Not for the first time in the last several weeks, Harry couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he was haunted by the last moments of Barty Crouch Jr.'s life. The way his body simply went limp. His eyes wide in shock at the realization that his life was about to come to an abrupt end. Harry supposed that was the most haunting of it all. The abruptness. The fragility of human life had never been so abruptly on display before him before.

It was not that Harry was a stranger to death. He had, after all, inadvertently been the cause of Quirrel's death in his first year. But he had always passed that off as Quirrel already being dead. Little more than a husk that acted as a puppet for Voldemort. More importantly, at least to Harry however, was that he had killed the man in an act of self-defense. Unlike Professor Jackson.

Percy had killed the man in cold blood. He had been unarmed, restrained, unable to do so much as lift a finger in defense of himself. Crouch hadn't died in a fight of life or death. He had been executed.

Harry had looked up to Professor Jackson since he'd first met the man. Harry had believed the man to have unshakable, unwavering moral compass. Had believed that Professor Jackson valued not just his passion for teaching, but human life itself. Sure, Harry had known that Professor Jackson could be violent and vicious if he wanted to be, even downright terrifying. But there was a difference to Harry between protecting students and innocent people from danger, and from killing a man.

It was as though Harry had lost something he'd once held very dear to him. Similar to having a close friend betray his trust and confidence. How could a man who otherwise appeared so genuine and caring be so cold and callous? All of the trust Harry had once held for the man, felt as though it had been sucked from Harry. He could barely even look the man in the eye these days, let alone speak to him.

More infuriating, perhaps, was Professor Jackson's attitude towards the entire situation. Whether it was in the classroom or during Harry's training, Professor Jackson continued to treat Harry as though nothing had changed. As though he hadn't, only a few short weeks ago, murdered a man in front of Harry.

Training in particular was a strenuous affair. Professor Jackson was still the same slave-driver he had ever been. But before, Harry was more willing to put as much of his effort into the exercises as possible. But now? Harry often found it difficult to put too much effort into his additional lessons, or to push himself the same way that he had before.

True, he knew that the training was still good for him and necessary, but there was something about learning it from Professor Jackson now that made Harry leery.

The tension in their relationship had grown so spectacularly that it was noticeable to even the most casual of observers. On more than one occasion, Ron and Hermione had asked him if something had happened between Harry and Professor Jackson. Harry had already made the decision however, that he would keep what had happened to himself. He didn't want or need to deal with the fallout. As much as Harry was uncomfortable around Professor Jackson, the man still looked out for him. Still clearly cared about him. Harry knew how the conversation would go if he told Ron and Hermione the truth about what happened.

Harry didn't want to have to deal with the two of his friends trying to report Professor Jackson to the Ministry or something equally silly.

To make matters more stressful for Harry, was the added pressure of the fast-approaching Yule Ball. The Yule Ball was a Christmas tradition for the Tri-Wizard Tournament. It was a lavish gala that shone a light on the champions and the rest of the schools in a celebration of the Holidays. Under different circumstances, Harry would have been more than content to simply go back to Sirius' for the holidays and let the others have their fun.

But as a Champion, Harry didn't quite get that luxury. The Champions would be sharing a start of the Ball feast together, before they would lead the first dance to officially kick off the festivities. Which meant that Harry needed a date.

Which was a problem.

Harry was self-aware enough to know that he was hopelessly socially inept. Spending his youth shoved in a broom-cupboard hadn't done wonders for his ability to interact with others casually all too well. More pressingly problematic, however, was that the majority of the school still didn't like Harry all that much. His success in the First Task had endeared him to some, and Cedric had spoken to his fellow Hufflepuffs, but the vast majority of the castle still believed he had somehow cheated his way into the Tournament.

What girl would want to risk their reputation by going to the dance with him? How did he even ask a girl to the dance? Why was any of this even relevant? Not for the first time, Harry cursed the wizarding world and their archaic need to to maintain ancient traditions. He didn't know if he had the courage to even ask someone, let alone ask someone else when he was inevitably rejected.

