A/N: Standard disclaimer; see chapter 1 for details.

The guest lecturer had just portkeyed back to Gringotts, and the quartet proceeded to relax and converse casually with Steadman.

"Did you hear how Harry made it through his first game with no injuries, only to fall off his broom after the Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw match?"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I did. Mr. Potter's head of house is the one who notified me. I wonder: if it had been up to the headmaster, would he have bothered? Ah," he shifted position, "no use to speculate, especially as I already know the answer."

Neville grinned. "I bet you do."

Ignoring the comment, Steadman focussed on Harry. "So, Mr. Potter, would you like to tell me the story behind the story? As far as I am aware, a Quidditch match is between only two houses."

Harry ducked his head sheepishly. "With the new orientation session we went through together at the first of the year, all the team members got to know each other. Ced's a really great guy, and he congratulated me for the Slytherin win last month."

"Stolen, I say, stolen!" Draco bellowed, and Neville punched him in the arm.

"Anyway, I decided to do the same thing, and, as I had my broom with me since I was going to practice dives after the pitch cleared, I flew up to give him a high five."

"And fell down five metres," Hermione put in.

"Yeah, the other seeker must've had the same idea and bumped into me. She tried to grab me but just caught my hair." He rubbed the back of his head. "That stung like a bitch and hurt longer than the arm."

"Language."

"I hope you can remain uninjured for a few more weeks," Steadman stated, "as Mr. Black would like you to join him and Mr. Lupin for part of the Yule break. I have his invitation here." He handed over an envelope.

"Mr. Lupin?" Hermione inquired.

"Yeah," Harry turned to her, "I call him the nicest of the Marauders, although that's not saying much. At any rate, he's more tightly wrapped than Sirius and manages to keep him in check."

"Yes, Remus Lupin has been most helpful in convincing Mr. Black that his godson is in the best placement now."

Hermione laughed. "You must be kidding me. Remus Lupin? Wolf Wolf? Wizarding names are insane."

"Oi!"

She smirked at Draco. "Yes, I mean you, too, Bad Faith Dragon."

Harry cleared his throat. "It's funny you should say that, Hermione. Remus is, um, a werewolf."

The ensuing silence was broken by Hermione. "Were his parents asking for a disaster? Competency tests, I say, competency tests!"

Neville raised a finger. "Before you start on me, my name is based on the lengthy narrow field by the river on our family land."

She waved it away. "That I understand, since my own name has farming roots. But...seriously!"

Steadman decided she had ranted enough. "Back to Mr. Lupin. Mr. Potter forgot to mention that the gentleman is provided with an ample quantity of wolfsbane every month and is of no danger to your friend, as he never stays during the full moon. A tame werewolf, so to speak."

"Houdini, Harry," Draco breathed, "you have all the luck!"

Hermione closed her eyes and groaned.

"It surprises me to see you here, Miss Chang." Professor Flitwick looked at her in perplexity. "I thought you performed an adequate Freezing Charm in class."

"Um, it must have been a fluke," she explained, eyes lowered. "I haven't been able to duplicate it again when I practice."

"Practice?"

"Yes, she took some lemonade outside and tried to freeze it to make a lemon ice."

"And you were unable to assist her, Miss Edgecombe?" he queried.

Marietta shrugged. "I guess I'm not that good of a teacher, even if I can do the charm."

"Well," Flitwick sighed, "at least you brought a chaperone with you. Now, Miss Chang, wand up."

The other girl meandered aimlessly around the room as the instruction commenced.

"No, the wand should be held parallel to the floor."

She ran a finger along the edge of a bookshelf.

"Wait, Miss Chang, the rotation is deosil, not widdershins."

Closing her eyes, she let herself fall sideways. The professor turned as she scrambled to her knees. "I'm all right, I'm all right," she said quickly. "My ankle must have turned again."

"Then we must hasten to the infirmary," Flitwick stated in a disquieted tone. "The matron has mentioned this term's many visits."

