Chapter Two—Strange Dreams and Harsh Reality

On their way to spend their first night back in their dormitories, the Gryffindors were halfway down a hallway lined with portraits of medieval knights and ladies when Nearly Headless Nick drifted through a wall towards them. Many of the first- and second-years jumped, but the older students had long grown used to the fact that anything and anyone could pop out of anywhere at Hogwarts. Nick, too, was used to receiving reactions of varying degrees of surprise at his appearance, and disregarded them all equally. He simply looked the students over and, spotting Harry, said, "Ah, Mr Potter, just who I was looking for! The Headmaster would like a word."

Now Harry was disconcerted.

"I've only been at school an hour!" he protested. "How can I be in trouble already?"

Nick raised his transparent eyebrows and tugged on the ruff which held his partially severed head onto his body. "I didn't say you were in trouble. Perhaps Dumbledore has something good to say to you."

Harry frowned doubtfully. "When was the last time any teacher called me to their office to say something good?"

Ron snickered, and Hermione shot him a look.

"All right," sighed Harry, dropping out of the crowd as it continued on. "I'm going. But I don't know the password."

"It's chocolate," Nick told him simply.

"Dumbledore must be running out of ideas," Harry muttered to himself as he headed in the direction of the Headmaster's office.

When he reached the stone gargoyle which marked the door to Dumbledore's office, Harry stated, "Chocolate." It jumped aside, revealing a moving, spiral staircase, which Harry stepped on and rode up to the familiar door with the brass lion's head knocker. As he rapped upon it, he reflected inwardly that he had likely been to the Headmaster's office more than any other student, and possibly more than some teachers.

"Come in," said Dumbledore's voice, sounding uncharacteristically weary; of course, weariness was becoming more and more in character for him lately. Harry opened the door and entered.

The Headmaster was sitting at his desk, reading. He closed the large and very old-looking book in his hands when Harry approached to sit in the chair facing him.

"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore began; his smile was, reassuringly, as warm as ever. "Back at school in safety, I see?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, glad that he could honestly say this statement was true. "Nearly Headless Nick said you wanted to see me?"

"I did," Dumbledore agreed with a nod, leaning forward in his desk. "I just wanted to ask you how your life has been since June."

"It's…"

Harry faltered. The question was not an easy one to answer. Dumbledore wanted the truth, a real answer, not just a standard, "Fine, thanks, how about you?"

Letting out his breath in a heavy sigh, Harry admitted, "It's been tough. I…" He tried to go on, but no words came, so he simply repeated, "It's been tough. I don't really know what else to say."

"Have you still been subjected to the influences of Lord Voldemort's mind within your own?" asked Dumbledore quietly.

"Er… A bit. I've been practicing making my mind blank over the summer—you know, Occlumency stuff—but it hasn't really been working…"

"Unsurprising," Dumbledore told him, obvious not at all concerned by this news. "Your powerful emotions are your only weapon against Voldemort, as you know, as well as one of your weaknesses. And right now, you must be particularly emotional. Even if this were not the case, mastering the ability to close your mind when you choose to, in the safe, non-magical world of your mother's family, would be very different from doing so when you need to, in a potentially dangerous magical environment. You are, of course, very familiar with the difference between using spells in theory and in practice…in rehearsal and in performance, you might say."

Harry thought of the Patronus Charm and nodded.

"Now… Have you been having nightmares?" Dumbledore asked gently. Harry suspected he knew the answer already; unpleasant dreams were a constant in the life of the boy who lived, and had been since he had learned his own story more than five years ago. There was no shame in admitting it.

"Yes. Some are just flashbacks, where I revisit things. The graveyard, sometimes, but usually…" Harry's voice trailed off.

"The Department of Mysteries?" supplied Dumbledore.

Harry nodded, throat tight. He wanted to say something about how Dudley had heard him screaming and crying, but he couldn't think of how to word this.

"Some are flashbacks," Dumbledore echoed, leaving Harry's grief untouched, "and what are the others?"

Harry paused, considering his answer. His other dreams seemed like flashbacks, too, only…not his own. They had been puzzling him all summer, and he was actually glad Dumbledore had asked about them. He definitely wanted to vocalize the uncertainty and confusion that these peculiar dreams—not necessarily nightmares, really, just scenes in his mind—had been causing him. Besides that, he had always felt that the Headmaster would have all the answers to such questions as these, and answers were definitely what he wanted.

