- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J. K. Rowling-

-Chapter Five- So, you want to know my weaknesses?-

'I must say that I am very disappointed in both of you boys. Your work in my first lesson was exemplary, and to have two such promising students contravening school regulations so blatantly is most upsetting. There is no flying permitted outside of class within the castle itself, and until Madame Hooch has declared you capable then flying over the grounds is also banned. I take it you both knew this?'

Harry stood next to Smith in front of McGonagall's desk and tried to look regretful as he nodded.

'Fifteen points from both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. You will also be serving a detention in the next week. I will let you know when I have made the arrangements.' The professor said shortly, before dismissing them. Harry left quickly, grateful to have got off so lightly. In truth, he would have considered a more severe punishment well worth the increased reputation he would now no doubt have amongst his classmates.

Harry joined the others in the Great Hall for morning break.

'So what did she do to you?' Liram asked eagerly.

He shrugged.

'Down fifteen points and some kind of detention.'

Liram whistled.

'More than worth it, then.' He decided.

They spent the next twenty minutes discussing the events of the class, and reassuring Anthony that at least he hadn't come out of it the worst off.

'Do you think Neville will be back in class today?' Tracey wondered.

'Probably.' Blaise decided. 'He walked away from the accident, even if he was hanging onto Hooch like a muggle on a sinking ship.'

'What do you all have next?' Harry asked, and found that only Daphne was sharing his double period of Magical Theory.

'Do we really have to do Theory?' She asked as they made their way over to the classroom on the far side of the castle. 'It's not as if most of us don't know this stuff already.'

'That's probably why we only have to do it this year.' Harry replied. 'They're just making sure we have a basic understanding so we can move on in our other subjects without having to ask questions every five minutes.'

Daphne nodded reluctantly.

'At least we don't have to go to those magical society lectures after school they're making the muggleborns attend.' She said.

The class was as basic as expected, although Harry thought that the teacher explained the simple concepts she was going over remarkably efficiently, and noted that more than half of the class were busy scribbling away on their parchment.

The next morning brought two notes to Harry at the breakfast table, both delivered from the hand of a severe looking Professor McGonagall. The first informed him that his detention was to be held on Saturday evening, and would be supervised by Hagrid. The second, equally brief and scrawled in an elegant, looping hand, asked him to come to the headmaster's office at seven o'clock on Friday morning. He hid that one from his new friends, not quite sure exactly how he would explain away having private meetings with Albus Dumbledore.

'Smith doesn't look happy.' Liram commented, nudging him. Harry glanced over to the Hufflepuff table to see the boy glaring at the note in his hand. Before he returned his attention to the bowl of cereal in front of him, however, his eye caught on the form of Cedric Diggory, grinning and laughing with a group of friends a few seats along from Smith. The other boy glanced up before he could look away, and Harry found himself caught in his gaze for a few seconds as the smile slowly faded from Cedric's face. Harry forced himself to give a brief nod, returned after a moment, and look casually away before he could embarrass himself further.

'…Defence now.' He heard Blaise saying as he turned back round.

'I wonder what we'll be doing.' Daphne mused. 'I think the other classes have all had a different professor to us.

The classroom they arrived at ten minutes later was large and almost empty, a cavernous space devoid of chairs and desks. Harry could see half a dozen grindylows floating, apparently dazed, in a large tank of water against one wall. A huge green lizard was curled around one of the cast iron candelabras suspended from the ceiling. The most noticeable thing, however, was the great wardrobe of dark wood that stood in the centre of the far wall, its brass knob rattling ominously.

'Good morning!'

The class looked up from where they were milling around just inside the entrance to see a man coming down the short flight of stairs off to one side that, presumably, led to an office. He was fairly tall, with long russet hair that seemed to be thinning prematurely. His features were careworn, but the smile he gave them seemed genuine enough.

