something behind him, but there was nothing. He continued on his walk, pausing after a few feet. He looked one way, then the other before throwing his hand up toward a door, making it fly shut with a slam. He waited several seconds before moving on, his surroundings providing no clue to any particular Hogwarts corridor. The scene repeated itself again and again, and each time Harry saw nothing but shut the doors all the same.
And then it was fading and dissolving, and Harry was back in Dumbledore's office, blinking against the light to make out a very pleased Headmaster.
"Well done, Harry, well done indeed," he praised his student. "You did not overreact, merely blocking me each time you were alerted to my presence without allowing any invasions, and equally as well, you did not attempt to physically stop me with your real body."
"Did I?" Harry asked, rubbing his head. Only wisps of the dream remained, as fleeting as any that came about naturally.
"Yes, you did. I am quite pleased with your progress. Subconscious Occlumency often provides a very large stumbling block."
"I've been trying to clear my mind every night," said Harry. "Tonks and Cooper both showed me calming techniques. Only sometimes I fall asleep before I finish."
The Headmaster smiled. "Sleep claims us all in the end. Do not let that cast a shadow on your progress. Although it takes years to become a fully-fledged Occlumens for whom mental shields are less than a thought, you have made great strides in a short time."
"Especially considering how awful I was last year," Harry remarked, rather proud of himself. Snape thought him rubbish. "How do you think it will take for me to block you when you're actually trying hard?"
That brought a twinkle to Dumbledore's eyes, but it seemed to diminish somewhat when he spoke.
"Longer than we have at the moment, I am afraid. With time ever hovering over our shoulders, let us move on. What shall we cover next?"
Was he asking Harry? "Um you don't have more?"
"I have many things I wish to teach you, but in the past you indicated you have an agenda of your own. I thought perhaps you would like to pursue that."
Oh. Harry blinked, surprised. A dozen ideas raced through his mind, ranging from the dark arts to a further study into magic itself, but the words that sprang to his mouth were, "I want to talk about Draco Malfoy."
The mask of the Headmaster's face remained impassive. "Go on."
"The Wizengamot found him guilty. He admitted to being a Death Eater, to plotting to allow Voldemort into the school. Why do you still believe he's innocent?"
"Innocence and guilt are not as black and white as you would have them. Does Draco Malfoy bear the Dark Mark? Yes. Was he sent back to Hogwarts last summer under orders from Voldemort? Yes. I know this. My doubt, Harry, lies in the fulfillment of those orders. As you yourself know very well, receiving orders does not mean that one will follow them."
Harry shook his head in disbelief. How could someone so smart deliberately ignore what lay under his crooked nose? "But, sir, we saw him working on that cabinet. He admitted it. If that's not following orders, I don't know what is."
"You and Miss Tonks were not the only ones watching Draco this year. If at any point in time I believed my students were in any real danger, I would have stepped in. If you believe anything I have ever said, believe that."
"What about Katie Bell?" Harry asked bluntly.
"Draco has neither admitted to nor been found guilty of any harm toward Miss Bell," Dumbledore answered quietly, his fingers folded over his long beard.
Harry glanced around the office in frustration, slumping in his cushioned chair. Many of the portraits of former Headmasters were snoozing, but a few returned his gaze. Phineas Nigellus Black, Sirius' great-great-grandfather and least popular Head ever, scowled and pointedly looked away when Harry met his dark eyes, but Dilys Derwent, on the other end of the spectrum as an extremely popular Head, smiled somewhat sadly.
"You think you could have saved him," he said after a period of silence.
"I believe he is not unredeemable, yes."
Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose, choosing his words carefully. "Malfoy was happy to be a Death Eater. I was the one who heard him brag about it. Do you ever wonder if you give people too many second chances? I mean, Snape—"
"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore corrected.
"How do you know Professor Snape is truly on our side? Why would he join up and then switch?"
"He has his own reasons, Harry." Something in his tone made Harry look up, but Dumbledore held up a hand. "I cannot tell you, for he wishes me to keep them secret, but you must believe me when I tell you I absolutely trust Severus Snape with my life."
