Vasi Extremi

by AijouSakura

He had needed more time. But time was not his to have, and so the plans had to be set in motion. Led by their child protegy, the children would fight and die. For he would dominate. The Boy Who Lived would Die. Vires Incommitatus Redone!

4. mutatio solus constans manet

Author's Note: I would just like to send my extreme apologies. I didn't mean for this to take this long, and I really hope that the next one will come out sooner. Unfortunately, school has taken priority, and I had the end of semester in January and the beginning coming on now, which means workload, and it doesn't seem like it's going to reduce significantly in the next little while. Regardless, I am not giving up on this, especially since I have the next four chapters planned out already, so please just be patient and bear with me.

I'd also like to say an enormous 'thank you' to all of the people who have reviewed. Most especially Peta, Justice, and Dana, for nagging me so much. In answer to some questions, there is a main pairing, Harry/Draco, but I'm not a huge fan of writing pwp, and I don't like dramatically changing characters overnight, so it'll take some time. If you're looking for an h/d based plotline, sorry. I'm planning on writing something else along those lines later, but not for now.

Thanks for sticking with me, here's the next chapter. ^_^

Change Alone Remains Constant

mutatio solus constans manet

Up until that point, Harry hadn't realised the realities of Dreamwalking. He had always known, of course, that the God-like control he had over his own dreams wasn't the end of it all, but his unexpected transportation into Malfoy's dream gave him a sudden awakening. He had known as soon as he had entered the ethereal room that he could leave when he wanted, but the fact that he was there without his consent was troubling. That was, after all, precisely what he was trying to prevent.

Harry had learned something interesting, though, which more than made up for the strange event. Malfoy wasn't a Death Eater. And was, perhaps, insane. He had watched him, watched as the scene unfolded. It had taken him a moment to even realise what was going on, and he had spent almost the entire time in shocked disbelief. Malfoy was a selfish prat, incapable of consideration for others, but the way he had been treated was something to be considered. Lucius Malfoy had treated his son as if he were a possession, a being without a will of its own. It perhaps gave some insight into Malfoy's utter lack of compassion.

However, that didn't change what had happened. Voldemort, it appeared, had expected Malfoy to become a Death Eater. That he wanted it to be a voluntary decision was another interesting point, one to be considered, maybe, and something Dumbledore should know. The real issue, though, was what happened after Malfoy turned down the Dark Lord. Lucius had died, and Harry had watched it with a certain satisfaction. The leader of the Death Eaters was now dead; things looked slightly better for the 'light' side.

Now, the next morning, he thought about what he had seen as he poked at scrambled eggs with a fork. He had seen Malfoy Marked. He had pulled back, granted, but he had been touched, and from the way he had reacted there was something there. Harry had to wonder now what the result of that would be. Part of him, a part that he dearly tried to repress, worried about the Slytherin. That was the part he hoped to appease by seeing Dumbledore, because if left unchecked it could do disastrous things to an otherwise perfect rivalry. The other, more sensible part of him wondered how this would affect Quidditch and, perhaps, classes.

The hardest part of not being able to play in the previous year was watching his team fight against Slytherin, knowing he couldn't help them. He yearned now for another chance to prove himself superior to Malfoy. He had never lost to the blond boy, and beating Slytherin without him would be like a cheap victory.

The Slytherin table was almost deserted, save for a few third year girls who were chatting away as only young teens can manage. Seated the way he was, Harry's casual gaze couldn't help but turn onto that table, and so he couldn't help but notice the fact that Malfoy was late for breakfast. In six years of school, he had been late only twice before.

Finally, when Harry was just about to finish his last sausage, the doors to the Great Hall opened to let in a group of Fifth-year Ravenclaws and one Draco Malfoy. His normally impeccable hair was dishevelled and there were dark circles under his eyes. His robes hung awkwardly, as if one button had been done up improperly, and three steps into the room he tripped on the hem and staggered. Only a wild grasp at a nearby Ravenclaw boy kept him on his feet, and he hardly seemed to notice when the entire Great Hall snickered.

His gaze sailed over them all, landing quickly on Harry, and sending him an almost tangible pulse of pure hatred. It was a completely different look than anything Harry had ever received; the malice and the perpetual sneer were a part of it, of course, but beneath that seemed to lie a sort of personal anger and resentment. Harry raised his eyebrows. Malfoy turned away.