'Now, I don't normally take first year classes.' He began as he walked over to stand in front of them. 'But Professor Quirrell has kindly allowed me one of his this year. My name is Professor Lupin and I'd like to welcome you all to Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

He spoke for a few more minutes, and waved his wand to send a stack of parchments fluttering round his audience, containing a list of topics for the year.

'Now that that's out of the way, I'd like to introduce you to something I keep in my wardrobe.' The professor said, gesturing towards the shaking piece of furniture.

'Any guesses?'

The class remained silent, though Harry could see a few of them surreptitiously glancing at the lists they'd been given in an attempt to work it out.

'No?' The professor seemed unsurprised. 'Well, perhaps one of you can tell me what a boggart is?'

Harry froze, frowning at the man as three or four hands went up into the air.

'Yes, you.' Professor Lupin said, pointing at Padma.

'A shape-shifter, sir.' She began. 'They like to hide in dark places, like your wardrobe,' she continued, grinning slightly before sobering. 'They feed on fear, and transform into your worst nightmare.'

Professor Lupin nodded and smiled slightly as the rest of the class began murmuring, worried.

'Very good. Ten points to Ravenclaw. I would just like to clarify a couple of points, though. Unlike Dementors, boggarts don't actually feed on fear. Their shape-shifting is a defence mechanism; used to ward off curious wizards rather than provide them with sustenance. Equally, their transformation is not a true transfiguration, but rather an illusion given some semblance of solidity by their magic. This is crucial, for if you understand that their appearance is nothing more than a frail defence mechanism then you have nothing to fear.

Now, a powerful adult wizard will be able to banish a boggart back to its hiding place, and by the end of your time here I hope that you will all have reached that level of competence. However, for now there is a simple charm that I hope everyone in the class will be able to master by the end of the lesson. Do I have any volunteers?'

No-one stepped forwards, and so Professor Lupin gestured for a pale and trembling Neville Longbottom.

'Ready?' He asked, after spending almost a minute whispering into the boy's ear.

He didn't wait for his response before stabbing his wand at the wardrobe. The door sprang open and out of the shadows stepped… Professor Snape.

Harry couldn't repress a grin as some of his classmates began to giggle. Neville, however, looked as though he was about to faint.

'R…r…r…' He mumbled, before seeming to steel himself and lifting his wand. 'Riddikulus!' He exclaimed, jabbing it.

Professor Snape suddenly stumbled beneath the weight of the enormous vulture-topped hat he was wearing. He snarled as his arm curled itself around the straps of a big brown leather handbag and his swirling robes were replaced by a long, dark green dress that looked older than Hogwarts. Half of the class burst out laughing, and even the professor was wearing something of a grin as he slapped Neville cheerfully on the back and ordered them all to line up.

'Excellent, Mr Longbottom! Twenty points to Gryffindor! As Neville has just demonstrated, the incantation is Riddikulus! and the technique is laughter! All you need to do is reimagine your fear as something amusing. It helps that there are a lot of us here, so the boggart will struggle to know what form to take.'

Harry could see the truth of his words, for the creature in front of them had disappeared into a swirling mass of colour and energy as soon as Neville had stepped back, sprouting fangs and tentacles and random, spidery limbs.

Professor Lupin chivvied them all into a line to face the boggart one by one, and Harry watched as it resolved itself into a succession of terrifying sights. He could sense the nerves of the students ahead of him, but none seemed to have quite the amount of trouble that Neville had had as they faced down their fears. His own alarm was rising, however, and he fingered his Ollivander wand with suddenly clammy fingers, not quite sure how he'd ended up in this situation.

Eventually, it was his turn. He strengthened his Occlumency barriers as much as he could in his state, having no idea whether it would stop the boggart from reading his mind. The tap-dancing zombie in front of him suddenly fixed his gaze on him.

Harry, suddenly furious, lashed his wand at the creature before it could dissolve and reform. The Banishing hex he threw at it was so powerful that the wardrobe rocked back on its stubby legs as the boggart slammed inside.