His voice, though mild, was completely and utterly serious, and Harry held his piercing gaze, knowing in his gut Dumbledore believed his own words. But why?
"Trust, mercy, and forgiveness are not undesirable traits," continued the Headmaster. "You once demonstrated that."
"And I've regretted it ever since," Harry snapped harshly. "If I had just let Sirius and Remus do what they wanted, Pettigrew would be dead. Voldemort wouldn't have returned. Cedric would be alive, Amelia Bones would be alive, Emmeline Vance would be alive, and—and Sirius would be alive. Alive and free."
"Perhaps," Dumbledore allowed as if they were discussing a mildly interesting book. "Would you be prepared to pay that cost, to allow your parents' best friends to become cold-blooded murderers?"
"If the alternative is letting other cold-blooded murderers roam freely, then yes. I think we'll all have to do things we don't want to before this is over. I don't mean any disrespect, Professor, but I wonder if you get that. From what Sirius told me, the Order was losing badly before my mum stopped Voldemort. The price has to be paid somewhere, doesn't it?"
Dumbledore took off his glasses, cleaning them on his robes before perching them on his nose face shone with weariness in every line. "On that we agree, Harry. The price must be paid somewhere. Despite what you may think to the contrary, I do have a very clear idea of how high it is. It is my wish for you never to discover that, but I fear I shall be wrong."
Enough light filled the room to make every nuance in Dumbledore's expression visible to Harry, and the teen shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the sorrow and pain he saw. He often found half of what Dumbledore said to be cryptic and multifaceted, but this seemed very straightforward. He didn't know why, but he instinctively believed Dumbledore knew exactly what he was talking about, and for some reason Harry found it unnerving. Almost absently, his hand drifted to his forehead, rubbing his scar.
As the days rushed toward May, Harry pushed himself harder and harder. Weekdays were classes, scribbling essays for Snape and practicing spells for McGonagall in the few minutes in between, using those free periods Ron had been so happy about to revise and revise again for their upcoming exams. Even Charms, originally one of the easiest and most fun classes, became a chore. Weekends, which had once been time for sleeping in and lazy play, were now full of Quidditch practice, apparition lessons, meetings with Dumbledore where they continued to discuss horcruxes and dissect magic, and Sunday study groups.
Evenings were more Quidditch practice and homework again, and his nights were split between the DA and lessons with Burke. On the rare night Harry had neither, he often went to the Room of Requirement on his own, practicing both Occlumency and fencing. And if he happened to find himself with time to sit in a cozy chair in the common room, he read a book from the Restricted Section until he fell asleep and Ron or Hermione prodded him, with increasing concern, to go to bed. The books themselves ranged from near-unintelligible to morbid, including one that gleefully and gruesomely described the best way to dismember a body.
To put it simply, Harry was exhausted. On a sunny day near the end of April, the majority of the sixth years were excused from afternoon classes to take their apparition tests in Hogsmeade. Finding himself with only Ernie Macmillan in Potions, Harry greatly hoped Slughorn would simply cancel class, giving him the opportunity for a much-needed nap.
No such luck. "Don't come of age until the summer, eh?" Slughorn boomed, looking from Ernie to Harry. "Don't worry, lads, you'll get your licenses soon enough. Since it's just the three of us, I'll go easy on you today: make any potion you like from your copy of Advanced Potion-Making, so long as we haven't made it in class yet."
Sharing a glum look with Ernie (he, too, had hoped to skive off), Harry flipped through his textbook, settling on an ageing potion. A grin tugged at his mouth as he remembered Fred and George Weasley with identical white beards.
The warm sunlight filtering through the windows and heavy, smoky fumes from the cauldrons didn't help his fatigue. He fought back a yawn as he crushed his vitex plant into a fine powder, trying to concentrate. One cup of water must be brought to a boil before herbs and plants are added His heavy eyelids drooped, and he blinked rapidly to open them. The fire must be lowered so thepotion can stew for
BANG!
Harry jerked awake. The contents of Ernie's cauldron dripped all over his desk, under which the other boy had taken cover.
"I think that's enough for today, Mr. Macmillan," Slughorn said, waving away the smoke and coughing. "Let's see what you—ah, not your best day either, Mr. Potter."