"No, continue to help Cho for a moment. I'll sit on the floor and catch my breath while I clean up this mess." Once the professor reluctantly conceded, she shuffled through the pages until, "Got you!" she whispered. Quietly murmuring a copy spell onto the blank parchment stuffed in her robe, she then reinserted the essay into the stack, the corners of which she proceeded to align precisely.

Another professor was also having a discussion, this one with the Headmaster.

"Professor Quirrell," Dumbledore gave his most caring expression,"I am concerned that one of the Gryffindors is exhibiting a troublesome degree of aggression."

"McLaggen, you mean?" The Defence professor pulled out his notes on students. "He does seem to press for instruction on some borderline spells, but, as his magical strength is so weak, I've no fear that he'll master them to the extent that he could be dangerous."

"Ah," the older man was briefly taken by surprise, "not that student. I was referring to," he leaned forward, "Harry Potter."

"Oh, Mr. Potter is an absolute delight in the classroom. Always respectful, never unprepared–just like his fellow nobles. I do believe that those four are quite the most organized students to have graced Hogwarts in some time. I can only congratulate whoever provided them their excellent preparatory education."

"But that preparation was of muggle origin." Dumbledore spread his hands. "How will that help guide him to his destiny? The leaders of that primitive world cannot comprehend how dangerous it is to use violent methods to oppose Voldemort."

The younger man laughed. "Are you still on that kick? If," he stabbed a finger onto the Headmaster's desk, "he were still around, that would be the only form of resistance which he would recognize or that would be effective."

"No, no, you do not understand. Voldemort made plans to avoid death–dark and dangerous plans, to be sure–and in doing so made himself barely human."

"You would not care to share those plans with me, would you?" Quirrell's eyes narrowed. "I am, after all, the Defence of the Dark Arts professor. I could furnish no little insight."

Dumbledore waved away the thought. "Suffice it to say that Voldemort's actions did leave him with, as the muggles say, an Achilles' heel. He has no concept of love, and that is what will be his downfall."

"Love?" He waved his left hand at the bearded man. "As I wear Miss Burbage's betrothal ring, I believe I can speak on the power of love. Are you planning to send the dead dark lord a singing Valentine?"

"Not I, I fear," he sighed. "My time to fight him is past. It is up to young Harry to accept the grave responsibility of offering himself in the place of the friends whom he loves."

Quirrell growled. "As a former professor of Muggle Studies, I say, you, Albus Dumbledore, are skating extremely close to blasphemy. Don't think that misbegotten challenge maze from last year has slipped my memory. Rumours abound that those four young people not only protected the school by boobytrapping the entrance but also returned the mysterious artifact which you borrowed. If that was indeed what the whispers report, is it perhaps possible that your intent was never to return it?"

The headmaster blinked at the incisiveness of the jab. "But, still–! Mr. Potter is at this very moment encouraging his fellow classmates to violent actions. How can you, as his professor, condone that?"

"Mr. Potter," he gritted out, "approached me about the best way to help struggling students in my class without involving me directly. He–and his compatriots, I might add–correctly surmised that they would be more willing to accept instruction from someone their age than admit to an adult their shortcomings. I gave him some suggestions, one of which was that he and Miss Bones take said instruction outdoors to minimize the possibility of injury. I notice," he purred, "that you have expressed no apprehension over her involvement in this tutoring program."

"Well, that is," he fumbled for words.

"Headmaster, with all due respect," he said, although his countenance belied the words, "Voldemort is dead, gone, kaput. The only person I have encountered who believes otherwise is sitting in front of me. As medical knowledge is not my area of expertise, might I suggest that you visit Nurse Pomfrey and have her do a thorough physical and mental scan? It never hurts to be too careful with your health. Now," he stood, "I believe I have a dinner date with my fiancée. The only thing you have said upon which she and I would agree is the power of love."

The boys came upon Hermione in the Great Hall; for once, she had no students requiring her help.

"Shopping?" Draco slid onto the bench next to her.

"Just getting ideas for Christmas presents." She scrunched her nose. "Ugh! You guys reek!"