"Well," he began slowly, unable to find adequate words, "I see things that happened…in the past, I think. But they didn't happen to me. And I don't think they happened to Voldemort, either," he added.

"What sorts of things?"

"Lots. Different stuff, but it's always from someone's point of view, not just the outside, and I think it's always the same person. Sometimes I—well, whoever I am in the dream—I'm in the forest with all these kids, and they're making fun of me. Other times, I'm riding a horse a horse or stuff like that. There's some people that come up a lot that I think are my friends or family or something like that…"

After considering this, Dumbledore asked, "Do you ever dream about yourself fighting anyone or anything? Do you ever see a figure this person hates?"

This time, Harry knew that Dumbledore knew the answer to the question before he asked it.

"Yes, quite a bit. There's this man…"

"What does he look like?"

"He's… Well, he's tall," Harry began to explain slowly. "He has sort of dark skin, like someone from around the Middle East, I guess. He's got really bright red hair, and a big ruby or something in his forehead. He's always dressed in clothes like armour, and sometimes he rides this huge black horse… And he has magic powers, but I don't know if he's exactly a wizard."

"I understand what you mean," Dumbledore assured him. "Now, I have two more small questions about these dreams. First, how old is the person you are?"

This question surprised Harry, first of all because it seemed like such an unimportant detail, but also because the answer was an unusual one that he had been trying to determine for himself.

"Er…I don't exactly know. It changes. Sometimes I'm a kid, younger than I am now. But then other times, I think I'm an adult. And there's those people, my friends— They're different ages in different dreams, and if they're growing up, then I must be, too, right?"

"One would assume," Dumbledore agreed. "My second question," he went on, "is about this man you mentioned. Are you afraid of him?"

Another odd question, but one Harry had never given any consideration to before. He looked at his hands in his lap and tried to recall such a details. What he came up with was another odd answer.

"Yes," he said finally. "But only sometimes. When I'm a kid, I think. When I'm an adult…it doesn't seem like I'm scared of anything." He finished the statement almost like a question, asking Dumbledore to give credence to the possibility of its accuracy.

No answer came, however, and Harry looked up during the pause. Dumbledore was leaning back in his chair and regarding the ceiling thoughtfully, his long fingers tented at his chin. After a moment, he looked back down and said, "Thank you, Harry. You have given me a great deal of useful information. Now, allow me to give you some."

He pushed the book before him towards Harry, along with a piece of parchment. Harry picked the book up and looked at it closely; it was ancient and thick, with a cover of green leather and a title in elaborately worked gold letters, which Harry read aloud.

"The History of… what?"

"Hyrule," Dumbledore told him.

"What's Hyrule?"

"For me to give you the full answer to that question would take many hours. That is why I am giving you this book to read."

Opening the heavy tome with great care, Harry found that the pages were decorated with finely detailed illuminations and borders, but also filled with small, precise handwriting, as though the book was so old it had been written out by hand in the days before the printing press. Looking more closely, Harry also noticed that several of the pages were filled with characters that obviously formed words, but they weren't anything like letters he had even seen. They were even on the cover, he noticed, checking again, right below the title.

What popped into his mind instantly was Hermione; this was the type of fascinating ancient literature that she would kill to get her hands on, but that he, Harry, would rather avoid. That being said, he couldn't deny that the artwork and detailing were truly remarkable, and that he was curious to know why the contents of this volume were of any significance to him.

"I know sixth year pupils such as yourself do not have much leisure time for reading," Dumbledore acknowledged. "There is an increase in homework as next year's NEWTs approach, and you in particular will of course be busy with your new duties as Quidditch captain. That is why I am not asking you to read the entire book, but only these chapters." He tapped the piece of parchment. "They should give you the information you need. This book is one of the best on Hylian history, although I must admit I do find it lacking in some background details, with regards to the central figures' lives outside public eye."

