Susan entered the Room of Requirement the next morning and saw Hermione panting on the ground like she had just found air after nearly drowning. She winced at the sound and saw Harry and Neville jogging at their usual pace around the room.

"Hey Hermione," she said as she kneeled next to the panting girl "Trust me, it gets a lot worse before it gets better."

Hermione tried saying something but settled for a glare instead. Susan chuckled before shrugging off her robe and jogged after the boys. Half an hour later, Harry and Neville were lifting weights while Susan joined Hermione near the bookshelf. Hermione had given up trying to run after a few attempts and tried relaxing a little before the dueling. She was deeply engrossed in a book when Susan said, "Come on Hermione. Enough theory. Time for a spar."

They stood on opposite sides of the platform and bowed. Hermione made the mistake of bowing too low and took her eyes off her opponent. Susan promptly punished her for her mistake by stunning her in the head. When she was rennervated, Hermione was outraged and tried arguing with Susan about dishonorable tactics. Susan simply said coldly, "The day Death Eaters start fighting honorably is the day my family comes back to life and I fight fair. Our enemies will not fight fair and if you try to look for honor on the battlefield you will be the first to die."

Harry was tempted to jump in and make Hermione understand, but Neville held him back and let Susan lecture Hermione for the next ten minutes. At the end Hermione was suitably chastised enough and took the lesson to heart. Harry and Neville decided to spar and Susan explained to Hermione why they were fighting the way they were. Both Harry and Neville had huge reserves of power. However, they both fought very differently. Neville had used his father's wand for the last five years and often tended to overpower his spells out of sheer habit. As a result, even if he landed a disarming spell, his opponent would be tossed back mercilessly for at least a dozen feet.

Harry on the other hand, had the best reflexes and was the best at improvising strategies on the fly. He also used transfiguration and prank charms to devastating effect. He had also begun creating spell chains; one of which would drench an opponent, freeze the water and then cast a dancing-legs jinx that would make them slip on the ice. However, these spells would often be placed apart evenly with other such spell chains that made countering them very difficult. Neville solved that problem by either shielding everything or simply banishing the transfigurations towards Harry forcing him to adapt. At the end of a few minutes, Harry managed to bounce a stunner off a few transfigured mirrors to hit Neville in the back and ended the duel.

"Yeah, I don't think I can ever fight like that," Hermione said in awe at the end of their fight.

"Harry took me down in a minute and half and I've been training with my aunt since second year. Trust me, Harry is just that good and Neville is rapidly catching up to him. Neville and I are evenly matched but Harry can only be defeated if we both work together." Susan said.

"Why are you doing this?" Hermione asked

"They killed my Aunt during the summer."

"Yes, I read about it in the Prophet. I'm sorry."

"What you probably didn't hear in the Prophet was that I was the one to find her body after I came home from Hannah's where I had been for a sleepover. It is out of sheer luck that I wasn't killed alongside her. The way I see it, I'm alive right now only to avenge my family. Harry is going after Voldemort. That means he can give me my best shot at revenge." Susan said with a maniacal gleam in her eyes. The look honestly scared Hermione so she turned to look at Harry. Neville and Susan eventually left for breakfast. Harry and Hermione headed to the common room so Hermione could pick up her books. They walked in silence as Harry saw her bite her lips; something she did when she was completely lost in her thoughts.

"Harry? You know I'll always be by your side, right?" Hermione suddenly asked.

"Of course."

"But I can't do this Harry. I can't kill people. It's murder." Hermione said with a frown.

"You know what these people have done Hermione. They aren't going to stop. Someone has to make them. And I don't see anyone else stepping up to do the deed. But I will never ask you to do something you are not comfortable with. I have made it through some unbelievable shit but one of the few reasons I'm still alive is because I have you to save my ass. I won't ask you to join us in killing Death Eaters, but I do need your brilliant mind to see what I cannot."

"How? You already seem to know everything?" Hermione said bitterly, "I can't even find anything about Horcruxes. You don't need me, Harry. Your grades are up. You get all the spells. You are learning stuff that isn't taught till NEWTs. I mean chaining spells and reduced motion casting are topics taught during a Mastery."