Harry's cauldron emitted burping sulfuric bubbles from a thick purple sludge, about as far from the book's description of the potion as it could get.
Slughorn vanished both potions. "We all have off days, boys. Why don't you go and use the rest of the time to study?"
Harry shoved his book in his bag and took off gratefully. He had just enough time for a quick nap in his favorite armchair before—
"Harry! I passed!"
Inwardly sighing, Harry forced a pleased smile on his face as Hermione approached him at the front of the flood of sixth years. By the occasional dispirited face, not everyone was as successful.
"Well done, Hermione. How about Ron?"
Her face fell. "Oh, um, he just barely—"
"Failed." Ron's expression was thunderous. "You don't just barely fail. You either pass or you don't. I didn't."
"But you were so close," Lavender placated him. "Only your eyebrows were left behind."
"You can take the test again with me this summer, mate," said Harry. "It's not like you can apparate while you're here anyway."
"Easy for you to say. You were the first to apparate in our class."
"It's not that bad, Ron," said Hermione. "Didn't you say Charlie ended up miles away on his first test?"
Ron's expression lightened slightly. "Yeah, he did. Suppose I wasn't that bad. And maybe I'll pass before the twins find out. They'll never stop taking the piss out of me if they do."
"I'm sure you will," cooed Lavender, looping her arm through his. "And then think of all the things we can do this summer"
Harry watched the couple lope away. Now that they'd toned down their exhibitionist relationship, he didn't mind Lavender dating Ron. It had done wonders for Ron's confidence, and they genuinely seemed to care for each other. Not to mention that Harry now knew how it felt to break up with someone for whom he truly cared. Unfortunately, seeing other couples just reminded Harry that he had no one.
"Hey, Harry." Parvati fell in step with them.
"Hi, Parvati. How did you do?"
"I passed! I was nervous, too, since I hadn't apparated yet in practice. But I just concentrated, and there I was."
"That's great. I'm glad for you. How did everyone else do?"
"Let's see Seamus failed, Crabbe and Goyle did, of course, but Padma passed, Dean passed"
"Terry and Anthony passed, and so did Susan," added Hermione. "I think about three-quarters of us passed, which Twycross said is normal. What did I miss in Potions?"
Harry shared a look with Parvati. Typical Hermione. "Nothing. Slughorn let us make whatever we wanted." He was not going to tell her he fell asleep.
Only Hermione could look disappointed at that. "Oh, I suppose I didn't miss anything, then."
"I'm sure Slughorn will set you a potion if you ask nicely," he suggested helpfully. Parvati sniggered.
"That won't be necessary," replied Hermione loftily.
Parvati laughed, badly disguised as a cough. "I have to go catch up with Padma, we said we'd owl our parents after the test. Bye, Harry, Hermione!"
"See you later," Harry called before realizing Hermione looking at him. "What?"
"You should be careful," she advised in a low voice.
"You know me, 'careful' is my middle name. Er, what should I be careful about, by the way?"
Hermione gave him one of those looks girls always gave when they thought the answer was obvious.
"Parvati still fancies you, although I don't know why."
"Thanks, Hermione," he said sarcastically. "What happened to me being more fanciable than ever?"
She blushed to her core. "I regret ever saying that. I only mean everyone knows you don't fancy her. You tried it and it didn't work out. But she still likes you."
"How do you know, oh wise one?"
"Can't you tell?"
"No, I can't. I can't ever tell what you lot are on about. You act one way and then you say something completely the opposite," he said, trying to swallow the bitterness. "Even you, sometimes you were supposed to fancy Ron but you're always having a go at each other."
Her face was now as red as the aforementioned Weasley's hair. "Well that's—that's completely different!" she sputtered. "Besides, I told you I was over that. Anyway, she and Lavender talk, too. Not to me, very often, but they talk and I hear. She admitted she still fancies you."
Something in her voice struck him. "Hermione, do you ever get lonely in the girls' dorm?"
"No, not really. Of course the other girls are closer to each other than me, but I have you and Ron and Ginny and Neville and even Luna, which is a lot more than I'd ever thought I'd have those first few months here at Hogwarts. If you had told me then that Ron Weasley and Harry Potter would be my best friends, I would have said you were as mad as—"
"As a couple of first years taking on a troll?" Harry suggested wryly.