Professor Lupin, who had started to step in almost as soon as he'd reached the front of the queue, looked startled.

'Well done, Mr Flamel! A very strong banishing charm, particularly for a first year.' He paused, eyeing the wardrobe, before looking regretfully at the half dozen students who'd been standing behind Harry.

'Unfortunately, I suspect that it will be several hours before our friend recovers from his encounter with Mr Flamel.' He said. 'However, I will make sure you all have a chance to face your fears at the beginning of the next class. Now…' He continued, summoning a pair of house elves and asking them to return the chairs and desks to the room. 'I will tell you precisely how the mind-reading capabilities of the boggart work…'

He spent the rest of the lesson delivering a surprisingly interesting and detailed lecture. Unfortunately, Harry was still almost vibrating with anger as the bell rang to end the lesson.

'Yes, Mr Flamel, was there something you wanted to speak to me about?' Professor Lupin asked curiously as Harry came up to his desk as the rest of the class left.

'Yes, sir.' Harry agreed, trying to calm himself. 'I would like to know why on earth you think it appropriate to force every child in the class to reveal their greatest fear in front of twenty of their schoolmates?'

Professor Lupin looked up from where he'd be sorting his paperwork, startled at both the words and their icy delivery. He tried a smile, but looked slightly nervous.

'Well…' he began, pausing, 'I have found it remarkably effective in my classes to get my students to face their fears as soon as possible. Facing down what frightens us is the only way to ever make it go away, Harry.' He continued gently, with an expression on his face that made Harry wonder whether this teacher, too, knew who he really was.

'It is not your philosophy I object to, but rather your methods.' Harry told him, carefully trained pureblood mask splitting down the middle as his fear-fuelled fury rose once more, hot and sour. 'How dare you demand that we reveal our fears, our weaknesses before one another. How dare you make us reveal our vulnerabilities. How dare you scare poor Neville shitless.

Professor, most of my class might have left chattering about how wonderful you are, but they do not understand even a fraction of the implications. If any of the influential pureblood families find out what you're doing to their children, forcing them to reveal, then they will have your head on a plate before you can get out even a single fucking platitude.'

The man sitting in front of him swallowed, eyes wide and scared.

Harry leant in.

'I believe in equal rights for werewolves.' He said viciously. 'But your actions could fuck that up for every single one of your kind in this country.'

He left before the man could respond.

Harry went and sat in an empty classroom for the duration of break, meditating silently. Luckily, he was the only one of his new group of friends in the double period of Literature he had immediately afterwards, and so he spent the time sitting quietly at the back of the room, pretending to engage with the teacher's lecture whilst his mind drifted.

By lunchtime he'd got himself under control, and walked calmly into the Great Hall to join his group at the Ravenclaw table.

'Where did you go?' Liram asked curiously as Harry sat down opposite him, swinging his bag beneath the bench.

'At break? I had something I had to deal with.'

He noticed the slight frowns the others gave him, but couldn't bring himself to care, or to come up with a genuine excuse.

'So,' he continued, plastering on a smile, 'History of Magic and then Arithmancy for me next.'

It turned out he'd be sharing both classes with Anthony and Blaise, whilst the others all had different schedules.

'I'll meet you back in the dorms at the end of classes.' Harry told Liram as they got up at the end of lunch. The other boy nodded at him agreeably as they went their separate ways.

'Are you sure this guy's our teacher?' Harry asked, leaning over to Anthony.

The other boy frowned, looking slightly confused and apparently taking the question far more seriously than it had been intended.

'I think so.' He said uncertainly, looking at the robe-clad ghost hovering at the front of the class. Professor Binns had introduced himself, asked them all to be quiet, and launched into a rambling monologue that had begun with the founding of the Ministry of Magic, and meandered off into a remarkably detailed description of a goblin rebellion of the 17th century.

'I'm not sure this stuff is on the syllabus…' Blaise said dubiously from Harry's other side, flicking through the first year textbook.

'Sir?'