Harry turned to look at her, "Hermione, I'm only learning things that will help me survive. Besides, I like that I don't have to rely on you to do my homework for me. That frees you up to nag me about the important stuff."

"Like what?"

"Hermione, you are my voice of reason. You told me the vision about Sirius was a trap. You told me Umbridge was trying to provoke me. You were the only person to figure out what Umbridge was talking about in her speech last year. You see things I don't because I get emotionally driven about stuff. I need that. Both Neville, Susan and I are driven in some measure or other by revenge, hate, anger and bloodlust. I need you to keep us in check."

"But I was wrong about the Half-blood Prince." Hermione said in a small voice. Harry shook his head.

"No, you were not. I tried all the spells in his book on dummies. Some of them are horrifyingly dark. It was incredibly stupid of me to try them willy nilly. He may be a genius when it comes to Potions but he clearly has an unhealthy fascination with dark magic."

"Alright." Hermione said with a huff. "Just don't make me run anymore."

Harry laughed at that and agreed.

The snow melted around the school as February arrived, to be replaced by cold, dreary wetness. Purplish-grey clouds hung low over the castle and a constant fall of chilly rain made the lawns slippery and muddy. The Sixth Year Apparation lessons went relatively uneventfully apart from Susan splinching herself and leaving behind her lower left leg. During their practice the next morning, Susan revealed her trick. "I just imagine I have a chance to save my aunt, and I really need to get there to save her." Harry and Neville joined the splinched club during the next lesson with an ear for Neville and three fingers for Harry. By the third lesson, Harry, Neville, and Susan managed to apparate while Hermione became the first to do so without an injury. Hermione began considering writing

February moved towards March with no change in the weather except that it became windy as well as wet. To general indignation, a sign went up on all common-room noticeboards that the next trip into Hogsmeade had been cancelled. Ron was furious.

"It was on my birthday!" he said, "I was looking forward to that!"

"Not a big surprise, though, is it?" said Harry. "Not after what happened to Katie."

She had still not returned from St. Mungo's. What was more, further disappearances had been reported in the Daily Prophet, including several relatives of students at Hogwarts. Hannah joined Susan for their training sessions after one of her cousins, Albert Abbott went missing. However, they did not let Hannah in on the full scope of what they were planning on doing. Neville and Hannah seemed to instantly have a connection and could be found in each other's company together over the next few weeks leading up to Ron's birthday. Harry decided to extend the same offer to Ron but he turned Harry down as he wanted to focus on Quidditch and wanted to avoid Hermione.

"Happy birthday, Ron," said Harry, when they were woken on the first of March by Seamus and Dean leaving noisily for breakfast. "Have a present."

He threw the package across on to Ron's bed, where it joined a small pile of them that must, Harry assumed, have been delivered by house-elves in the night.

"Cheers," said Ron drowsily, and as he ripped off the paper Harry got out of bed, and started his daily ablutions.

"Nice one, Harry!" said Ron enthusiastically, waving the new pair of Quidditch Keeper's gloves Harry had given him as Harry headed into the showers. When he came out, he noticed that Ron had not moved, but was leaning on his bedpost, staring out of the rain-washed window with a strangely un-focused look on his face.

"Ron? Breakfast."

"I'm not hungry."

Harry stared at him. Those three words out of Ron's mouth sent alarm bells ringing in his head.

"I thought you just said —?"

"Well, all right, I'll come down with you," sighed Ron, "but I don't want to eat."

Harry scrutinized him suspiciously.

"Did you eat something Fred and George sent you?"

"No, it's not that," Ron sighed again. "You… you wouldn't understand."

"Fair enough," said Harry, albeit puzzled, as he turned to open the door.

"Harry!" said Ron suddenly.

"What?"

"Harry, I can't stand it!"

"You can't stand what?" asked Harry, now starting to feel definitely alarmed. Ron was rather pale and looked as though he was about to be sick. "I can't stop thinking about her!" said Ron hoarsely.

