It was nearly the end of the day when Hermione and Ron were heading to their last class- Defence Against the Dark Arts. They hadn't seen Silversmith at all since their first strange encounter, and Hermione secretly wished she would never have to. Harry hadn't been at Charms class or Divination. Professor Trelawney held off her prediction of death gratefully until he returned. But lucky for Harry, he missed the palm readings, something nobody in the class could do.

            They pushed their way through the confused Hufflepuff first years with the other Gryffindors, hoping that Harry would show. But when they pulled open the door to the classroom, he didn't turn up. Only Silversmith occupied the room; you could barely look anywhere else. He was wearing shocking robes of neon orange today, and he was smoking a very long pipe that filled the class with dense smoke. He was sitting at the front of the room at his desk reading a very old and dusty book. He didn't look up when they entered.

            Ron and Hermione sat down with the other Gryffindors, staring at the unmoving figure of Silversmith in his chair at the front of the room. Everyone sat down, and he didn't move. Hermione looked at Ron, and he shrugged.

            "Mr. Potter ain't here yet, eh?" said the croaky voice of Silversmith, his head still pointed at the book he was reading, "Is he coming, Mr. Weasley?"

            "Er… I'm not sure, sir," said Ron quietly, looking across the room at the door for a shred of hope. Silversmith sighed, snapped the book closed, and looked at the class. At least Hermione thought he was; his eyes were all black, making it hard to tell who was under his stare.

            "Alright," he sighed, tucking his book away, and lifting another older looking book onto the desk, "Lets get started. Yes…" he started flipping through the pages of the book, and surprisingly and unexpectedly, he turned to the back of the enormous book, "The unforgivable curses."

            "Uh, sir?" said Dean uncertainly, "We went through those last year."

            Silversmith looked up at him, and blinked a few times as though he couldn't believe what Dean had just said.

            "M'boy, do you really think you know everything there is to know about the most deadly curses in all of history in just one day?" he asked Dean, "No, no, there is much more to learn about the mystery to these powerful curses. I believe I think this-"

            At that moment, the door creaked open, and Harry walked inside, carrying his books. Everyone stared at him, and Silversmith suddenly beamed.

            "Sorry sir, I was in the-"

            "Hospital wing," finished Silversmith, gesturing him to a seat, "Nothing to worry about, lad, no points taken off."

            Watching Silversmith in disbelief, Harry quickly sat down between Ron and Hermione, who saw that Lavender and Parvati were again thrown into a fit of giggles, staring at Harry.

            "Sorry," whispered Harry to her and Ron. Hermione stared at Harry. He looked like he was being forced Skele-grow ten times each day; he was tired and pale.

            "As I was saying," started Silversmith, looking much more cheerful, "The Unforgivable curses."

            Harry raised his eyebrows at Hermione, who pressed her finger to her lips.

            "Now… who can tell me-" Silversmith looked around the room, and his beetle eyes landed on Harry, "Any Unforgivable curses used on you, Harry?"

            "Our old teacher, Professor Moody, used Harry to show us how we would react to the Imperius curse," said Seamus, looking as though he regretted saying anything in the first place, but Silversmith didn't do anything. He smiled, so Seamus added, "And he fought it."

            "Ahhh, very good, Mr. Potter. Thank you, Mr. Finnigun," said Silversmith, "And that leads to the killing curse, and you, obviously, had that done upon you as well. Remarkable scar you have there. Only one in history for as long known."

            The class was now watching Silversmith, almost daring him to tell them more.

            "And the Curcio curse, of course" he continued, causing everyone to stare at Harry, "Albus tells me you came into contact with that one also. Three times, I've heard."

            "Twice…" said a very annoyed Harry, sinking lower and lower into his chair as more and more people stared at him.

            "A gift from you-know-who, correct me if I'm wrong," said Silversmith. Harry moaned.

            "Always a hazard, those curses are," said Silversmith, taking his eyes off Harry for the first time, "The Imperius curse, allowing the wizard to make the victim do anything they desire. The killing curse kills you instantly, and Curcio hurts the victim like the dickens."

            Hermione had a very funny feeling in the pit of her stomach that moment. Harry had to go through that last year? She looked over at Harry, and her mouth went dry. He had his head in his arms again, and his elbows on the desk. He looked as though he wished he weren't in the classroom. She patted his arm; it made her shiver, yet again, she didn't know why.

            "Ahem… as I was saying," said Silversmith, obviously not wanting to upset Harry, "Perhaps we should start on the Ioparioqus curse instead."

            The class went on very quickly; Hermione wanted to get out as soon as she could. Silversmith droned on about the complex Ioparioqus curse, and how to block it. It seemed the time was slowing a few minutes before the end of class, and by that time, everyone was inching towards the door.

            At the end of the class, there was a great rush to the door to get out first; Harry, Ron and Hermione were the first to leave.

            "Argh, I can't believe that," snapped Ron angrily, as they hurried down the corridor to their common room.

            "He shouldn't do that. He told us all the stuff we already know about those curses," said Hermione bitterly, "I bet he's not as bad as Professor Moody-"

            But she stopped in the face of Harry's disappointment.

            "I'm not really hungry", he told them, "I'm going to the common room."