Harry looked at the list. It read:

Introduction – p. iii

1. The Creation – p. 2

2. Holy Relics and Temples – p. 21

7. The Quest of the Hero of Time – p. 113

8. Under Queen Zelda I – p. 133

12. The First Return of Evil – p. 220

15. The Second Return of Evil – p. 285

21. Destroyed and Rebuilt – p. 372

23. Tetra and the Hero of Winds – p. 409

24. Noah and the Cleansing of the New World – p. 434

28. Plato – p. 498

29. The Unanswered Questions and Unsolved Mysteries – p. 519

Conclusion – p. xi

Harry raised his eyebrows. "This sounds like a book of mythology or something. Maybe philosophy?" he guessed, looking at Plato's name. He was also puzzled by the mention of Noah.

"I suppose you could call it that," Dumbledore agreed with a nod. "It is filled with stories that were passed down by ancient civilizations. However, they are not myths, because they are true. It is imperative that you remember that as you read this: No matter how absurd these stories may seem, they are all true."

Not knowing what else to say, Harry replied, "Okay."

"I must also impress upon you how important it is that you read this as quickly as possible, Harry. Again, to explain why would take a great deal of time, but if you would like some idea, turn to chapter seven."

Harry obeyed, finding page 113, and gave a jump of alarm. There, glaring out at him from the book, was a picture of the enemy in his nightmares: a broad-shouldered, muscular man with hair like fire, spikes on his war-suited clothing, fingers like claws that could crush a man to powder, and a long dagger sheathed at the back of his leg. Without taking time to look any more closely at the illustration, Harry slammed the book shut reflexively.

"That's him!" he shouted, more loudly than he had intended. Lowering his voice slightly to a normal conversation level, he asked, "Does that mean…my dreams really did happen?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I believe so. I believe this book will answer many of your questions. Indeed, when you have finished it, you should be able to tell me if your dreams really happened."

Harry nodded. His heart was still beating quickly from the unpleasant surprise of seeing the man who, next to Voldemort, induced in him more terror than any other. The difference was that he had no idea why he should be scared of this complete stranger, even if he did look intimidating. The fear didn't feel like his, just as the memories weren't his, but were simply taking life vicariously in his dreams.

Carefully, Harry opened the book again to the picture. The man grinned menacingly up at him, taking apparent pleasure in the teenage boy's anxiety. Like all wizard pictures, he was moving, leaning against the decorative border with crossed arms and looking around him uninterestedly. He began to tap his toe and drum the fingers of his right hand against his left arm.

"It's getting late," Dumbledore pointed out, interrupting Harry's train of thought. "You should get a good night's sleep before your first classes."

"Yeah…" said Harry vaguely, not really listening as he read the caption on the illustration.

Ganondorf Dragmire (7188-7180 BCE) - King of the Gerudo and of Hyrule.

Harry ran as quickly as he could to the Gryffindor Tower, but he still arrived after most people had gone to bed. No one lasted long in the common room on the first day back after summer. Hermione herself was just heading up the stairway to the girls' dormitory, Crookshanks in her arms.

"Hey, Hermione!" Harry called out to her. "I need to talk to you and… Where's Ron?"

"Right here," answered Ron, poking his head around the corner of the staircase leading up to the boys' dorms. "We were beginning to think you weren't coming back, so we decided to go to bed."

"Harry, what's that?"

Hermione's interest had, of course, bee-lined to the massive volume Harry was holding. She was staring at it with wide eyes.

"It's what Dumbledore wanted to talk to me about," Harry replied, sitting down at a small table. The book thumped heavily when he lay it down before him. Clearly curious, Ron and Hermione emerged from their respective staircases to sit on either side of Harry, Hermione releasing her cat as she did so, though he followed her as if he, too, were curious about the book.

"The History of… what?" asked Ron, reading the title.

"That's what I asked," Harry told him.

"It's hard to read those letters. Hy…rule," Hermione sounded it out. She looked up at Harry, alarmed and bewildered, apparently at having come across a word with which she was unfamiliar. "What on earth is Hyrule?"

Shrugging, Harry said, "A place, I think. Well, it must be, to have a history, right? Dumbledore just told me to read this. Parts of it, anyway. And let me show you something."

He flipped to page 113, where Ganondorf stood, now examining his fingernails in a bored way. As they looked at him, Harry told Ron and Hermione about his nightmares.