"What was that about?" Dean asked, suddenly. Harry looked at him.

"What was what?" he returned. Dean gave him a long look.

"Did you do something to Malfoy that you didn't tell us about?" he asked. "'Cause if you did, and it deserved a look like that, I wish I could've been there."

"Did you steal something from the twins?" Seamus suggested eagerly. "Ooh, I can just imagine him itching for twelve hours!"

Harry held up his hands and shook his head.

"No," he answered. "I didn't do anything. I guess he's just feeling especially Malfoy today, or something, and had to take it out on me."

At the Slytherin table, Malfoy sat down wrong and slid half-way off of the bench before righting himself. He put a potato pancake onto his plate and poked at it with a knife, and then shook his head. Harry finished off the rest of his breakfast.

"Look," he said, "I've got to go talk to someone before class starts, so I'll catch up with you later, all right?"

A collective shrug ran around the table. Across the room, Malfoy stood and began to make a shaky exit. Harry cursed. He did not want to be followed.

Quickly he made his way across the hall and had just reached the door when it burst open to admit a giant throng of students all trying to catch a late meal before classes started. The largest group of Hufflepuff girls Harry had ever seen came through, all chattering merrily in high voices, stopping momentarily to wave at him before continuing. Harry crossed his arms and waited.

Behind him, he heard a noise, and he saw in his peripheral vision a figure with platinum blond hair making its slow way up to the doors. Harry suppressed a groan and looked away.

"Hey, Malfoy. Been stealing Filch's Firewhisky again?"

The entire Great Hall fell silent, braced for either a scathing retort or an outburst of tears. The result was neither, although Harry was certain that the student body couldn't have hoped for anything better. Malfoy spun quickly on his heel, and the hem of his robes, which still hung on the floor, caught on the heel of his shoe. His face went utterly blank and he stood frozen for a moment, and then his entire weight fell straight towards Harry, who caught him.

He didn't know who was more mortified.

Harry pushed him away quickly, and the Slytherin took a step backwards. Harry forced a smirk onto his face.

"Why Malfoy," he drawled, in what was actually a fair impression of the blonde, "I didn't know you cared." He was rewarded by a look of horror on his rival's face.

Before Malfoy could open his mouth, another voice came from behind Harry's left ear.

"And, before you think about doing anything, you might want to remember that there are lots of Prefects around."

Harry beamed at Ron, who gave him a friendly nod.

"So, any points you take away can be made up quite easily," Hermione added. Malfoy looked positively murderous.

"You're not worth my time," he growled, and stalked off.

Harry followed him slowly, and turned left at the next fork in the corridors. He made his way once more to the stone gargoyle, and through the gauntlet of portraits, all grinning and waving and wanting to know how he was doing on such a fine day, and wasn't he going to be late for class? He was immensely grateful that he did not have to run into Sir Cadogan, whose adventures to far-off portraits never seemed to take him this far into the depths of the castle, but there were other who seemed almost to be worse.

Finally he reached the beast, who sat wide awake this time, glaring at him and the world in general. He approached it slowly and smiled to show his good intentions.

"Ice mice," he said quickly, and waited. The gargoyle looked at him "Um ." Harry paused awkwardly. "I did say the password right, didn't I? You have to let me in, I must see the Headmaster."

The gargoyle looked at him. Harry reached for his wand.

"Was the password wrong?"

The gargoyle looked at him. Then its expression turned into something between a glower and a glare, and it moved slowly aside.

"Thank you very much," Harry said for good measure as he walked by the creature and up the stairs. He heard it move back into place behind him.

He made his way up the twisting stairs, thinking. What exactly was he going to say? It hadn't been his dream, and what he saw certainly wasn't his to tell. Malfoy would kill him. With each step he took, his confidence slipped away from him, until he found himself staring at the wooden door to the Headmaster's office with nothing but a strong urge to run away.

He was about to do just that when a voice sounded in the room, and the door opened.

"Harry, you must come in. I certainly never intended the stairway to be a waiting area for guests. Come in, come in.'