            And without another word, he left up the marble staircase once they reached the entrance hall. Hermione stared after him.

            "He's not really with it, is he?" asked Ron, following her gaze.

            "N-no" said Hermione absentmindedly, tearing her eyes away from the staircase, "He isn't."

…~'*'~…

The first thing Hermione laid her eyes on when she entered the Great hall for breakfast a few days later was the bowler hat at the front of the hall overflowing with pieces of parchment. She didn't realize that Harry was being goggled at beside her and Ron, who were both transfixed at the front too. They sat down at the Gryffindor table beside Fred and George; they both looked sorry when Harry sat down.

            "Brand new season for Quidditch soon!" said Fred, trying to sound cheerful, but failing badly.

"And no Wood," said George pointedly, "I'm ready to bet he's kicking himself for leaving Hogwarts after we won the cup. We need a new captain."

"You haven't found one yet?" asked Hermione, taking a grateful gulp from her goblet.

"No," said Fred with a mouthful of toast, "It's not going to be someone energetic… I was getting into a habit of waking up at the crack of dawn when Wood was around."

George nodded in agreement.

"He was great and all, but he's the only one on the team who would be crazy enough to wake up at four in the morning."

After a few helpings of eggs and toast, Dumbledore stood up from the staff table, and smiled at them all. The hall went silent almost at once.

"Now," he started, his blue eyes twinkling in the light coming from the open windows high above them, "It has been a week for you to enter your vote into the hat here, and I believe a week is enough. As soon as that student has been chosen, we will begin planning the visit to Dryconderoga at once, and we will leave in as little as a few days. I know we are on a tight schedule, but we have only been informed about this suddenly."

With a wave of his wand and the gasp of the students, the bowler hat landed gently into Dumbledore's outstretched hand. He placed the hat on the table in front of him, and waved his wand over the hat's brim. Hermione watched, aghast, as the bits of parchment that were once in the hat zoomed straight up his wand. A moment later, the hat was completely empty, and Dumbledore's wand was now emitting a strange pasty colour. The his wand begin to vibrate violently, and before Hermione knew what was happening, a piece of parchment flew out of Dumbledore's wand, and into his hand. Ron and Harry looked bewildered.

The hall was very quite; nobody dared to make a sound. Dumbledore looked at the parchment, and smiled.

"Mr. Malfoy," he called, "One hundred and sixteen votes."

Hermione looked around at the Slytherin table, and saw a very disgusting sight. Slytherins were pounding on Malfoy's back with congratulations. It looked as though every Slytherin voted for him. But before they could get to excited, another piece of parchment flew out of Dumbledore's wand.

"Terry Boot," he announced, after taking a quick look at the parchment, "Sixty four votes."

Every Hufflepuff looked over at Boot, who sank into his seat looking as though he didn't want to be voted for. The Slytherins looked very smug now. Another parchment landed in Dumbledore outstretched hand.

"Cho Chang," he said, "One hundred and ninety-four votes."

Hands rained down on Cho's back, who looked very taken aback while the Slytherins smiles faded. Ron looked over at Hermione, looking very serious.

"One person from each house," he said, so Harry couldn't hear beside him, "Gryffindor should be next."

The Hall went deadly quiet and the only noise that occupied the room was the uneven gasps of Neville, who was sitting a few seats away from Hermione. Finally, the last piece of parchment blossomed from Dumbledore's wand. He took a look at it, and smiled, the twinkle in his eyes brighter than they had seen it.

"Harry Potter," he said voice raised, "Eight hundred and ninety-four votes."

Hermione's mouth fell open. Fred and George were right. Every head turned to Harry, who looked as though he was hit with the stunning charm; his eyes were staring ahead of him and his face was pale white. Then, when he seemed to regain control, he turned his head to look up at Dumbledore, who smiled.

"Very overwhelming," he said, "Now, we will leave for Dryconderoga in two days at twelve'o'clook in the afternoon. You, of course, need to pack your trucks and luggage for the trip," he paused, "I wish all of you to have a respectable temper in the next few days."

And he sat back down. Nothing was said for a few minutes. The entire hall was watching Harry with respectful eyes. Hermione had an awful thought that he was feeling bad for himself.

"I don't think I can do it," he whispered under his breath so only she and Ron could hear, "I can't"

Hermione stared at him apologetically, and patted his arm. Ron looked past her at Harry.

"Sure you can, Harry," he said "You have the entire school in it with you… except the Slytherins, the stupid gits."

"If you think you can go through with it Harry, go ahead," said Hermione, "And if you don't think you can, nobody will blame you."

"Except for the Slytherins," said Ron again in a hated voice. At that time, Fred and George joined the conversation.

"There is some prise money for whoever wins though," said George. Fred nodded in agreement.

"Whoever wins the tournament earns the money for their school," he said, "It's more money than you could ever count."

Harry said nothing. He merely stared at the table, biting his lip and thinking hard. Hermione shivered again.

"I going to write to Sirius," he finally said quietly so only Hermione and Ron could hear, "And tell him I'm going."

…~'*'~…

A/N: All righty, a tiny bit of fluff at the end. It gets fluffier (is that even a word?)