The professor managed to ignore Harry's raised hand, but when he called out the ghost looked up.

'Yes… umm… Mr?'

'Flamel, sir, I was just wondering whether this is what we're supposed to be learning?'

'Be learning?' The ghost repeated querulously.

'Yes sir. We all find the goblin rebellion of sixteen eighty-five fascinating, of course, but I thought we were supposed to be learning about the foundation of the Ministry?'

'Yes, yes… the foundation of the Ministry.' The man repeated, nodding. 'Very well, Mr…'

'Flamel, sir.'

'Yes, yes, exactly. Now… the Ministry of Magic in its infancy was a byproduct of the necessity of enforcing the International Statute of Secrecy passed by the ICW in sixteen seventy-seven…' and he was off. For about ten minutes his talk was a cogent and eloquent summary of the early years and struggles of the Ministry, before an aside about negotiations with the goblins over the foundation of the London branch of Gringotts diverted him once more into his beloved rebellions.

'Well, I tried,' Harry muttered to his friends.

'Nice.'

Harry looked up at Liram's admiring whistle, and swallowed when he saw the other boy was shirtless, his upper body lean and smooth and tanned.

'Oh, the broom.' He said, having taken a moment to realise what Liram was talking about.

'Yes, the broom.' His friend replied, grinning. 'I suppose having a father with a literally unlimited supply of gold helps with the fucking professional equipment…'

'Your '98 isn't too bad.' Harry protesting, nodding towards the shining mahogany broom on his friend's bed.

'No, but it's like two full generations behind your 2000.'

Harry shrugged. 'Birthday present. I couldn't really say "Oh no, dad, I'd much rather have an older, shitter broom just to make it more difficult to wipe the floor with the friends I'm about to make at school."'

Liram laughed, pulling a t-shirt on, followed by a set of Quidditch pads.

'Take every advantage you can get, mate, we're not gonna be selected.'

Early Autumn in the Scottish Highlands was much cooler than Harry was used to, and so he was grateful for the expensive warming charms woven into the cloth of his gear as he strode across the grounds next to Liram. They passed through a tunnel beneath the stands to arrive on the immaculately mown grass and raked sand of the pitch.

'Harry Flamel… and Liram…'

'Shafiq.' His friend supplied to the older boy.

'Shafiq. Of course.' The boy replied, nodding. 'Sullivan Fawley.' He introduced himself, extending a leather-clad hand to shake. 'Ravenclaw Captain.' He told them.

They nodded back, and Harry couldn't help but admire the boy's tall, clearly well-muscled form. He wasn't traditionally handsome, perhaps, but his features were strong, and heavy, dark brows gave his face an interesting, intense cast.

'You're here for tryouts?'

'Yes,' Harry agreed. 'I know we're a bit early, but I thought it would be easier to apologise for being first years if we did it before everyone else arrived.'

Sullivan barked out a laugh.

'Firsties, eh? No need to apologise. I don't give a shit how old you are, I just need people who can play Quidditch.'

'That, we can do.' Harry said confidently.

'Nice broom, Harry.'

'Hi Roger.' Harry greeted the third year as he joined them in the shadow of the stands.

'Back again, Davies?' Sullivan asked cheerfully.

'Back again.'

'You know, you might be in with a shot this year now that Arthurs and Jameson have left. Ah, here they are…'

The sixth year turned and they watched as the standing team and their reserves came out onto the pitch from the changing rooms, followed by a few people who were presumably trying out.

'Now!' Sullivan Fawley roared as soon as the other group had joined them. 'None of you are safe! If I ask you to give up that uniform, you do it.' Two of the four current members of the full team looked nervous, whilst the others, a pair of hulking sixth years, seemed unconcerned.

'All that matters this year is winning. Now, if you're trying out for Chaser, stand here, Beaters here, Keepers here, and Seekers over there.'