Harry gaped at him. He had not expected this and was not sure he wanted to hear it. Friends they might be, but if Ron started calling Lavender "Lav-Lav", he would have to put his foot down.

"Why does that stop you having breakfast?" Harry asked, trying to inject a note of common sense into the proceedings.

"I don't think she knows I exist," said Ron with a desperate gesture.

"She definitely knows you exist," said Harry, bewildered. "She keeps snogging you, doesn't she?"

Ron blinked.

"Who are you talking about?"

"Who are you talking about?" said Harry, with an increasing sense that all reason had dropped out of the conversation.

"Romilda Vane," said Ron softly, and his whole face seemed to illuminate as he said it, as though hit by a ray of purest sunlight. They stared at each other for almost a whole minute, before Harry said, "This is a joke, right? You're joking."

"I think… Harry, I think I love her," said Ron in a strangled voice.

"Okay," said Harry, walking up to Ron to get a better look at the glazed eyes and the pallid complexion, "Okay… say that again with a straight face."

"I love her," repeated Ron breathlessly. "Have you seen her hair, it's all black and shiny and silky… and her eyes? Her big dark eyes? And her "

"This is really funny and everything," said Harry impatiently, "but joke's over, all right? Drop it."

He turned to leave; he had got two steps towards the door when a crashing blow hit him on the right ear. Staggering, he looked round. Ron's fist was drawn right back, his face was contorted with rage; he was about to strike again.

Harry reacted instinctively; his wand was out of his pocket and the incantation sprang to mind without conscious thought: Levicorpus!

Ron yelled as his heel was wrenched upwards once more; he dangled helplessly, upside down, his robes hanging off him.

"What was that for?" Harry bellowed.

"You insulted her, Harry! You said it was a joke!" shouted Ron, who was slowly turning purple in the face as all the blood rushed to his head.

"This is insane!" said Harry. "What's got into —?"

And then he saw the box lying open on Ron's bed and the truth hit him with the force of a stampeding troll.

"Where did you get those Chocolate Cauldrons?"

"They were a birthday present!" shouted Ron, revolving slowly in midair as he struggled to get free. "I offered you one, didn't I?"

"You just picked them up off the floor, didn't you?"

"They'd fallen off my bed, all right? Let me go!"

"They didn't fall off your bed, you prat, don't you understand? They were mine, I chucked them under my bed a few weeks ago. They're the Chocolate Cauldrons Romilda gave me before Christmas and they're all spiked with love potion!"

But only one word of this seemed to have registered with Ron.

"Romilda?" he repeated. "Did you say Romilda? Harry - do you know her? Can you introduce me?"

Harry stared at the dangling Ron, whose face now looked tremendously hopeful, and fought the very strong desire to laugh. A part of him — the part closest to his throbbing right ear - was quite keen on the idea of letting Ron down and watching him run amok until the effects of the potion wore off… but on the other hand, they were supposed to be friends, Ron had not been himself when he had attacked, and Harry thought that he would deserve another punching if he permitted Ron to declare undying love for Romilda Vane.

"Yeah, I'll introduce you," said Harry, thinking fast. "I'm going to let you down now, okay?"

He sent Ron crashing back to the floor (his ear did hurt quite a lot), but Ron simply bounded to his feet again, grinning.

"She'll be in Slughorn's office," said Harry confidently, leading the way to the door.

"Why will she be in there?" asked Ron anxiously, hurrying to keep up.

"Oh, she has extra Potions lessons with him," said Harry, inventing wildly.

"Maybe I could ask if I can have them with her?" said Ron eagerly. "Great idea," said Harry. Lavender was waiting beside the portrait hole; a complication Harry had not foreseen.

"You're late, Won-Won!" she pouted. "I've got you a birthday —"

"Leave me alone," said Ron impatiently, "Harry's going to introduce me to Romilda Vane." And without another word to her, he pushed his way out of the portrait hole. Harry tried to make an apologetic face to Lavender, but it might have turned out simply amused, because she looked more offended than ever as the Fat Lady swung shut behind them. Harry had been slightly worried that Slughorn might be at breakfast, but he answered his office door at the first knock, wearing a green velvet dressing-gown and matching nightcap and looking rather bleary-eyed.