Each of them sniffed their armpits before shrugging. "So would you if you had joined us for the footy game," Harry said.

"That must be where they all went," she huffed. "It would have been nice if they'd told me they wouldn't be here."

"Men, the scum of the earth," Neville remarked lazily as he requested a glass of gillywater from Dobby. It had been noted that it was primarily boys who needed extra help in History, as it was less hands-on than other courses. Even with a more inspirational instructor, the course still demanded a lot of memorization, and at their age, the male pre-teens preferred classes with more 'action' than listening to lectures, even if those were less dry than before.

"Not that low," she countered, "but lacking a few of the social niceties. At any rate, most of them could probably manage an 'Acceptable' even if they didn't attend any more sessions."

"Then this plan has succeeded," Harry stated. "My students have certainly enjoyed increasing their spell accuracy by cracking walnuts flung into the air."

"And we have enjoyed the baklava made with their meat," Draco pronounced. "That set of international cookbooks you bestowed upon the kitchen elves has made mealtimes more interesting."

"Well," Harry shrugged, "waste not, want not. I was even able to show them a few techniques I learned while cooking for the...never mind."

Neville laid a hand on his shoulder, and Draco turned back to Hermione. "So, Christmas presents? What you want, or what you want to buy for others?" He grinned. "You know I love expensive chocolates."

"You love expensive anything," she scoffed as she turned a page of her catalogue. "No, it's for my friends and family. Wait, this might be good for my parents."

"Bonded notebooks?" Neville leaned over. "Mostly they're used by courting couples who can't spend a lot of time together, but this would certainly let you communicate with your folks a lot faster than owl mail."

"Courting?" Hermione's brow wrinkled. "I hadn't heard that Marietta Edgecombe had a boyfriend, but she received a set a few weeks ago."

"Are you sure that's what you saw?"

"Fairly certain. The package was from this company, and they looked just like the illustration."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Maybe she's doing what you are, trying to keep in touch with her relatives. Most wizarding families are inured to delays with owl delivery, but we might've influenced her. I mean, we have created an enthusiasm in muggle customs and activities. Case in point: our current stench."

"Ah, that reminds me!" Harry snapped his fingers, interrupting his female friend's groan at the comment. "Hermione, Lavender has convinced her parents to visit Trafalgar Square to see the huge Christmas tree."

"Really?" She looked dubious. "What's her interest in that?"

"Well," he blushed, "we have a couple muggleborn girls in our year in Gryffindor who are big Diana fans and it has rubbed off on Lavender. Since they're both blondes, she thinks they have a special 'bond'."

"I know," Hermione sighed. "Parvati got her nose out of joint over that and dropped in on Padma to complain about it three nights in a row. Until curfew each night. So, why Trafalgar Square?"

"Well, she read that–"

"Brown reads things other than horoscopes?" Draco asked Neville.

"–the Princess turned on the lights once. So, she wants to," he made air quotes, "'plant my feet in the same place she stood'."

"Oh, honestly!" She threw her hands in the air.

"Anyway, as she can't take Muggle Studies until next year, she wants to make sure that she and her folks 'blend in'. She has noticed that the casual clothes we wear differs from what most wizards and witches put on when they venture out of the wizarding world."

"Do I have this straight?" Hermione speared him with glittering eyes. "You're asking me to give up study time to offer fashion advice? What about her dorm mates?"

"Well, she thinks you're more elegant. And you are!" he added, seeing that she was weakening.

"Harry James Potter," she began in a low tone.

"Ooh, she's using the middle name," Neville bent towards Draco to whisper.

"If you don't help her, she'll most likely go to one of the Weasleys, since their father works in the Muggle Liaison Office, and based on some of the twins' ensembles and their weird sense of humour, she might end up looking like a clown."

"Circe, yes," Hermione agreed. "Okay, but just to keep her free of those pranksters."

Marietta finished tracing over the ink in Harry's essay with the charmed pen. Lifting it with a flourish, she smiled feverishly. "Now it's time to put this plan in motion!"

Cho nibbled her lip as she watched her in concern.