Harry found himself standing next to a whip-thin sixth year who introduced himself as James Waters, and a pretty Chinese fourth year girl called Cho Chang. They were, respectively, the Seeker and the reserve Seeker, and both of them, although friendly enough, eyed him carefully. Two fifth years, whom Harry thought were probably there more for the chance of Quidditch popularity than for any love of the game itself, stood laughing together a few feet away.

Sullivan was the main team's only remaining Chaser, but Liram stood over with the two reserves, Roger Davies and three others. No one had dared to go up against the two sixth years who were already the team's Beaters, whilst the current guy and the reserve were the only ones trying out for the Keeper slot.

'Right. It's gonna go like this…' Sullivan began.

The prospective Seekers' job was the simplest. Twenty training snitches would be released, and whoever caught the most would be on the team, the second most, the reserve. Whilst this was going on, Sullivan would assess the two Keepers and those trying out for the Chaser positions.

Fuck, this feels good. Harry thought as he kicked off, the fresh, cold air filling his lungs as he came to hover a couple of hundred of feet up in the air along with the other Seekers. They watched from their positions as the gold flickers darted away from their container, rapidly spreading out and disappearing from sight.

A couple of minutes later and a whistle blew from the ground, the remaining mass of players rising into the air as the Seekers swept into motion, darting off in search of their quarry. Harry stayed where he was, watching the other players go through their drills. It was clear to him after a few minutes that the Keepers would stay as they were; the current guy was good, if not brilliant, and the reserve was too easily bluffed.

Liram could fly, Harry acknowledged to himself, watching his friend dive past the reserve Keeper to score in the left hand goal. Unfortunately, so could all but one of the others. Fawley himself wasn't brilliant on a broom; his turns weren't as crisp as Liram's and a couple of others, but he was clearly experienced and strategic as he rotated through the options, trying to find the pair who would work best with him.

'Flamel! Get a fucking move on if you want to stand a chance!' Sullivan roared at him as he flew past. Harry grinned, and pushed his broom into motion. He wasn't worried, and, in truth, had wanted Sullivan to notice him floating idle. If he'd handicapped himself by a few minutes it made it more difficult for the others to claim he had an unfair advantage because of his broom, or so he'd tried to justify it to himself. In truth, he did have an unfair advantage. He hadn't made Liram join him several minutes early to escape awkwardness, but rather to be close to the ball chest for the time he needed to be able to magically tag its contents. He almost regretted cheating, but, really, there were far too many variables in play for him to be certain of winning the position fairly, even if he was the best.

He followed the strands of his magic, enjoying the exhilarating feeling of chasing after the tiny, constantly darting objects, rolling out of the way of the Bludgers that occasionally hurled themselves in his direction. He swore to himself as he briefly found himself chasing after Cho, and presumably one of the Snitches she'd already caught. When he saw an opportunity, he dived through the centre of an attacking formation, flying so close to one of the girls trying out for Chaser that she nearly fell off her broom, and dropped the Quaffle in the process. He grinned as he saw Liram sweep beneath the two of them, snatching the ball out of the air as Harry span off in the direction of another Snitch.

Twenty minutes later and apparently Sullivan had seen enough, blowing his whistle loudly enough to send a flock of crows from their perches atop one of the Hufflepuff-draped towers in the stands.

'Right.' The Ravenclaw Captain said as soon as they'd all gathered round him. 'I've made my decisions. Would you like to hear them now, or have me put the names up on the board in the common room?'

'Just tell us.' One of the Beaters said.

Sullivan rolled his eyes at him.

'Well, obviously you and Brayden are staying, Ethan.' He paused. 'As for Keepers, you two are staying as you are.' The boys nodded, apparently having expected as much. 'Chasers; Myrellie and Jacob, you're promoted.' The pretty blonde girl and the tanned, attractive fifth year guy who'd been the previous year's reserves fist-bumped, eye-fucking one another. 'Liram; First reserve. Davies; Second.' Harry exchanged a grin with his friend, who looked as though he could barely believe his luck.