"Wow," muttered Ron, but Hermione was now looking at a picture on the page opposite Ganondorf's, which Harry hadn't regarded yet; it showed a good-looking young man with large blue eyes and golden blond hair that hung before them casually. He was dressed in a green tunic and matching hat, with leather boots that buckled below his knees. Slung across his back were a sword, shield and quiver of arrows with a bow. Like Ganondorf, he was very clearly in good physical shape as a result of training in combat. As the young man looked around him, Harry noticed that both of his ears were pierced with silver hoops, and that the ears themselves were very long and pointed, like those of elves in Muggle fairy tales he had read as a child. Now that he thought of it, this man (or boy; he looked to be in his late teens) looked very much like an elf from the forest. With his weaponry and serious expression, however, he didn't give off the appearance having of a playful, elfin air.

"Sir Link I Hero," Hermione read aloud from the caption. "7197-7123 BCE… Hero of Time."

"That's funny. He looks younger than Ganondorf, but he was born nine years earlier," Ron observed.

"Don't be silly. Besides the fact that these pictures might not have been done at the same time, Ganondorf was a king, so the years by his name were the years he reigned. He was an adult, probably, when he ascended in 7188." She said all this, as was her typical style, as though it was common knowledge, and Ron and Harry were a bit dim for not realizing it.

"So you've seen this Ganondorf guy in your nightmares," Ron said, ignoring Hermione pointedly by turning to Harry. "Have you ever seen this other one? Link?"

"Never."

"Really? Weird," Ron commented, as Hermione nodded thoughtfully, still looking at the book.

"Yeah. I wonder who he is."

Hermione looked up to roll her eyes at them incredulously. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Not everything is obvious to people less gifted than you," Ron snapped.

Choosing to disregard this, Hermione explained, "Well, if Link and Ganondorf are contemporaries, both important figures, who both probably know each other, and Harry only ever sees one of them in his dreams, which, I might add, are first-person perspective, then obviously Harry is dreaming from the point of view of the other. Which would be Link."

"But the person I dream as hates Ganondorf!" Harry pointed out. "And if Ganondorf was a king and Link was a knight, then wouldn't they be on the same side?"

"Don't be so sure." Hermione nodded down at the book, and Harry and Ron saw that Link and Ganondorf had each spotted the other across the pages. The historical figures eyed one another threateningly; Ganondorf was flexing his vicious fingers and the muscles in his massive arms, and Link had drawn the long, shining sword that he handled with notable skill and grace.

"Well, if it's a fight about brute strength, I think the king's got the kid beat," Ron said bluntly. "But that is one hell of a sword that Link's got."

"I wonder if they can hear us," Harry muttered quietly, watching as Link examined his blade with satisfaction before sheathing it again on his back.

"I wonder if they can hear each other," Ron asked keenly. "I mean, what if Ganondorf threatens Link or something and they get into a fight?"

"All the paintings here at Hogwarts can talk to each other, and to us," Hermione mused. "So unless someone put a spell on these to stop them communicating…which they might have done… It would be a good idea if they're going to fight… Anyway, Harry, was this all Dumbledore wanted to talk to you about?"

"Yeah. Well, he asked me how my summer was, and I told him about my dreams. But that's it."

Harry closed the book, because he didn't like the way Ganondorf and Link were posturing for battle. The three of them sat and looked at the cover for a moment, wondering what other mysteries were concealed within its pages.

"We should get to bed," Hermione said finally. "Listen, when you're done with that book, Harry, I'd like to read it."

"Figures," muttered Ron.

"Sure," agreed Harry.

They were the only ones left in the common room now, not that this was in any way an unusual occurrence. They said their good nights, then Hermione headed up one staircase and Ron followed Harry as he lugged the book up the other.

"Can't really blame her for wanting to read it, though," he admitted. "Looks pretty interesting. For a history textbook."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I think I'll read some in bed."

Ten minutes later, as he lay curled in his four-poster bed and thinking yet again about how good it was to be back at Hogwarts, he carefully opened the book to the first page.