His first instinct had been to go to Professor Jackson for help on the matter, but given their strenuous relationship at the moment, he had driven the thought from his mind. He had instead turned to writing to Sirius, asking not only about the Ball, but about the entire situation with Professor Jackson.

"Kid," Sirius had written to him, "Don't stress your head too much over it. All you gotta do is ask someone. If they say no, that's totally okay. It'll hurt, yeah, but it doesn't spell the end of the world. It should help to remember that your dad got rejected by your mother nearly a dozen times before they finally started dating. My advice? Just ask someone your friends with. Just because you ask someone to the dance, it doesn't mean that you're going to spend the rest of your life with that person."

Harry had taken the advice to heart, and had asked Katie Bell to the ball. She had been ecstatic, and had agreed to go as friends for the evening. It had certainly been a load off of Harry's mind, even if the idea of dancing in front of so many people was horrifying.

Sirius had been less than helpful, however, with respect to Professor Jackson.

"To be honest kid…it took everything in me not to bring this to the attention of Amelia Bones. The only reason I'm not, and as much as I hate to admit this, I get where he's coming from," wrote Sirius, "It was…it was difficult last time, Harry. People disappearing left and right. You never knew whether or not you could trust the bloke to the side of you. I don't know Harry…the man's always looked out for you, and after all he's done for you and for me I'll always be grateful, but I'm starting to fear that he might be a tad bit unhinged."

If Harry had been hoping for something worthwhile to have come from the letter, he was sorely disappointed. Without a clear or concise direction for how to approach things, Harry had opted to simply continue as he had been. Surviving in Professor Jackson's company, while not going out of his way to spend more time with the man that was strictly necessary.

However that was proving to be an exercise in futility. As the New Year grew ever closer, so too did the Second Task. Professors Jackson and Dumbledore had explained to Harry what the Second Task would entail, a race to the middle of the Black Lake to rescue a hostage from the village of the Merpeople. There was a minor problem that Harry had run into however.

He couldn't swim.

At all.

Even then, assuming Harry could swim, he certainly couldn't remedy his inability to breathe underwater easily. In order to circumvent this obstacle, Professor Jackson had attempted to teach Harry the Bubble-Head Charm. The charm, relatively simple in concept, created a bubble of clean air around the head of the caster, allowing them to breathe underwater. However, in spite of the simplicity of the charm on its face, the application of the spell was far more complicated. Every time Harry tried to conjure the bubble, instead of conjuring a bubble of clean air, he actually ended up conjuring a bubble of water. For the last several nights, Harry had soaked himself to the bone for hours on end, until he ultimately grew so frustrated that continuing proved to be an impossible task.

It was on one particularly cold evening, as Harry retreated from the History of Magic room, that Harry found the solution to his water-breathing issue. He was cold, in spite of the drying and warming charms applied by Professor Jackson, and his skin felt soggy and wrinkled. The result of popping more than a dozen water-filled bubbles over himself. It was late, and as had been the case on most evenings when Harry came stumbling back into the Common Room, Harry had been expecting to see the room deserted.

However as he climbed through the portrait hole, Harry saw that he was very much not alone. Neville, curled up in one of the plump armchairs beside the fireplace, was engrossed in a large tome in his lap. He was reading in rapt attention, with more curiosity and excitement on his face than Harry could remember seeing on the otherwise nervous boy.

He jumped in surprise as the portrait door closed behind Harry, and he looked up in alarm. As though he had been caught doing something unspeakable, rather than some simple late-night reading.

"O-oh, Harry, it's just you," sighed Neville in relief, slumping back into his chair in relief.

"Who'd you think it was?" Asked Harry,

"Fred or George," said Neville with a shudder, "They've begun testing some of these weird candy things, and have been slipping me toffees when I'm not looking. Last one I tried made my tongue swell up to the size of a balloon!"