Harry grimaced and stepped into the room. The Headmaster was seated behind his desk, hands folded primly in front of him, wearing an expression of mild interest tinged with senility. Harry was beginning to realise that nothing was more incorrect.

"Sit down."

Well, there was really no alternative now. Once Dumbledore was interested, there was no way of convincing him that things were unimportant or trivial. Harry sat, looking down at his hands as he tried to put together what he was going to say.

Dumbledore allowed the silence to exist for a moment, and then Harry heard sounds of him shifting in his chair.

"Come, Harry," he said kindly. Harry looked up to see the man leaning forwards now. "I am certain that you did not come here to examine your fingernails. If you wish to tell me anything, I would advise you to do so before you lose the rest of your nerve."

Harry felt himself flush uncomfortably.

"Well, it's just that you said if I dreamed anything interesting I should tell you," he began. Dumbledore nodded, and Harry saw a spark of interest light in his eyes. Or perhaps it was sunlight. "Well . since you taught me about my dreams, I haven't really dreamed anything out of the ordinary. But in the last few weeks I suddenly realised that I could . I don't know, exactly. It was like a television, and I could change the channels, but that doesn't help, does it?" Harry frowned.

To his surprise, Dumbledore nodded.

"I have seen a television before in my time," he replied. "I believe I understand what you mean. You must remember, after all, that I am a Dreamwalker myself. Although, I am surprised that you have already progressed to that stage. Perhaps I should not be. So, you have been . channel surfing, I believe it is called . in others' dreams?"

Harry blinked at the metaphor, and then nodded.

"I normally don't know where I end up . it's more like I go wherever someone's dreaming. Sometimes I can recognise people, sometimes I can't, it doesn't really matter. But I thought I should practice it, so lately I've been seeing if I can get some more control."

Dumbledore nodded.

"Anyway, Professor, as I said, normally I don't recognise people. But last night I did, and I thought I had to tell you. This time it wasn't my dream - it was Malfoy's."

Slowly Harry related all that he could remember from the previous night. He watched as the Headmaster's expression became increasingly alert, and he nodded periodically, storing information, although he never made a noise. Harry was glad for the lack of interruption, and pushed on, making sure he didn't leave out anything.

"I don't know what happened," he confessed. "It suddenly got really strange - like he saw something I didn't, or something, but Malfoy had just turned away from Voldemort, and then he just fell down. It was like he was hit by something, but there was nothing there. And then he started talking - I think it was to his dad, but he was dead. I could see him in the middle of the room. And then suddenly it got really hard for me to stay there. It was like someone was pushing me out of the dream, like there was a giant basket scooping me out, and then the next thing I saw was ." he stopped. "Well, it wasn't Malfoy's dream any more."

Dumbledore nodded.

"Draco was waking up," he said. "That was the sensation you felt, so that you know it the next time."

"Oh."

Harry waited for further in formation, but the Headmaster's gaze had drifted away from him, to the bookshelves behind him, and he appeared to be lost in thought.

"Um, professor?" he asked timidly. The man's eyes jumped back into focus. "Um . what happened last night? It couldn't have been real, could it?"

Slowly, Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed it was, Harry," he answered. "It was very real. And we are most fortunate that you were there to witness it. But be careful - you could very well be injured."

"But," Harry protested, "it was a dream. How could that hurt me in real life?"

"When I first introduced the subject of Dreamwalking to you, I explained certain things," Dumbledore said. "I believe I mentioned that a Dreamwalker could summon another into a dream?" Harry nodded. "Yes. Well, there was another part of that which I neglected to explain. You see, Harry, if a person creates a dream, it is their reality. The soul and mind are completely deceived. For Muggles and the like that is not a problem, because the soul and the mind alone do not have the power to influence the body. But for Wizards, matters are slightly different. Magic can make dreams real."

Harry held up a hand, confused.

"But, Professor, if dreaming is like reality, then why don't we always wake up with scratches and bruises?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"Now there lies the distinction between a dream and a Dreamwalker's creation. You see, magic is not controlled by the body entirely, but neither is it controlled completely by the mind. It lies between, and that is what keeps us safe as we dream. While our minds are taken in by the dream, our magic lies connected to our bodies, and so it knows that the sensations we experience in our dreams are not real.