Painted in bright, lifelike colour across the top of the page, above the word "Introduction," was a map. A large, lush, green field dominated the landscape, but there were several other locations as well. He looked closely at small towns, a large mountain which he soon realized was a volcano, a lake, a desert, a forest… Everything was labelled in the two languages of the book. Some of the places had names along the lines of "Lon Lon Ranch" and "Kakariko Village," ones that he wouldn't have been surprised to see in Britain or any other Muggle country, but others were far more interesting, including "Zora's Domain" and "Haunted Wasteland," suggesting to him great danger and adventure.

Another picture, directly in the centre of the page, with the lines of the writing curving around it, showed a simple design of triangles, with a small but elaborately worked caption.

The Triforce of the Gods.

It consisted of three small and perfectly symmetrical gold triangles, touching at the corners to form a larger equilateral triangle with a hole in the middle, of size and shape equal to the first three.

Harry looked at this a moment, admiring the way the gold shone with a light that resembled something supernatural, before he began to read:

Long before the earliest human civilizations, there lived people so close to the divine world that they all knew and accepted the gift of magic. They believed in prophecies and potions, but one of the most predominant of their values was destiny.

The world of these people was called Hyrule, and was occupied by six races. The one which dominated, to whose monarchs the other races usually pledged allegiance, was the Hylians. However, history would change these races, and leave us with those people who currently live on our planet: humans, including witches and wizards.

Few remember anymore the tales of the earliest people, but it is important not to forget the ways of our ancestors, for they have shaped our lives and our world…

Harry yawned. It read like a history textbook, all right; when would they get to the story? Blinking down at the pages, he skimmed for something more intriguing, and caught pieces of sentences.

The many legendary figures… spanning centuries… advanced technology… destroyed and rebuilt… unexplored regions… loss of important discoveries…

…from a humble orphan to a noble hero…

That was interesting.

Another yawn overpowered him. He closed the book, slid it onto the floor by his bed, and dropped to sleep without even taking off his glasses.

As McGonagall handed out Gryffindor timetables the next day over breakfast, Harry still felt as though he was walking around in a haze of tiredness. Fear and discontent at knowing that all was not well outside the school had returned to him the night before, as they always did when he was alone in the dark. He had hoped they would stop keeping him awake at night now that he was back at his haven, but no such luck. His disquiet had awakened him several times during the night, despite his exhaustion. To top it off, when he did sleep, his dreams were filled alternately with Voldemort attacking in the graveyard, or Death Eaters attacking in the Department of Mysteries, or Ganondorf attacking in places he didn't recognize. Link's nightmares.

"You look rough, Harry," Ron said sympathetically, making a face. "Here's hoping you get to start off with an easy day. What's your schedule like?"

Harry took a moment to focus his eyes well enough to read, then answered, "Transfigurations, Double Charms, Herbology and Double Defence Against the Dark Arts. You?"

"Same, but History of Magic instead of Herbology. So I guess I'm suffering more."

Harry managed a small smile at his friend's attempt at kindness.

"I'm in Herbology with you, Harry," Hermione said. "I had to cut two subjects, so I'm not in History or Magic or Astronomy anymore."

But Harry wasn't listening; he had just noticed something on his schedule at the mention of Professor Binns' subject. "I'm… Hang on!" he yelped. "I'm supposed to drop Potions this year, but they have me dropping History of Magic instead! I still have to put up with Snape!"

He looked up at his friends, horrorstruck. Hermione stared back, and Ron grabbed the offensive timetable.

"Blimey," he said weakly, after confirming that Harry was right about his fate. "How'd that happen?"

"What did you get on your OWLs, Harry?" Hermione asked slowly. "For Potions and History of Magic?"

Harry's stomach twinged. "Well…well… I got a 'P' on History—"

"That explains it," Ron said with a sage nod and disappointed sigh. "You can't go on to NEWTs if you didn't get an OWL."

"But I only got an 'E' in Potions!" Harry objected fervently. "Snape makes you get an 'O' if you want to continue!" Harry protested.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look.

"Still," Hermione said, "if you have to keep one of them…"

Harry slumped irritably in his chair and stabbed at his waffles; they were the only appropriate targets for the irritability which was fast settling itself permanently into the place of yesterday's preliminary good mood. "Perfect. Just perfect. The one thing I was really looking forward to about this year more than anything else is gone. That's just great."