Harry tried, somewhat successfully, to stifle his laugh.

"Well I don't think you have to worry about that from me," said Harry, stifling a yawn, "But what are you still doing up?"

"Oh!" Neville's expression brightened considerably as he waved Harry over to him, "Professor Jackson leant me this book a week ago!" Harry tried to smother the flash of irritation and the tightening knot in his stomach at hearing the name of the professor, as he glanced down at the cover.

"'Herbology of the Great Scottish Highlands?'" Read Harry, "That sounds…interesting," said Harry, doing his best to disguise his bewilderment on how anyone could find something so dull so interesting.

"It's fascinating!" Said Neville excitedly, as he began to babble exuberantly about some plants that Harry had never heard of before. Harry was only half paying attention to his friend, as he fought to stifle the yawn threatening to escape his lips. He was exhausted, and as happy as he might have been that Neville had found something that he found genuinely interesting, Harry was really not in the mood to listen to a lecture on Scottish wetland Herbology.

He had been fantasizing about the comfort of his own bed, and had just been about to tell Neville that he was heading up for the evening, when something Neville said caught his attention,

"…But after an hour the gills disappear and the person can no longer breathe underwater! Isn't that fascinating?"

"Wait," said Harry slowly, "Neville…can you tell me all of that again, but more slowly?" Confused, but undoubtably excited that Harry was showing an interest in his passions, Neville eagerly began his explanation again,

"Gillyweed," said Neville, "It's a small plant, more commonly found in swamps and in the nests of Grindylow! When someone eats the plant, they sprout gills and naturally transfigure their body to be more aquatic! The user can breathe underwater, grows gills, and fins, and can swim upwards of fifty kilometers an hour! The effects only typically last an hour or so, but I know researchers in Asia have been using the weed to explore some of the wetlands in the south!"

Harry's mind began to race, as possibilities opened up in front of him. Maybe it was because of his own annoyance with Professor Jackson, maybe it was his own aggravation at his dismal attempts to use the bubble-head charm. Whatever the reason, this felt like a sign. Like he was being gifted a golden opportunity and he had to take advantage. This would be the perfect solution to his problem.

"Neville…" said Harry carefully,

"Where could I get my hands on some of that?"

BREAK

"This is a joke, a bloody joke,"

"It's really not that bad,"

"Look me in the face and say that!"

"All right…it's a travesty,"

Ron groaned in frustration before collapsing on his bed. They were getting ready for the ball, and had tucked into their trunks to get their dress robes sequestered to change. Harry had gotten himself a pair of rather simple and traditional green dress robes, that matched well with his eyes and hair. Ron, on the other hand, had been given with a rather spectacular hand-me-downs from roughly fifty years previous. Harry wasn't all to certain if they were dress robes or tattered rags, but for Ron's sake, he'd tried to put on a good face.

But they truly were horrendous.

"I know what to get you for your birthday," said Harry, as he fumbled around with the tie of his dress robes.

Deciding that the knot was as good as it would be, Harry checked the clock in the corner of the room,

"C'mon," he said, slapping Ron on the leg, "Don't want to keep them waiting,"

"Suppose not," grumbled Ron, "Hermione would never let me live it down,"

"Still boggles my mind how you asked Hermione," said Harry, and Ron shrugged,

"Why?" Asked Ron, "She's our friend? Would have been weird not to ask her wouldn't it?"

"I guess," shrugged Harry. Truth be told, he hadn't even considered asking Hermione. Even though he'd only asked Katie as a friend, he felt that asking someone to the ball was a rather intimate affair. Asking one of his best friends to go felt…strange. Like asking his sister to go with him.

There were a number of students milling about in the Common Room as Harry and Ron descended down the stairs. There was still considerable time before the start of the ball, so there were several students who were still in their Hogwarts robes. Harry checked his watched, as he his foot tapped a nervous rhythm into the soft carpet.