"However, a skilled Dreamwalker can fool magic, and that is why he is dangerous. Because if our magic is fooled, it will duplicate symptoms of the dream onto reality - specifically the physical form and immediate surroundings of the dreamer."

"So, if I get stabbed in the chest by a Dreamwalker, I'm dead."

Dumbledore shrugged slightly. "It is not always the case, but in general, yes."

Harry shuddered.

"And could I do that to someone? Kill them in a dream?"

Dumbledore smiled kindly. He leaned back in his chair once more, steepling his fingers and peering over them at Harry.

"To be perfectly honest, my boy, I haven't the faintest idea. I used to once think that I could predict you, but I now know that to be beyond folly. At your age, and the length of time you have been practising, it is highly unlikely that you would have the skill to kill, or even scratch. But, one can never be certain."

Harry looked at him critically.

"Could you?"

The Headmaster didn't blink.

"Of course," he replied.

Harry rose abruptly.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I'm late for class," he said quickly. "I didn't think it would take this long - and it's my first class, I can't afford not to be on time."

Dumbledore nodded, almost sadly.

"Don't worry, Harry. I'll right you a note - I'm certain that Professor Fletcher won't be upset with you." He scribbled something in shining ink onto a brilliant violet scrap of parchment, folded it twice, and handed it to Harry. "Just show him this and he'll forgive you. You take his class with the Slytherins?"

"Yes, Professor." Harry put the parchment in the pocket of his robes, and watched as Dumbledore selected another sheet of the vibrant paper.

"Will you be so kind, then, as to give this to Mister Malfoy when you see him? Ask him if he would visit me on his next free period, or at lunch, and feel free to give him the password, if he has forgotten it."

Harry nodded.

"Well then, Harry, I hope you have a good day."

~*~*~

The classroom was empty, and for a moment Harry thought he had gone to the wrong room. He turned to leave again, when he noticed a figure sitting moodily at a desk. He turned, and Harry realised it was Malfoy, who glared at him for a moment before turning away.

"Harry!" A voice said from the other side of the room. "Thought ye'd up and left us 'ere all on our owns. But look 'ere, Mister Malfoy. You've got a partner now."

Mundungus Fletcher miraculously emerged from a corner that Harry would have sworn was empty. He looked remarkably different, he thought. His robes were relatively neat, and his hair was slicked to the side, which made him seem slightly greasy, but professional. The only things that still gave evidence to his less . savoury . side were the unidentifiable stains on his hands, and the way his beady eyes glinted even in the dim light of the classroom.

"I have a note from the Headmaster, Professor," Harry supplied, taking it out of his robes and handing it out. Mundungus shuddered.

"I'm still not used to that," he said candidly. "Professor. Pah. I'm no more a Professor than young Mister Malfoy 'ere is a gutter rat. Ah well. Let's see it, then, shall we?" He took the scrap of parchment, blinked at it twice, then stuffed it in a pocket without unfolding it. At Harry's look he grinned. "If ye'd been tryin' to sneak out of my class you not have written your note on anything that . Dumbledore," he answered. "An' you'd probably not've come back, neither. Mister Malfoy!"

Malfoy looked up again, startled, and rose slowly to his feet.

"Yes, Professor Fletcher," he asked, and Harry was surprised to hear no resentment or ridicule in his voice. He really did like the up-to-no-good type, then.

Mundungus beckoned him over, grinning. "Mister Malfoy, it appears that you now have a partner." He turned to Harry. "Now, Mister Potter. We did go over some of the basic theory behind this stuff, 'acourse, but ye've come a bit too late for that. I'm sure ye can get the notes from a classmate." Harry nodded. "Good. Well, now we've got everyone paired off 'round the school to try and set some basic wards. Next class we'll learn to break 'em, an' some more difficult types, but for now just a basic ward will do. It's in the first page of yer book, there."

Again Harry nodded, and opened his textbook.

"We did something like this with Professor Sprout last year," he said suddenly, as he recognised the spell. Mundungus looked surprised. "Well, not everyone," Harry added. "Some of the plants were supposed to be off- bounds, so she had Hermione and I ward them."