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other, apparently not knowing what to say. They all remained silent as they finished breakfast and headed off to Transfiguration together. Part of Harry knew it was unfair to complain, since Hermione had to take Potions, too, and Ron had had to cut three classes instead of the usual two (Herbology, Potions, and Divination) due to poor grades, but most of him was in a rage at this unpleasant surprise. Why couldn't he, like Ron, simply drop an extra course? Why did he have to endure another two years with the one man at Hogwarts, and indeed almost in the entire world, he hated more than any other? The man who hated him back for no reason other than that his father was James Potter? The man who had taunted Sirius and called him a coward? The man who had, in short, made it a personal mission to make Harry suffer in every imaginable way? At the end of last year, it had been Snape upon whom Harry had tried to blame Sirius' untimely murder, and to this day he couldn't let go of the resolution that the potions master was partly responsible.

"Good morning, class," Professor McGonagall was saying; Harry had arrived at Transfiguration almost without noticing it. He dropped his books heavily on a desk before him and sat down next to Ron. He thought he saw McGonagall shoot him a warning look for being loud, but he wasn't in a mood to care. His first class hadn't even started, and already this was a bad day.

"Now, first of all, congratulations," McGonagall began now that the class was silent. "You all must have performed very well on your Transfiguration OWLs to have met the standards of my NEWT class. That being said, I have only two years to teach you everything that remains for you to learn about Transfiguration. This year will consist of three main units, all of which will be continued in your seventh year: Conjuring, Untransfiguration, and Self-transfiguration. You received your introduction to Conjuring Spells at the end of last year, so that is where we shall begin this year. Let's review the theories of Inanimatus Conjurus."

They spent the class dredging up from the hindmost regions of their brains all the complex information of multifarious theories that had haunted them the previous year as examinable material. This took up so much of their class, because of the sheer volume of what they had to recall, that there was very little time at the end of the lesson for McGonagall to add a few details to their existing notes, and they certainly didn't get to attempt any new concepts.

"Since this is your first class, your homework is simply to study," she said at the end of the lesson. "Make certain you are crystal clear on the concepts we reviewed today, because we will be quickly cutting to the chase next class. Dismissed."

They hurried out of the room, and the majority of them found their seats in Charms ten minutes later.

Flitwick's class was similar to McGonagall's; mostly review and an introduction to the new concepts they would cover over the next two years. They did, however, get a chance to do some magic. As a way to begin one of their major units of study (enchanting objects in motion or already under enchantments), they started with the fairly simple and highly amusing task of using magic to carefully redirect the trajectory of things that were flying at them either by Banishing Charms or just someone's muscle power. This helped cheer Harry up, not least of all because he got to vent some aggression by chucking things like books, pillows and vases, all provided by Flitwick, at Ron and Hermione.

"Wow, Harry, good arm. Are you sure you don't want to play Chaser?"

After Charms, they separated. Ron went to History of Magic, grumbling about his misfortune at having to put up with Binns without Hermione to take notes for him.

"Don't worry," Harry reassured him. "If you do badly, you can drop it in seventh year."

Hermione shot Harry a reproving look as they left Ron and made their way out to Herbology.

"What?"

"That's not very encouraging, Harry," she told him sternly.

"Oh, come on, Hermione. You dropped History of Magic. You have to admit it's useless."

"But Ron didn't drop it, and if he's going to take a course, he should put effort into it."

"Sure. And he's gonna drop History of Magic soon, so why should he put effort into it?"

Hermione made a noise in her throat that sounded almost like a suppressed scream. "Sometimes I swear I can't even speak to you reasonably because you just get so careless and reckless, it's like you're—"

She cut herself off sharply, with an almost panicked look on her face, and Harry knew why; mentioning the word "reckless" could only lead to mentioning Sirius. Neither of them spoke again.

Herbology was yet another typical first day back, full of mostly old information and a summary of what they would be studying, with a few new details and elaborations. Because of this, they got away from it cleaner than they usually would do, and made good time on their way to their next class.

When they joined Ron again for Defence Against the Dark Arts, he looked as though he had just woken up. Possibly he had. Harry couldn't help laughing slightly at the sight of him with his hair looking more characteristic of a Potter than a Weasley, as Hermione tutted.