To say he was feeling anxious would be an understatement. The entire situation was nerve-wracking. It wasn't like when he faced off against the dragon, or even the nerves that occurred before a quidditch match. He had more control in those situations. He could tune out the eyes of the crowd and focus on the task at hand. But dancing in front of three different schools? When he couldn't dance?

Maybe it would be worth whatever punishment if he skived off.

But it was too late, as a gaggle of voices began descending the stairs and Katie skipped excitedly over to him. She looked great, and it was evident to Harry that she had spent considerable time preparing for the ball. Her hair was elegantly braided down her back, reaching the midpoint of the dark emerald dress that went well with her sharp green eyes.

"You look great Harry!" She preened as she came over to him,

"You too," said Harry thickly, his hands twitching nervously at his side.

"All set?"

"Yup," chirped Katie, before turning to Ron, "Hermione will be down in a minute,"

"Thanks Katie," sighed Ron, as he collapsed into one of the armchairs by the fire,

"We should get going," said Harry, nervously checking his watch again,

"Sounds good," said Katie brightly, and Harry led the way out of the room.

They walked in uncomfortable silence down the staircase and towards the Great Hall. At least, the silence was uncomfortable to Harry, but that might have been his own anxiety.

"Try and breathe, Harry." Said Katie gently, as she grabbed at his hand in reassurance. "We're going to be great,"

Harry gulped and nodded his head, not trusting himself to speak.

"Just try and think about it like a quidditch match," said Katie, changing tactics, "When we're dancing, just focus on me. Pretend like we're running drills and you're trying to keep me from getting to Oliver."

"I'll try," said Harry, though he didn't really know if he believed that would work.

The entrance to the Great Hall was even more lavishly decorated than in the past. The school had pulled out all of the stops in an effort to make the school, and especially the hall, as festive and lavish as possible for the festivities. Streams of golden tinsel danced down the bannisters, holly hung from every available corner, and in flanking the entrance to the Hall, like thorny sentinels, were two of the largest Christmas trees that Harry had ever seen before.

The other Champions were waiting for them as they came down the stairs. Cedric and his date, his girlfriend Cho Chang, greeted them as they arrived, for which Harry was immensely grateful. The four of them all competed in Quidditch together and having someone that Harry recognized and could hold a conversation with was a lifesaver. Especially since Cedric had changed his tune with respect to Harry, ever since Harry gave him a heads up on what would be coming up in the first task.

Fleur and Krum were also already there with their respective dates. Fleur was there with a familiar face as well. The captain of the Ravenclaw quidditch team, Roger Davis. He had a dopey grin on his face, and his eyes seemed somewhat half-lidded as he listened to Fleur speak excitedly with Krum's date. Krum, looking even more surly and grouchy than usual, had arrived with a girl from Durmsrtrang, a pretty young woman with long brown hair and bright blue eyes. If Harry squinted, he almost would have said that the girl looked kind of like Hermione.

They didn't have to wait in the Entrance Hall for long, before the doors opened and Professor McGonagall was ushering them inside. If Harry hadn't known better, he would have sworn that they had walked into an entirely different building.

Gone were the wooden tables and the starry night sky, and in its place was a beautiful hall. Shining white marble lined the floors and the walls. Candles floated through the air, casting a warm and comforting glow over the red and green streamers and tinsel. Every corner of the magically enlarged hall had was marked by a beautifully decorated, and comically large Christmas tree. A beautiful, diamond and gold chandelier hung suspended by nothing in the middle of the large room, hovering directly over a large dining table where the guests of the event had already gathered and were waiting patiently for the Champions to arrive.

The Ball began, as it traditionally did, with an elegant feast between the headmasters of the school, the Champions, and the assorted guests of the Tournament. Harry recognized the Minister of Magic was in attendance, as was Barty Crouch Senior, looking considerably healthier than he had the last time. The recently restored and revived Alastor Moody was in attendance as well.