She smiled. "Something like that. But don't change the subject. The point is, you shouldn't take advantage of Parvati's feelings just because you're hurt or confused, even if you don't realize you're doing it."
Harry began to object, then shut his mouth, considering her words. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind. I think I'm just now figuring out how difficult 'staying friends' can be."
A high point amongst all the activity was the revival of the DA, going better than Harry ever expected. The strong stone walls and magical enchantments around Hogwarts hadn't entirely spared the students of the encroaching dangers of the war around them. The deaths of Susan Bones' aunt and Hannah Abbott's mother, the disappearance of Ollivander, the attack on and subsequent death of the Montgomery sisters' little brother, Katie's incident, even the death of Cooper although most of the girls referred to him as 'that cute Auror bloke'—all spurred the teenagers to take their own defense more seriously than ever. After only a few meetings, Harry was growing confident that if Tonks' prediction came true and Hogwarts was still at risk, his friends could at least defend themselves long enough to escape.
"And if you do it like this, you'll find you have more control over your shield," he instructed late one night. "Then you can direct your opponent's spell back at them instead of ricocheting off blindly. Ron?"
Nodding, Ron strode into the middle of the room, facing Harry. After a moment's pause, he sent a quick body-bind spell (nonverbally, Harry was pleased to note) directly toward him. Harry waited for just the right time, and then—Ron fell on his back, frozen in place.
Everyone clapped while Hermione cast the counterspell, but Harry tried to shrug it off. He was only demonstrating the very basics of what Tonks taught him.
They split into pairs and began to practice. Harry walked around, offering individual critiques, his wand at the ready for the spells that went off course.
"You have to wait for the right moment," he patiently coached little Dennis Creevey, just as undersized and excitable as his older brother Colin. "Too early and it will go wild, too late and the shield won't hold."
He passed Hermione, working with Susan, and cast a counterjinx out of pity on Michael Corner, who was dancing around under the tarantallegra spell while Cho, his partner, claimed through her giggles that she couldn't remember the proper spell. Then he made his way to the end of the room where Ginny and Dean were, but instead of practicing like everyone else, they argued.
"Honestly, Dean," Ginny was saying with exasperation when Harry drew close enough to hear. "I'm not a glass figurine. Just do it."
He shifted his feet, clearly uncomfortable sending a hex at his girlfriend. "It's only I don't want to hurt you, Ginny."
She rolled her eyes. "You're not going to hurt me. It's not like you're Harry or—"
Harry wasn't the only one who caught his breath at that. The nearer pairs dropped all pretense of practice and stared at the quarreling couple. They, however, seemed oblivious to the scrutiny.
"Dean, I didn't—"
"No, you know what? You're right." Dean's dark glare extended to include Harry. "I'm definitely not Harry."
Stunning the entire group (except for Terry Boot, who was actually stunned and lay motionless while his partner, Anthony Goldstein, was too busy watching the row to revive him), Dean stormed out of the Room of Requirement, slamming the door. Ginny made no step to follow, although her face was pale under her freckles.
Harry hastily cleared his throat. "That's enough for tonight," he said loudly, casting a rennervate at Terry, who sat up, thoroughly confused at the inactivity around him. "We'll meet again in a few days."
Trusting his classmates to arrange inconspicuous departures on their own, he returned to Ginny. Hermione was already at her side, along with Ron and Luna.
"I think you should go after him," Hermione advised quietly.
Ginny sighed. "I know I should, but if I'm honest, I almost can't be arsed. We've had this same row for weeks. He's treats me like I'm some sort of delicate glass sculpture."
"I can't believe he went off and left you like this," growled Ron. "I should find him and drag him back here."
"Shut up, Ron."
"If you don't want my help," Ron began angrily.
"I don't want your help," was her immediate reply. "Why are you acting all big-brotherly over a relationship you complained about the entire time? Just go, Ron. Everyone can go, actually, I'm fine."
Muttering under his breath, Ron left, accompanied by Hermione and Lavender, who had hung back with the Patils.