"That was the longest class I've ever sat through," Ron groaned, rubbing his face. "Is it Christmas yet?"

"Not quite," Hermione told him dryly.

"Yeah, we've got Defence Against the Dark Arts first," Harry said. "With Tonks, remember?"

"Ooh, I'm interested to see what kind of teacher she is," Hermione said, forgetting, or choosing to temporarily let go of, Ron's indiscretion of laziness at the prospect of facing a new teacher and an old friend.

Their curiosity was addressed almost immediately. When they walked into the room, a young woman was standing there with short, blonde hair that framed her face, startlingly blue eyes and a petite, button-like nose that Harry had seen her put on as one of several to amuse Hermione and Ginny over dinner at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. She smiled at the students as they entered, but only Harry, Ron and Hermione returned her friendly wave. The others exchanged puzzled looks, and Harry knew they were wondering what had happened to the teacher they had seen at the start of term feast. They looked apprehensive as they found their seats.

"Good afternoon, class," Tonks said brightly when they had fallen expectantly silent. "My name is Professor Tonks, as Dumbledore—Professor Dumbledore, I mean—told you last night. And to answer the question I know you all want to ask…"

She scrunched up her face as though thinking hard, and transformed into the brunette she had been the day before. The class jumped and gasped.

"Cool!" breathed Dean Thomas, as Seamus next to him stared in awe. Tonks beamed before returning to her blonde self.

"I'm a Metamorphmagus," she explained, "meaning that I have the ability to change my appearance at will. I'm also an Auror. Any other questions about me?"

There was an impressed silence as she smiled around at them all.

"No? Well, then, let's get started. Dumbledore tells me you covered curses fairly well in your fourth year, and Remus tells me… Sorry, I mean Professor Lupin—"

"Do you know him?" blurted Parvati. "He was our best teacher!"

Tonks looked slightly surprised. "Yes, I know Remus. I'll say hello to him from you all, if you like. Anyway, he tells me that you made good progress with dark creatures in your third year. This year, we'll be expanding on both of those areas as well as learning some quite challenging spells that I find myself using often in my profession."

Neville raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr…Longbottom, is it? I believe we met last year, briefly."

"Er…yes," Neville said. "I was just going to say, if you want to know what spells and stuff we can do, you should ask Harry."

Harry grinned sheepishly as most of the class laughed; last year, they had formed a secret organization called Dumbledore's Army. Led by Harry, it was a place where they could learn the defensive spells they weren't getting from their useless Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Harry wasn't sure if Tonks knew about it or not.

Beaming at Harry, she said proudly, "Yes, I heard all about the DA. This class will be expanding on many of the lessons my young predecessor here gave you. I understand he was quite a good teacher."

Harry smiled even wider, trying not to look too pleased with himself.

"So let's get to it," said Tonks, whipping out her wand. "The first lesson's gonna be a little bit boring because there's no magic. I'm going to put some notes on the blackboard here about curses Dark Wizards usually use and attack patterns they usually follow."

Although they didn't get to perform any spells, the class certainly wasn't bored by the notes. They had never heard about Dark Wizards from the perspective of a trained and experienced Auror before; the closest antecedent would have to be the impostor Professor Moody in their fourth year. Tonks also knew many of the students by name already, having heard about them from Harry, Ron, Hermione, Remus and Dumbledore, and could call upon them for firsthand accounts.

"The Vertigo Curse is useful to Dark Wizards because they often rely on confusing opponents. Seamus, Dumbledore tells me you used this one on a fellow classmate last year, am I right?"

Looking embarrassed and proud, Seamus said, "Yeah. Some Slytherin kid was insulting the Gryffindor Quidditch team, so I let him have it."

"Would you like to tell us about it?"

Seamus explained the Vertigo Curse, Ron explained a Slug-Vomiting Curse he had experienced in second year, and Parvati explained the Reductor Curse she had a knack for. The students clearly were thoroughly enjoying reliving their favourite spells, but with half an hour left in class, Tonks called them to order.

"I'd like to be serious now," she said. "We need to address some more dangerous and harmful spells, and it will be difficult for your classmates to relive some of these. Trust me, when you've been subjected to a real, serious dark curse, it's not something you want to joke about. They are unpleasant memories for all involved."