That had been an interesting week of class. The man had somehow managed to slip into his role as teacher at the school without difficulty, and even knew the names of the students already. If Harry hadn't known better, he would have assumed that the real Moody had been teaching them all along.

Professor Jackson was also in attendance, but it was who had accompanied him that distracted Harry. Professor Jackson had brought Anna along with him to the event, who was speaking rapidly and urgently to him in an undertone. She looked annoyed, though perhaps that didn't mean anything at all. Harry wasn't entirely unconvinced that the vampire's default expression was anything but agitated annoyance.

Though Harry was fairly certain that the conversation was far from a pleasant one, if the expression on Professor Jackson's face was anything to go by.

They were ushered into chairs, and Dumbledore opened up the festivities with a speech. Though Harry would admit that he wasn't paying too much attention to what the headmaster was saying, he was too uncomfortable, though for the first time that evening it had nothing to do with the upcoming dance. He had been seated directly beside Professor Jackson and Anna. He had once tried to meet Anna's eyes, and say hello to her, but she was hardly paying him any attention, engrossed as she was in her conversation with Professor Jackson.

For the entirety of the dinner, Professor Jackson and Anna seemed to be trapped in some sort of bitter argument. Bickering back and forth in an onslaught of whispers that were most certainly not in English. Whatever the nature of the discussion, it was clearly not going in Professor Jackson's favor. The longer the talk went on, the cloudier his expression became. By the time dinner was wrapping up, and Harry was beginning to dive into a helping of treacle tart, Professor Jackson appeared as though he wanted nothing more than to leave the Hall.

Harry tried his best to ignore the conversation, and focus on conversing with Katie and Percy Weasley, who had come as Mr. Crouch's personal assistant, for the duration of the dinner, though it proved a difficult task. Between his curiosity with the discussion between Professor Jackson and Anna, and the knowledge that the Ball would soon be beginning, he hadn't had much of an appetite for food or for pleasant conversation.

However all too soon, Harry's attention was diverted away from Professor Jackson. The time he had been dreading had arrived. The doors to the Great Hall opened once more, and as Harry and the other assembled guests began flood into the Hall. The excited chatter of students and other faculty soon encompassed the Hall, as Harry and Katie were ushered into the center of the dance floor in the middle of the room. The large table was vanished by Dumbledore, as a hush descended on the ensemble. Professor Flitwick, standing atop a large and ornate step stool, was standing in front of a collection of an assortment of musical instruments, and tapped his wand against the music stand in front of him. All at once, the instruments sprang to life, and began to float in midair.

Gulping nervously, Harry shakily approached Katie, and placed a hand on her waist and gently grasped her hand in his. He was keenly aware of just how soft the room had fallen, and he could feel almost every eye in the room was gazing at him.

"Breathe," whispered Katie, as she smiled at him, "And just follow my lead. Just like a game of tag during practice, remember?"

Nodding shakily, Harry tried to compose himself. Katie gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and winced when Harry squeezed back a little too harshly. She winced, but played it off fairly well. Professor Flitwick cleared his throat, and raised his hands high into the air. As he brought his wand down, a gentle and beautiful waltz began to play from the instruments he had enchanted.

Katie led him through the start of the dance. She kept a simple, swaying rhythm that was easy enough for Harry to follow and understand. He focused intently on her face, trying to memorize every eyelash, every freckle. Doing his utmost to distract himself from what was going on. As he focused on her, he tried to imagine that they were no longer in the Great Hall, that there was no music and they were not dancing in front of hundreds of people. Instead, he tried to imagine that it was just the pair of them on the quidditch pitch. That they were on their brooms and they were rehearsing some strange new maneuver that Wood had concocted.