'Now… Seeker.' Sullivan turned to the five of them. Harry eyed his competition. James and Cho were looking at one another, frowning. The two fifth years were grinning.

'Well, show me what you've got.'

The fifth years extended their hands, one had a single snitch, and the other had managed to catch two. Harry raised an eyebrow, impressed that they'd managed to get anything at all. Cho reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out four. James looked slightly upset as he held out three Snitches, one of which still had its slightly crumpled wings extended.

Sullivan nodded at them.

'Not bad, for the time you had. Nothing from you, Flamel? Not to worry; come back next year and give it another go. I saw you fly, and I know it wasn't just that sexy broom of yours that was throwing those shapes.'

Harry grinned at him and reached both his hands into the pockets of his training jacket.

'Still want me to wait until next year?' He asked, extending the remaining ten snitches to dumfounded looks from everyone standing watching.

'Umm…' Sullivan began. 'Well, it looks like you're on the team.' He said, recovering. 'Cho, you're the reserve again. James, Austin, Stephen, I'm sorry guys. Right, Full Team and Reserves, stay, the rest of you can go.

The rejected players walked off, shoulders low.

'Training schedule. I want to win the cup this year, so I'm adding Wednesday lunchtime to our usual sessions after school on Monday and Friday, which, for the new players, run from half five until eight. Reserve team only needs to come to the evening sessions'

Harry kept his expression blank; he'd known that Quidditch would be a significant time commitment, though hearing the precise schedule was still something of a shock. The two Beaters frowned and muttered to one another, though, until quelled by a vicious glare from Sullivan.

'So, I will see you all in the changing rooms at quarter past five on Friday.'

'But you said half past…'

'I said quarter past, Mr Davies, or aren't you joining us?'

Roger shut up, and followed the other new players silently back towards the castle.

'More bloody Arithmancy!' Daphne exclaimed, her normally frozen mask thrown to one side as she picked unenthusiastically at her breakfast. She, Harry and Tracey had all shared their first class the afternoon before, and now had a double period of it to face immediately after breakfast.

'I know.' Tracey moaned. 'If the bitch gave us homework last night to have in for this morning, just imagine how much she'll set us when we've got a week to do it…'

'It's not that hard.' Harry protested, pouring honey into his yogurt.

'Well, we can't all be geniuses.' Daphne snapped at him.

Harry almost flinched back at the harshness of her tone, regretting his comment even as he tried to analyse her response.

'You know…' he began slowly, 'I'm very happy to try and help with homework, and in class as well, if Professor Vector doesn't smack me with her ruler.'

Tracey giggled. Professor Vector was apparently notorious for carrying a ruler with her as she swept around her classroom, rubbing it in a manner that a lot of the boys seemed to find erotic.

'I think if she does that she might be trying to tell you that she likes you.'

Harry chuckled at Tracey's comment, but his mirth died down as he saw Daphne was still glaring from her position next to him.

'Hey…' He said lowly to her as soon as all the others were reasonably distracted, 'is there something wrong?'

She sat up immediately, an imperious expression settling over her features.

'Of course not,' she scoffed.

Harry nodded, still feeling slightly guilty, and not comfortable enough to press the situation.

The day passed slowly for Harry; the lessons were easy and he was impatient for the duelling class that afternoon. He told himself that it was because he was eager to test his skills… to see what Hogwarts' best had to offer, but the image of a certain blond third year refused to drift far from his thoughts as he sat through an hour of Economics at the end of the day.

He arrived in the Great Hall at half past five to find the tables and benches stacked up against the walls, and half a dozen duelling strips drawn in chalk onto the stone floor. He went over to where Professor Flitwick was standing at the top of the steps leading to the head table's dais, though he was still barely the height of a couple of the dozen or so students already grouped in front of him.

'Ah, Mr Flamel, welcome, welcome!' He called cheerfully as soon as he spotted him.

'Flamel?' One of the older students asked dubiously. 'You're a first year, right?'