"P'raps Hermione should've taken Wards, then," Mundungus commented. "Still, it's just as well. Mister Malfoy says he already knows it all, so you two should be just fine together." He winked. "If you'd like to make things a bit more difficult, feel free."

For the first time that day, Malfoy smirked.

"Now, then." Mundungus gestured, and two trunks appeared on the desks. "Each of you take one of those, an' try to ward it against the other one. Ye can use any wards ye can cast, and anything ye can think of to break 'em."

With that he was gone, turning in a swirl of robes that suddenly made him look like a flying ball of dust. Harry felt Malfoy glaring at him.

"Take one," the Slytherin said, and Harry immediately felt suspicious, but there was nothing Malfoy could have done. He grabbed the chest nearest to him, which was much lighter than it appeared, and took it off to one corner of the classroom. Behind him, he heard Malfoy moving.

Events were fortunate, however. Because of the heat, and because the Dursleys didn't want to let him out of his room regardless, Harry had found himself with a lot of time on his hands, and not very much to do. This had, inevitably, led to him trying all sorts of things, more specifically, reading in entirety all of the textbooks from his previous year. Wards, it happened, were touched on in many classes, and he had found interesting references in his Charms text, as well as Transfiguration and even an interesting ward to place around carnivorous plants that would still permit feeding. Therefore, although he had had no opportunity to practice casting the ward, he felt quite certain he knew how they worked.

Sure enough, the first few pages of this text covered principles and theories that Harry already knew. The first wards were similarly familiar, and Harry thought that Malfoy would have no problem breaking a simple Barrier charm, despite what Mundungus had said. It wasn't until he was half- way through the book that he found a ward he liked, that wasn't too hard, but still interesting enough to provide a challenge.

Making certain that Malfoy was absorbed in his own work, Harry cast the spell.

He was just beginning to read through other wards when there was a small flash, and Malfoy spun around, arms crossed.

"Are ye done, then?" Mundungus asked brightly. "All right, Harry, let's see ye try'n break Malfoy's ward, shall we?"

Harry nodded and walked over to the box. To his right, Malfoy smirked.

"Dissfirmo," Harry said half-heartedly, pointing his wand at the chest. The standard charm, slightly higher than alohamora, but not much, was supposed to work on second-level wards. Nothing happened. Harry glared at Malfoy, whose smirk widened.

Cautiously, Harry approached the chest.

"Segur," he said, and watched as the object glowed a faint golden colour. The box was safe to touch. Behind him, Malfoy looked surprised.

Harry reached out a hand to touch the lock. Half an inch away, he felt a strange tingling sensation around his fingers. The closer he got, the stronger it became, and suddenly Harry realised why. The tips of his fingers suddenly passed directly through the chest.

"Corpus," Harry tried, and found his hand suddenly forced away as the second part of the Ward came into effect. "Dissfirmo." The latch clicked open.

"Interesting," Mundungus said. "Clever, to think of that spell - and a very nice application of the transmaterial ward, Mister Malfoy. Very few Sixth Year students could accomplish that, on their first attempt, no less."

Malfoy nodded his head in acceptance of the compliment.

"Now, 'tis yer turn. See what ye can do."

Malfoy approached Harry's chest with a confident walk. Smirking at Harry, he pointed his wand at it and said, "alohamora." Harry laughed.

"Come on, Malfoy, you can do better than that, can't you?" Malfoy spun and glared at him.

"Riveli," he said, slight frustration showing in his voice. Again, nothing happened. "Segur?" The box did not turn gold, but neither did it give off the faint black glow that indicated danger. Malfoy growled. Harry smiled. The ward wasn't very complicated, nor was it particularly sophisticated. When activated, in fact, it was almost useless. The only thing that made it worth casting was the fact that it was utterly unidentifiable. Malfoy seemed to sense this.

"There's no way you'd know anything that can hurt me," he said finally, and reached forwards to touch the box. It jumped backwards. Mundungus laughed merrily.

"Brilliant, Harry," he said. "'At's a nice 'un there, 'tis. Can ye break it, Mister Malfoy?"

"Dissfirmo," Malfoy growled, pointing his wand at the now bouncing chest. It grew motionless, and the top fell backwards.

"Ye made a mistake, Mister Malfoy," Mundungus said. "Do ye know wha't was?"