As he focused, he thought he could hear the whooshing of broomsticks, and the tickle of the wind on his cheeks. The rest of the Hall faded away and Harry found himself alone in the air, in the middle of the quidditch pitch with Katie. They spun and glided smoothly, turning and stepping gracefully and easily. The maneuvers weren't impressive by any means, but that was quite all right. It was not about being impressive, it was making sure that the exercise was completed properly. Harry allowed himself to be lost to the images and the sensations, and he lost sense of time and direction. Suddenly, the movement stopped, and the rest of the world blurred back into focus. The waltz had stopped, or perhaps it had stopped some time ago. The Champions were no longer alone on the dance floor, as the rest of the assembled students and staff had joined in on the revelry. He was keenly aware that he was sweating rather profusely, as the back of his neck, hair, and pits of his robes felt slick and warm. A sheen of sweat glistened off of Katie's smiling, red face.

"What…what happened?" Harry asked confused,

"Come on," giggled Katie, as she tugged at his arm and dragged him away from the dance floor,

"We've been dancing for nearly thirty minutes and I desperately need a drink. You too."

"What-thirty minutes?" Exclaimed Harry, shocked. Where had the time gone, how had they been dancing for so long and how had he not realized what was happening?

"You were really out of it," giggled Katie as she handed him a glass of punch from the stand beside them,

"I was just following your advice," said Harry shyly, a warmth spreading across his cheeks and ears. Katie giggled again and squeezed his hand,

"Not a bad thing by any means silly," laughed Katie, "That was the most fun I've had all year! What a rush," She blew out a breath of excitement as she pushed a sweaty strand of hair that had fallen over her face off to the side. She glanced over to the crowd of people, and waved as Ron and Hermione, equally red-faced but happy, emerged from the throng of dancing students.

"I can see Angie and Alicia," said Katie, "I'm going to go see them for a little, maybe have a dance or two with some other friends," she suddenly grew self-conscious, "If…if that's okay with you of course."

"Of course!" Blurted Harry, a strange relief washing over him, "No absolutely. Go. My feelings are not hurt by that whatsoever,"

Katie beamed and squeezed his hand one more time, "Save the last dance for me? I'd to get at least one more in with you before we call it a night."

"Yeah," smiled Harry shyly, "Absolutely,"

Beaming at him, she waved, before disappearing over to a corner, where Angelina and Alicia were speaking together excitedly.

Harry was about to walk over to see Ron and Hermione, when a cool, gloved hand gripped him around the shoulder. He jumped in surprise and turned around to see Anna staring down at him. Her large red eyes bore into his, and Harry took an unconscious step back as a sudden feeling of apprehension took hold of him.

"Mister Potter," said Anna, her heavily accented voice coming out as a cool whisper, "There is something I wish to speak with you about. Come." Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel, and strode from the Hall, her blood-red dress flowing magnificently behind her. Harry hesitated for a moment, casting a confused and worried glance at Ron and Hermione, who had watched the exchange. The pair of them looked concerned, but Harry knew better by now that when Anna wanted something, she expected it to happen, and he did not want to have to deal with her when she felt she had been slighted. Especially not when it appeared as though she was already in a bad mood.

Quickly following her, Harry managed to catch up to Anna just as she was leaving the Great Hall. They didn't speak, as she led him around the corner, and into an unused classroom. Throwing open the door, there were a pair of surprised gasps from inside, and as Harry peeked around Anna, he could see two students, a boy from Durmstrang and a Hufflepuff Seventh Year were hastily trying to put their clothes back on.

"Get out," said Anna icily.

The students scrambled to fix their disheveled state for a few moments, before bustling hurriedly from the room. Anna waved a slender arm behind her as the students fled the classroom, and the door slammed shut. She turned and stared at Harry, who gulped nervously.

"W-what…what can I help you with?" Asked Harry,

"I wish to hear," said Anna silkily, "What happened between you and Perseus,"

"I…I don't particularly know what you're talking about," stammered Harry.

"You're a terrible liar," said Anna in amusement, and Harry decided to forgo playing the innocent act any longer.