Harry grinned at him, giving a nod to a boy he recognised as one of the Ravenclaw team Beaters.

'Yes. I spoke to the professor about joining this class, and he was kind enough to let me in.'

The tall brown-haired boy turned to look at Flitwick as though he'd gone mad.

'You've let a first year join us?' He asked, incredulous.

'He's good, Rowle, trust me.'

Harry turned towards the calm, smooth voice and felt a warm glow in his stomach at the idea of Cedric defending him, which was rapidly thrust to one side by his indignance at the notion of needing anyone for protection. The blond god walked over to join them, accompanied by a couple of boys who looked about his age.

'Diggory.' The boy called Rowle said, with what sounded like grudging respect. 'I see the professor's finally let you in with the big boys.'

'Really, Paxton, you think I'm one of the boys?'

Harry grinned as a tall, bulky girl with a flat chest and an unfortunately prominent nose asked the suddenly flushed sixth year.

'Not at all, Alicia.' He said, suddenly polite.

'Now, now, please settle down.' Professor Flitwick said, interjecting at last. 'And welcome to our new faces. Misses Portendorfer, Mr Harred, Mr Raynott, Mr Diggory, Mr Flamel, I'm glad to see you all here.'

Harry assumed that Harred and Raynott were the two who'd come in with Cedric, and presumed that, like the blonde twins who'd smiled as Flitwick greeted them, they were fourth years who'd managed to graduate into the Advanced Class by the more usual route. The fact that there were only sixteen students in total when Harry quickly tallied them up suggested to him that the first three years of Flitwick's tuition left the vast majority of Hogwarts' budding duellists behind.

'Now,' Flitwick began, 'I would like us to use this session to focus on spell deflection. I'm sure you all know what a valuable skill it is, but are also aware of the extreme difficulty of performing it effectively.'

Harry narrowed his eyes at the professor, an inkling of what the man was trying to do dawning on him. Flitwick winked at him before continuing, drawing his wand to conjure a blackboard.

'Now, as you will all know, spell deflection functions as a complex variation of the Protego charm.' He flicked his wand to scrawl a couple of formulae on the board. 'Now, technically, spell deflection takes much less energy than maintaining a shield, for it only needs to last long enough to come into contact with its target, and possess enough energy to change its direction, rather than absorb it. Now, beyond this its complexities multiply. It must be cast nonverbally, for there is no time to speak. It must be aimed with extraordinary precision, or else it will miss its target, or even angle a poorly aimed spell back towards you. I take it that you're all familiar with at least attempting to cast it?'

Everyone nodded, although Harry noticed a couple of the older students looking at him dubiously.

'Excellent, do I have any volunteers?'

Harry stepped forwards, assuming that was what Flitwick wanted.

'You?' Paxton Rowle said, his tone once more incredulous.

'Me.' Harry agreed impassively.

'I'll join you.' The big girl who'd shut Paxton up earlier stepped up before he could speak again.

'Good.' Professor Flitwick said approvingly. 'Now, if the two of you would like to to take up your positions…' He continued, indicating the marked-out strip closest to the dais.

Harry stood sixty feet away from a girl who was probably six inches taller than him, and at least fifty pounds heavier. She'd dropped immediately into an immaculate, aggressive stance, wand raised, ready to lash forwards.

'Alicia, you will be demonstrating deflection first, as the elder, more experienced duellist. Harry, I would be obliged if you would stick to stunning spells for the moment. This is just a demonstration.'

Harry nodded, not taking his eyes off the girl as she lowered her wand into a more defensive position and tried to conceal her annoyance.

'On three.' Professor Flitwick counted down, and as soon as he hit one Harry launched a trio of silent stunners at the girl, who jerked back in surprise. She managed to deflect the first one, although the shield she threw out was too large and almost powerful enough to just absorb the spell. The second and third she had to fling up an ordinary Protego to defend against.

'Not bad.' Professor Flitwick called. 'Now, your turn Mr Flamel.'