"Credited Potter for having more intelligence than a pea," Malfoy suggested. Mundungus grinned slightly.

"Not quite how I'd've put it," he said, "but I think ye've got the idea. Very nice Toadward, Harry."

Harry grinned.

"Now, If ye've got nothing else to do, why don't ye both go and enjoy a break before yer next class?" Mundungus suggested. "I've got nothin' for ye. Off ye go."

Nodding, Harry left the classroom.

~*~*~

The Gargoyle sprang aside as soon as it saw him, and the door at the head of the winding stairs was open. It appeared that he was welcome. That impression was confirmed by the teacups and plate of biscuits that were sitting on the Headmaster's desk. Draco gritted his teeth and sat down.

Professor Dumbledore looked up from the parchment he was reading as soon as Draco's food crossed the threshold into his office, and waved it away with a flick of his hand.

"Draco," he said in a warm voice that instantly raised Draco's hackles. "Thank you for coming so promptly. You are not missing any class to see me?" Draco shook his head. "Very good. Of course, you are undoubtedly aware of why I wish to see you."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"I would assume it has to do with last night," he answered. Dumbledore nodded.

"Yes, that is right. Mister Potter came to see me this morning after breakfast, as I am sure you know, and told me of a rather . unusual experience last night."

"Oh," Draco scoffed. "Yeah, he had an unusual experience."

Dumbledore's eyebrow rose sharply.

"Do not be so quick to judge, Draco," he said. "I did not try to compare his circumstances with yours, there is no reason for you to do so."

Draco ducked his head slightly.

"Fine. Sorry."

Dumbledore did not seem convinced, but allowed the matter to drop.

"As I said," he began again, "Mister Potter informed me of certain events that occurred last night. I asked to see you, because I thought that we might be able to help each other understand what precisely did happen."

Draco snorted.

"You mean you want me to talk, and make sure that my story goes along with Potter's, to make sure I'm not some lying -"

Once again the eyebrows rose.

"I do not think I want to hear the rest of that statement," Dumbledore interrupted firmly, "and I am sure you do not want to finish it. I am seen here as a kindly, if somewhat insane, old man, and primarily that holds true. But life is never that simple, my dear boy, and neither am I. So, for both of our sakes, I suggest you let the matter drop."

Draco considered glaring for the moment, but instead nodded once.

"All right, I'm sorry. What do you want?"

"The truth," Dumbledore replied easily.

And so, Draco started the story again. He watched the Headmaster's face as he spoke, searching for some kind of reaction, as the words fell from his lips. Dumbledore remained impassive. His eyebrows moved slightly at times, and small contractions at the corners of his mouth and eyes revealed contemplation, but Draco began to feel somewhat like he was speaking to a statue.

It was only after he had finished speaking that Dumbledore moved. One hand rose from the arm of his chair and came to rest on the desk, palm open. His eyes looked sad.

"I suppose the mark remains," he said. Draco nodded. His hand moved unconsciously to play with the edge of his left sleeve. Dumbledore's eyebrows moved again, and the fingers on the desk twitched slightly.

Draco sighed and slid the fabric up, extending his arm. Dumbledore nodded.

"I see," he said. Draco paused. The headmaster inclined his head. "Can you feel it?" he asked.

Draco nodded.

"It stings a bit," he admitted, and something inside him twinged, because he had just admitted to pain, and a Malfoy will never admit to pain.

"Naturally," Dumbledore said calmly. "My question, however, if you will pardon the directness of it, was regarding a magical connection. Can you feel anything of that nature?"

Draco opened his mouth to answer, and then decided that for once in his life he should treat the Headmaster seriously. He looked down at his arm, and tried to 'feel' it, somehow, with the magical part of him. Something felt back. Draco nodded slowly.

"There's something," he said. "I don't know what . just . something."

Dumbledore nodded.

"I suspected as much," he said. "That is, after all, the foundation of the Dark Mark. However, I don't think it should prove too great a problem. The purpose of the snake is to bond the mark to the victim. The skull is the central magical factor. He should have no hold on you."