"Harry," he mumbled. "This is very early for a call… I generally sleep late on a Saturday…"

"Professor, I'm really sorry to disturb you," said Harry as quietly as possible, while Ron stood on tiptoe, attempting to see past Slughorn into his room, "but my friend Ron's swallowed a love potion by mistake. You couldn't make him an antidote, could you? I'd take him to Madam Pomfrey, but we're not supposed to have anything from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and, you know… awkward questions…"

"I'd have thought you could have whipped him up a remedy, Harry, an expert potioneer like you?" asked Slughorn.

"Er," said Harry, somewhat distracted by the fact that Ron was now elbowing him in the ribs in an attempt to force his way into the room, "well, I've never mixed an antidote for a love potion, sir, and by the time I get it right Ron might've done something serious, stupid, stupidly serious or seriously stupid."

Helpfully, Ron chose this moment to moan, "I can't see her. Harry — is he hiding her?"

"Was this potion within date?" asked Slughorn, now eyeing Ron with professional interest. "They can strengthen, you know, the longer they're kept."

"That would explain a lot," panted Harry, now positively wrestling with Ron to keep him from knocking Slughorn over. "It's his birthday, Professor," he added imploringly.

"Oh, all right, come in, then, come in," said Slughorn, relenting. "I've got the necessary here in my bag, it's not a difficult antidote…"

Ron burst through the door into Slughorn's overheated, crowded study, tripped over a tasselled footstool, regained his balance by seizing Harry around the neck and muttered, "She didn't see that, did she?"

"She's not here yet," said Harry, watching Slughorn opening his potion kit and adding a few pinches of this and that to a small crystal bottle.

"That's good," said Ron fervently. "How do I look?"

"Very handsome," said Slughorn smoothly, handing Ron a glass of clear liquid. "Now drink that up, it's a tonic for the nerves, keep you calm when she arrives, you know,"

"Brilliant," said Ron eagerly, and he gulped the antidote down noisily.

Harry and Slughorn watched him. For a moment, Ron beamed at them. Then, very slowly, his grin sagged and vanished, to be replaced by an expression of utmost horror.

"Back to normal, then?" said Harry, grinning. Slughorn chuckled. "Thanks a lot, Professor."

"Don't mention it, m'boy, don't mention it," said Slughorn, as Ron collapsed into a nearby armchair, looking devastated. "Pick-me-up, that's what he needs," Slughorn continued, now- bustling over to a table loaded with drinks. "I've got butterbeer, I've got wine, I've got one —"

Harry's eyes widened suddenly as he recognized a bottle with a bow on it.

"Professor, perhaps a Scotch. Afterall we wouldn't want Professor McGonagall to disapprove." Harry said as he recognized the bottle of mead on the table.

"Ah yes. Right you are, m'boy. Can't let the head of Gryffindor know you came to me before her now, can you?" Slughorn said as he chortled again and Harry joined in. This was the first time he had found himself almost alone with Slughorn since Dumbledore told him to get the memory. Between the apparition lessons and the training, and the stress of bringing Hermione on board, Dumbledore's task had fallen to the wayside. Perhaps, if he could just keep Slughorn in a good mood, and slightly drunk perhaps, his task may be accomplished easily.

"There you are, then," said Slughorn, handing Harry and Ron a glass of scotch each, before raising his own. "Well, a very happy birthday, Ralph —"

"— Ron —" whispered Harry.

But Ron, who did not appear to be listening to the toast, had already thrown the scotch into his mouth and swallowed it.

There was one second, hardly more than a heartbeat, in which Harry knew there was something terribly wrong and Slughorn, it seemed, did not.

"— and may you have many more —"

"Ron!"

Ron had almost dropped his glass; he half-rose from his chair and then coughed and choked as his eyes went wide as the alcohol burned his throat. Tears were streaming down his eyes as he struggled to keep the liquor down. Harry pounded his back to make it easier for the liquid to go down. Slughorn meanwhile, roared a deep belly laugh at Ron's predicament.