She paused to look around at them all solemnly for effect.

"Let's start with Ron," she then began calmly, "who can tell us about the effects of the Mensfaclus Jinx."

Ron looked surprised. "The what?"

"Mensfaclus," Tonks repeated. "Do you remember ever having that incantation said to you?"

For a moment, Ron continued to look bewildered; then realization crossed his face; then he glowered darkly at what he had just recollected.

Ron told them all about the curse that had reduced his mental level to that of an infant, making him laugh at anything and making him unable to understand the consequences of his actions. After this, Hermione quietly told the story of the Cardiac Stasis Hex that had nearly killed her. It was surprising to learn how many others in their class had been exposed to such violent and dangerous spells in their pasts. Harry knew his experiences, numerous as they were, would be the grand finale.

"Thank you, Lavender," said Tonks gravely, when she had finished the tale of the Debilitosis Curse that had cost her grandfather the use of his legs. "Finally… I know you've learned about the Cruciatus Curse, but you haven't heard what it's like to experience it. This is one of those things that everyone should have to face, or more accurately, to be able to put a human face to. So, Harry, if you could…?" she asked kindly.

"Okay," he said resignedly, feeling the eyes of the class upon him. "What do you want to know?"

There was a brief pause before anyone dared to speak.

"When have you had it put on you?" asked Parvati in a quiet voice.

"Last June," Harry answered. "In the graveyard with Voldemort, just after he came back. He did it to me a few times. And he did it again, in the Department of Mysteries at the end of last term."

The class stared. Harry was uncomfortably aware of Neville's gaze, fixed downward at his desk.

"What…what does it feel like?" asked Seamus nervously.

Harry didn't want to answer truthfully in front of Neville, but he didn't want to give a sugar-coated answer, either. He looked at Tonks and saw that she was eyeing Neville, too.

"I want you all to understand," she said, looking them all over, "that these topics are very difficult for people in this class. I cannot emphasize that point enough. Everyone must be perfectly comfortable at all times in this room to say, feel or think whatever they like, without fear of being judged or insulted, if we are going to learn anything. You will not form opinions of anyone based on their actions or emotions within these four walls. Ever. Am I understood?"

Tonks could be foreboding when she tried, surprisingly so, in fact, given how perky and fun she usually was, but they were all so sobered by the conversation thus far that there was really no need for her to give them any warnings. They nodded their consent, and Neville managed to look up from his desk. Harry continued, though it was without meeting his eye.

"It felt like…every nerve in my body was on fire. I couldn't move or do anything to stop it, and I couldn't stop screaming, and I could barely think."

"What were you thinking?" asked Lavender. They were all speaking in hushed tones, except Harry.

"I couldn't think about anything, except how much it hurt, and…how scared I was." He truly hated ever having to admit fear, but it was best that they all know.

A long silence followed this before Hermione asked, "Was it the worst pain you've ever felt?"

Harry looked at her, then across the rest of the class. He knew the answer to that. It was obvious…

"No," he said.

The silence positively quivered. Harry could tell that even Tonks was listening. He continued in a carefully even voice. If he could just keep his words under control, he could keep from breaking down.

"A few months ago, Voldemort possessed me. That was more painful… I felt as though I was about to…I don't even know. But that pain was the worst." Most likely it had been augmented by his fresh emotional wounds at the loss of Sirius, he thought dully. Opting not to think about this, he told them, "I remember wanting to die so it would stop. I remember wishing Dumbledore would kill me… because death would be better…"

As he said this, Harry felt a brief surge of pain shoot through his scar. He didn't much care.

"Well," said Tonks finally, in a crisp tone, "I think we should end here. It's good to finish on a note that will make you think. You can go a bit early, then."

The class exited in silence, but Harry hung back to speak to Tonks. He wasn't sure if he wanted to thank her for giving him a change to share, or ask her not to make him go through those things again. He considered these options as she erased the blackboard before turning towards the now empty classroom to gather the mess of supplies strewn over her desk.

"Oh. Yes, Harry?" she asked when she noticed him.

He opened his mouth to speak. Then he closed it.

"Nothing. See you."