Luna wandered over. "It's probably wrackspurts. Teenage boys attract them more than anyone."
Ginny looked as if she had a hot retort on her lips, but she glanced at Luna and sighed again. "Maybe, Luna. Thanks."
"Anytime," the blonde replied serenely. "Padma, are you going back to Ravenclaw?"
Still Harry stayed where he was, highly uncomfortable but somehow feeling responsible for the argument. Ginny raised an eyebrow at him. "If she thinks wrackspurts are what teenage boys are full of, she's in for a big surprise," she murmured wryly.
"Yeah," he agreed, cracking a smile. "You want to walk back with us?" He tilted his head to indicate Parvati, who was the last one to remain.
"Sure." They left and walked through the darkened corridors quietly for a while before Ginny cleared her throat. "Sorry for making you end early."
"No, it wasn't your fault. We'd covered enough, right, Parvati?" She nodded. "Listen, Ginny, I'm—"
"It's not you," she said abruptly. "Well, it is, a bit. It's just that Dean is always so bloody protective of me."
"That just means he cares," suggested Parvati.
"I know, but I don't need him to hover over me all the time. I grew up with six brothers, I play Quidditch, I fought in the Department of Mysteries—I'm not going to break. Even when he—" She threw a glance at Harry, flushing. "Even when he kisses me, he's so careful. And then I made the mistake of mentioning I used to fancy you."
His shoulders tensed. He had hoped Ginny had gotten over her childhood crush on him, knowing he didn't return her feelings, but now
Thankfully, she rushed to continue. "I don't anymore. You've spent so much time at our house with Ron, I just see you as one of them now, but ever since, Dean has been jealous of you. I shouldn't have said that to him in the Room of Requirement just now. I only meant if it were you or Hermione, I'd be more worried. But there's no good way to put that, is there?"
Parvati murmured an agreement while Harry didn't say anything. Relationship advice was much more Hermione's forte, not his, especially considering how all of his relationships had ended.
"Just remind him that Harry's not a threat to him," Parvati said.
"Yeah maybe. I don't know what I want to do."
She wasn't given much time to think about it, for after another turn, closing in on the portrait of the Fat Lady, Dean stepped out from next to a tapestry that Harry knew concealed a passageway.
"Hey, Ginny. Can we talk?"
"Uh sure." The smile she gave Harry and Parvati was more than a little wan, but she went off with Dean anyway.
Hermione's warning fresh in his mind, Harry found himself tongue-tied. Now he was afraid anything he said would be taken the wrong way. The last thing he wanted to do was lead Parvati on or ruin their reestablished friendship.
Parvati, however, took the choice away from him. "You've changed," she said out of nowhere.
"What?"
"Not in a bad way," she amended quickly. "It's just you always disappear somewhere, and when I do see you, you have your nose buried in a book like Hermione. And you never smile anymore."
"I smile," he protested.
"Not often. You've never been a cheerful sort, Harry, and it's not a bad thing, really, because you're kind of cute when you're broody, but"
She waved her hand, seeming to grapple with what she was trying to say, but Harry wouldn't have heard if she had continued speaking. His mind was on another time in another place with another girl who thought him cute when brooding. With great effort he forced himself to forget it.
" and while the rest of us think about exams and what to do when we leave Hogwarts next year and—and if our crush fancies us or not, you're like on some different level entirely." Harry tried to respond but stopped himself, unsure of what to say to that when there was so much truth in it. She mistook that as offense and hurried to clarify. "I know you have a lot on your mind. You told me that weeks ago, and everyone knows what happened on Easter. I guess what I'm trying to say is that you have friends for a reason, Harry. Lighten up every once in a while."
"Yes, Professor," he teased.
She faked a look of astonishment. "Is Harry Potter actually joking and smiling? Have I fallen into an alternate universe?"
He laughed, an actual laugh straight from his belly. "Thanks, Parvati. I think I need that sometimes. I'm really glad we've gotten to know each other better this year."
"Yeah, me, too," she said, turning rather shy.
There was something about the look she gave him, and Harry cursed to himself. Girls. Someday he'd get it right. Hopefully.