The hand on the desk flipped over, long fingers idly adjusting the edges of parchments. Taking this as a sign, Draco let the fabric of his robes fall back, covering the snake. He sat for a moment, watching Dumbledore, as the old man seemed to stare off at a point just over his right shoulder. Then, suddenly, the eyes snapped back into focus.

"I must ask you a question, Draco," he said. "I trust you will believe me when I say that I mean this as no infringement to your privacy, nor do I presume to tell you what choices to make. It is simply that I am charged to ensure the safety of my students and my staff, and therefore I must know: do you consider yourself a supporter of Lord Voldemort?"

Draco blinked. He had not expected such an abrupt, harsh question from the normally sugar-coated Headmaster. He paused, uncertain as to how to answer.

"My father was," he said slowly. "Is. The Dark Lord's right hand man. He saw me there. He always said, when I was growing up, that I would be important, that I could rise to where he was, that I would be great. He began training me when I was a child. He taught me spells, he taught me how to be. Ever since I was a child, I was going to become the Dark Lord's right hand man. It's something I've always known. I've never had to think about it." He stopped, looked away from Dumbledore.

"Not until last night. They were talking about me like I wasn't there. Father said that he had me ready, as if I was a dog he had spent the last fifteen years training, but he didn't look proud. I always thought he would be proud. But he wasn't. And then the Dark Lord came and asked me if I was ready to join him, but he wasn't really asking. It was a formality, like he needed to hear it from my own lips. But he never thought I'd refuse."

"But you did."

Draco looked up again, trying to see something in the Headmaster's expression; anticipation, gratification, satisfaction, anything, but the countenance was blank.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess I did. I don't know why . it's just that it was like I wasn't a person, I wasn't a son anymore, I was just a thing, another soldier."

Dumbledore continued to look at him, and Draco felt himself laid bare. Apparently he hadn't answered the question yet. He sighed.

"I don't support the Dark Lord," he answered. "I couldn't stand under him. He's twisted, corrupted. His plans don't make sense. He just wants to conquer the world, he hasn't stopped yet to think about what will happen after he's made everyone his slave. I can't just go and fight and not know what's going to happen at the end of it all. But I don't stand against him. He'll kill me in a second, the instant I do, and I value my life a bit too much for that. I won't fight him."

Finally Dumbledore nodded. "You were not born to be a pawn," he said slowly. "You will make your own decisions, and I will hope they find you with me, but if you choose otherwise it will be of your own free will. Thank you."

Draco felt an eyebrow rise.

"Is that it, then, sir?" he asked. Dumbledore nodded.

"It is. Unless, of course there is anything you need from me?" Draco shook his head. "I thought not. No, Draco, you may leave. Just, please remember that if you ever need me, for advice or anything else, do not hesitate to find me."

Draco hesitated.

"Thank you, sir," he said finally.

~*~*~

If pressed, Hestia Jones would be forced to admit that she was still not comfortable with Hogwarts. She had attended as a student, naturally, but hadn't entered the halls since, and found it rather strange to be presiding over them. And, as familiar as she was with Albus and his leadership, she wasn't quite prepared for the utter authority he had over her, either. Still, the students did obey her, which Severus said was a rather rare thing, for them. Apparently she still had it in her, after all these years.

When the owl landed on her toast that morning bearing a piece of parchment with the Hogwarts Seal on it, she hadn't expected anything. The twinkle in Albus's eyes gave her some warning when she picked it up, but the message had told her nothing, and so she was still in the dark.

Hestia,

If it does not inconvenience you in any way, I would request that you join me in my office after your classes are over today.

Albus Dumbledore

Well, that was fine and good, but Hestia didn't enjoy being left in the dark. It was not a happy witch who made her way past the gargoyle and up the stone steps into the Headmaster's office.

Voices stopped her at the door.

"Of course not, Severus. Even so, it is unwise to do anything to put yourself on Peeves' bad side - I will speak to him instead. Regardless, it is unlikely he will attempt anything like that again. Chalk dust can only be put into so many cauldrons before it grows tiring."

"Of course, Headmaster," she heard Severus answer, and Hestia stifled a smile. Peeves had been as big a problem during her student years as he was now, but he had always seemed to take a liking towards her, and if anything was cheerful and courteous in her presence. Amused, Hestia opened the door.