"Can't…can't you ask him?" Said Harry. He wasn't particularly comfortable talking about this with her. "I did," said Anna simply, "What do you think we were arguing about over dinner?" She arched an eyebrow at him, and Harry flushed in embarrassment. He had thought he had been subtle, but he should have known better than to think he could have gotten something past the vampire. Knowing that she wouldn't let him leave until he told his story, Harry recounted the events surrounding Crouch Jr. The conversation leading up to what had happened, the manner in which Professor Jackson had killed the man, and the conversation that had taken place after. When Harry had finished the story, Anna had sighed, and run a hand through her long hair, idly playing the the end of the long braid in her hand.

"I am sorry, you had to experience that," she said, surprising Harry with the gentleness of her tone.

"You are?" Said Harry without thinking, and Anna leveled him with a cold stare.

"Just because I am not human, do not presume to believe me to be callous and cruel." She said, her tone bitter, "You are a child, Маленький, an innocent. You should have to have been exposed to the harsh realties of our world…at least not like that."

Harry blinked in surprise for a moment, but nodded his head.

"Thanks?" He said, unsure of what else to say, "I believe, that I am beginning to understand the issue," said Anna, as she started a slow, meandering pace around the room. She inspected one of the desks, idly running an elegant finger along the edges of the desk,

"Мой любимый is a good man." Said Anna, "A caring, empathetic man. He cares not just for you and his students, but genuinely cares for all creatures. It pains him to bring a life so callously to an end."

"It sure didn't seem like it," said Harry bitterly, "He seemed pretty happy about the chance to kill Crouch Jr."

"Do not mistake a tactical decision with callous disregard for life, Маленький." Said Anna,

"A tactical decision?" Said Harry, incredulously, "He killed a man! An unarmed, hostage! He was a prisoner, defenseless and helpless! He didn't need to kill him!"

"I understand your reasoning and your logic," said Anna patiently, "And I even happen to agree with you, that it was a foolish decision to kill the man so brazenly. However, I understand Perseus' decision. I can understand his logic, and even if I happen to disagree with the manner in which it was done, the man needed to die."

"No he didn't!" Said Harry hotly, his voice and temper were rising, but he didn't care if someone heard them at this point. "We could have hidden him! Could have turned him over to the authorities! Could have done something, anything! Anything but murdering him! That's not what heroes do!"

"And what is it," said Anna, stopping her pacing and turning to face Harry, "That Heroes do?"

"They don't kill unarmed hostages for starters." Said Harry, "Heroes help people. They save lives. They do whatever they can to protect people, they don't…they don't do what he did. Not like that."

Anna sighed, "Believe me, Маленький, I understand your feelings and frustrations. However, I also understand Perseus' perspective, and you should too."

"Why?" Said Harry hotly,

"Because you are embroiled in this conflict as much as any," said Anna, "Because entirely too soon, the time will come that you will have to make difficult decisions. Decisions that will result in someone dying. Either by your own hand, or by someone else. It may not be today, it may not be for a year, but eventually, the time will come where you will be forced to take a life. Would you be able to take a life, if it meant preserving another?"

"It's not the same thing," contested Harry, "Killing…killing someone to protect someone else. It's not the same thing as executing a prisoner."

"In some ways it is not," agreed Anna, "However in others, it very well could be."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Exploded Harry, "How is killing someone to protect someone and killing an unharmed man ever the same thing?"

"Because," said Anna patiently, "Of the circumstances of the situation. Harry, you need to consider what is at stake. What we are dealing with."

Harry could only stare incredulously at the vampire. His mouth opened and closed several times, as he unsuccessfully tried to formulate the words he wanted.

"That doesn't justify it!" Said Harry hotly, "Just because we're at war doesn't mean we can act like murderers! Soldiers don't execute prisoners just because they're at war!"

"You're thinking about this like a conventional non-magical war," said Anna with a shake of her head, "That is not how magical wars how fought."