Harry readied himself and the girl looked at him, frowning slightly as she raised her wand. He was convinced that the professor hadn't even started to say 'One' when a positive hail of Stunners erupted from her wand, some of them a brilliant red, others a pink so faded they were almost invisible in the brightly lit hall.

She watched, jaw tightly clenched as his wand danced and span, throwing out a dozen pale disks of magic no larger than the size of a side plate that flung themselves into the path of the onrush.

'Marvellous, simple marvellous.' Professor Flitwick exclaimed, clapping and beaming as the last few stunners scattered into the walls and floor and the group of students around him started muttering and staring at Harry. 'Mr Flamel, would you be kind enough to explain your particular technique.'

Harry frowned slightly, reluctant to give too much information away.

'Well,' he began, trying to work out what to say. 'I find that when it's necessary to deflect a large number of spells very quickly, then it's possible to cast say, three shields, and then split them further once they're already in the air, which also helps with directing them more precisely.'

Professor Flitwick looked at him curiously.

'Unusual. How do you split the spells once they've already been cast?'

Harry felt backed into a corner.

'I'd prefer not to say, if that's okay, sir. I'd just rather not give away the secrets of the person who taught it to me.'

Flitwick nodded briskly. 'Of course, of course.' He smiled. 'I will have to give the matter some thought, then, and see if I can work it out on my own… some complex variation of Diffindo, perhaps… but no, that wouldn't take the required elasticity into account.'

Harry kept his face carefully blank as he noticed Professor Flitwick eyeing him for any tells as he contemplated aloud.

'Right. Now, sort yourselves into pairs and we'll begin to practise. If you feel less comfortable, then I suggest that you begin with non-verbal Protegos, moving them around, and holding them up for the shortest amount of time possible.'

Harry realised after two or three seconds that everyone in the class knew one another, and all had their accustomed partners. All except for…

'Hi. Looks like we're together, then.' Cedric said brightly, striding over to him.

Harry tried to smile back, though he couldn't help but notice that the boy looked even more attractive in his tight black duelling gear than he did in his school uniform.

'Well, let's hope a first year can keep up with one of the "big boys",' he replied, mocking Rowle's earlier greeting.

Cedric let out an easy laugh.

'You've just humiliated the pride of Hogwarts.' He told him, grinning. 'I think showing up Alicia Carrow on the strip automatically makes you one of the big boys, first year or not. I'm glad I'm training with the only one in the room, apart from you, of course, professor' he said hastily as Flitwick joined them, 'who actually has spell deflection properly down.'

'Indeed you should be, Mr Diggory, and I'm sure Mr Flamel will be delighted to hone his Transfiguration under your eye. We all help one another in my Advanced Class.' He declared, before looking inquisitively at Harry. 'You don't happen to want to tell me the name of your previous instructor, do you, Mr Flamel?'

Harry smiled.

'I would rather not, professor, if it's all the same to you.'

Flitwick nodded with mock sadness before moving away.

'So many secrets, Mr Flamel…' Cedric said teasingly, with another heart-stopping smile.

'Secrets?' Harry repeated playfully, unable to maintain the reserve he'd promised himself he'd keep whilst at Hogwarts.

'Son of the mighty alchemist. Already finding his classes too easy, if the rumours are true. Clearly a competition-level duellist. And even my rival Seeker on the Ravenclaw team…'

Harry, barely avoiding a blush at the compliments, seized on the last statement.

'You're Hufflepuff's Seeker?'

'I am.' Cedric agreed.

And I thought you couldn't get any more attractive.

Author's note; Quite enjoyed writing this chapter, and I think it turned out ok. He wouldn't really be Harry Potter without some Quidditch involvement, imo, so I've put that in. I know that at the moment the House Seeker thing is pretty close to canon, but I think I have some pretty original ideas/twists planned for it in future. Also, I just really like the idea of flying.

As usual, let me know what you thought (and where my errors are)!