"Today really does not seem to be your lucky day, Mr. Weasley. Perhaps you should rest for a few hours and let the antidote work the love potion completely out of your system." Slughorn said with a laugh. Ron merely nodded and rushed out of the room as quickly as he could, his ears flaming red in embarrassment.

Harry silently raised the glass in toast towards Slughorn and followed Ron's method of drinking, but with significantly better results. "Professor, you knew my mother, right?" Harry asked in a slightly hoarse voice.

Slughorn's smile seemed to freeze in its place before it melted away. "Yes. She was one of my best students. I very much looked forward to having her as an apprentice."

"Could you tell me more about her, Professor? I have plenty of stories about my father from Remus Lupin. But I hardly know anything about my mother."

"I—I—I don't" Slughorn stuttered.

Harry poured himself another glass of the scotch and took a deep swig and held the alcohol in his mouth but vanished it with his wand as he kept it out of sight. Slughorn needed the liquid courage and promptly emptied his glass. He saw Slughorn struggling with himself and decided to pour another glass and repeat the process.

"I hear her voice begging Voldemort to spare my life."

Slughorn gave a great shudder, but he did not seem able to tear his horrified gaze away from Harry's face.

"Every time the dementors draw close I hear my father telling her to take me and run before he's killed. He didn't even have his wand with him. She ran up to the nursery and tried to barricade the room."

Slughorn's face was now paling rapidly and Harry poured another two fingers worth of scotch. This time he drank it. "She kept begging for my life even when Tom offered to spare her life. She refused to trade my life for her own."

"That's enough!" said Slughorn suddenly, raising a shaking hand. "Really, my dear boy, enough… I'm an old man… I don't need to hear… I don't want to hear…"

"Don't want to hear?" Harry gave a mirthless laugh at that.

"I deliberately sought to take extra lessons with Professor Lupin because my boggart was a Dementor. But a part of me went to those lessons just so I could hear her voice again."

Slughorn now had tears streaming down his face as he clutched his glass with a vice like grip.

"I need some things only you can provide Professor. Your generation and my parents have been unable to finish Voldemort and now it falls to my generation to clean up your mess." Harry continued in the same voice as he swayed. The alcohol was kicking in as Harry drew courage as the alcohol heated up his insides and made his head light.

"Don't say that name," Slughorn whispered. "It isn't a question… If it were to help you, of course… but no purpose can be served…"

"No purpose? Sir, with all due respect, I am the Chosen One. I have to kill him. I am the only one who can. I can't do that until I know how many Horcruxes he's made. I've already destroyed one, as has Dumbledore. But we can't keep chasing ghosts if you continue to protect monsters like Tom Riddle." Harry stated passionately.

Slughorn raised a pudgy hand and pressed his shaking fingers to his mouth as he openly weeped; he looked for a moment like an enormously overgrown baby.

"I am not proud…" he hiccupped through his fingers. "I am ashamed of what — of what that memory shows… hic…I think I may have done great damage that day…"

"Give me an opportunity to undo your sins by giving me that memory," said Harry. "It would be a brave and noble thing to do. One worthy of Lily Potter."

Slughorn and Harry stared at each other over the guttering candle. Then, very slowly, Slughorn put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his wand. He put his other hand inside his cloak and took out a small, empty bottle. Still looking into Harry's eyes, Slughorn touched the tip of his wand to his temple and withdrew it, so that a long, silver thread of memory came away too, clinging to the wand tip. Longer and longer the memory stretched until it broke and swung, silvery bright, from the wand. Slughorn lowered it into the bottle where it coiled, then spread, swirling like gas. He corked the bottle with a trembling hand and then held it out to Harry like it was a pile of odorous excrement.

"Thank you very much, Professor."

"You're a good boy," said Professor Slughorn, tears trickling down his fat cheeks into his walrus mustache. "And you've got her eyes… Just don't think too badly of me once you've seen it…"

And he turned to hide his head and gave a deep heave as he began crying again. Harry left the old man with his regrets and a trolley full of alcohol.