"What do you mean?" Said Harry, confused,

"Magicals don't fight pitched battles," explained Anna, "We don't have the numbers or ability for such a luxury. To do so would be to flirt with exposing us to the rest of the world." She began her pacing around the room once more.

"Instead, we fight our wars in the shadows. There are no rules in our wars. There is no Geneva convention. The only rules of warfare are the ones we assign to ourselves, and that we do not expose ourselves to the rest of humanity. That is the reality that you need to become accustomed to."

"You say that as though it's a justification for what he did," say Harry hotly,

"I'm saying that, so you understand the world you belong to," said Anna patiently, "There is no easy answer in war,"

"Yes there is!" Said Harry, "And it's not killing unarmed prisoners in cold blood! I don't understand how none of you can see that!"

"We can and do, Harry," said Anna, "Do you not think it haunts him? Do you not think that he loathes what he has done, and what he knows he will go on to do?"

"No one is holding a wand to his head and telling him he has to kill people!"

"Then you do not see the bigger picture," said Anna sadly, "You are trying to project morality onto an inherently immoral act. I will say it again, we are at war. You are too young, too inexperienced to know why Percy has acted the way that he has. It was why he wanted to keep you as far away from all of this as possible, because he knows first-hand what war does to a person."

"Would you stop with the damned evangelizing!" cried Harry, "You're not making a damn point, you're just meandering around, lecturing about how I don't understand, or I don't get it, but you haven't said anything at all worth giving a damn to listen about."

"Then allow me to be candid with you." Said Anna, her patience finally beginning to wear thin, "One thousand, three-hundred and seventy-seven people were murdered at the hands of Voldemort and his followers. More than a tenth of the entire population of Magical England. Imagine, one of ten of your classmates will disappear forever. They may be found, more than likely not. That is the reality of war with our kind."

Anna sighed and leaned against a nearby desk,

"Мой любимый has fought before. All manner of evil men and creatures. He has fought, and he has killed. He knows what it takes to win a conflict such as the one before us. You may disagree with the methods he uses. You may even grow to resent him. But do not mistake his willingness to use force as a callousness and disregard for human life. There is none that treasures it more than Percy Jackson."

Anna ran a blood red nail down the front of her shirt, idly playing with an intricate necklace dangling against her chest.

"All that he does, and all that he will go on to do, will be done in the name of preserving as much life as possible. It will be brutal and violent. He will inevitably do things that others will condemn as evil, but he will do what it takes because he knows that it must be done."

Harry considered her words for a moment, but he couldn't bring himself to agree with her.

"The ends…" said Harry carefully, "The ends don't justify the means. If we don't take care to act with morality, then we risk becoming just as monstrous as the people trying to kill the rest of us." Harry shook his head, "Why do you even care so much anyways? What do you care if me and Professor Jackson aren't getting along."

"I care," said Anna, "Because you are dear to Мой любимый, and he is dear to me. Your anger and distance has caused him pain, but he is too damn stubborn to try and bridge the gap himself." She sighed, and pushed herself off the desk, "I had hoped that by speaking to you, I would be able to convince you to approach him. But I can see that you are every bit as stubborn as he is."

She waved her hand and the door to the room opened. She strode past Harry without sparing him a second glance. At the doorway, she hesitated,

"I can appreciate your idealism, Harry," said Anna softly, "And for what it is worth, I hope that you are right. I hope that we can win this war without having to become the monsters we fight." Then she disappeared from the room in a flurry of red silk, leaving Harry alone in the classroom.

With a sigh, he ran his hand through his har, and scratched behind his ear. Turning on his heel, he followed Anna out of the door. If Professor Jackson wanted to be a bitter, angry man, then that was his decision to make. But he couldn't impose his belief and worldview on Harry.

He wasn't going to compromise his own morals and ideals just because a man he had once idolized said that they were wrong.

Harry wanted to be more than that.

And he swore he would be.