Severus spun quickly, one hand slightly outstretched, although he held no want. Hestia raised an eyebrow, and was rewarded with a small shrug, and an easing of tension in his body.

"Ah, Hestia." Albus's smile was also universal, still filled with kindness and a type of ancient magic that scared her to the bone. "I am glad you could make it."

"You knew I would," she answered easily, sitting down in a nearby armchair and crossing her ankles. She looked up at the men. "What is it you wanted to speak to me about?"

Severus glared down at her.

"Yes," he said. "Why is she here? You gave me the impression you wished to discuss . bell curving . the Second Year potions grades."

Albus chuckled slightly.

"Yes, I did. However, as I am sure you can see, there are other matters of importance. And I thought it was unlikely you would want to join me for a cup of tea, so early in the school year, with so much to attend to." His eyebrows rose merrily. Severus grunted, and sat down. "We will begin as soon as the last person joins us."

Severus was on his feet again in an instant.

"Albus," he began, "I really must protest. As you said, it's far too early in the year for you to start one of your plans to 'change Severus's life'. You promised me last year, after the canary incident! And don't try and tell me you're not - there is no way you'd need two people to support you otherwise."

Albus raised one hand.

"Severus," he said with a small laugh, "you do me an injustice. This is nothing so terrible as that, although," he peered critically over his glasses, "I really do think it would have worked out for the best if you had just given it a chance."

Severus glared.

"It ate my Diaphora," he stated.

Albus shrugged slightly.

"Yes, but,"

"It ate my Diaphora," Severus restated. Albus gave in with a sigh.

Hestia couldn't stop the giggle that came out, and found herself suddenly face-to-face with a rather irritated Potion's Master. It didn't help. Amused beyond belief, Hestia tried to let herself sink into the armchair, at the same time remembering to never look ashamed in front of Severus.

Severus continued to glare at her for a moment, then turned back to Albus, who was smiling benignly. There really was no arguing with the man, and Severus seemed to sense it, or more likely realised that he had known it all along, for he sat down with a small huff and stared pointedly at nothing.

At that point, a gentle knock sounded at the door. Albus beamed.

"At last," he said. "Come in, please."

Hestia turned, and felt her face freeze. Before she could force the muscles into the expression of forced cheer, her eyebrows dropped and the corners of her mouth tightened. Then she was back in control again, but she knew he had seen.

Lupin nodded to her. Hestia returned it.

"Albus," she said slowly, "what exactly do you have in mind? Why, exactly, is Remus here?" She could only pray the Headmaster hadn't picked up on her reaction. Prayer was futile. His mouth twitched.

"Please, sit down, Remus," he said instead. "There is something I must show you all." From his desk he took a sheet of paper. Hestia saw a flash of movement before he passed it to Lupin, whose eyes skimmed over it briefly for a moment, taking in every nuance, before he frowned and handed it on to her. She took it without touching him.

It was a newspaper article, from the Daily Prophet. The title stood stark above a black-and-white image of a building, ruined, with bodies scattered on the ground, and a hazy skull floating in the sky. Miniature figures rushed too and fro, and at one point a figure rushed by the front, a screaming face contorted in either pain or grief.

Last night marks the seventh in a series of Death Eater attacks on Muggle Ireland, the target this time being a small pub on the outskirts of Dublin. Ministry officials were alerted to the incident when a passer-by reported a strange green cloud hanging above the district. They were able to move in before the building was razed completely, saving the lives of fifteen civilians, who are now in the St Mungo's Muggle ward for treatment and Obliviation.

This marks the first in the turning of the tide, however. Ministry Officials were able to reach the scene before the Death Eaters had departed, and managed to capture three members before they could flee. The captured Death Eaters have been identified as James Wood, Oliver Vannet, and Marleine De Courcelle. Six others fled the scene, and there are reports of at least two enemy casualties, who have been identified as a Mrs. Susan Blake and a Miss Ebony Starling.

The article continued to describe the mayhem and chaos at the pub, and steps to be taken, and how this was such a wonderful sign. Hestia skimmed over it. She blinked once, and slowly passed the page on to Severus.

The man took it, read it once, quickly, and then again, more slowly. His face was expressionless as he gave the article back to Albus, but his knuckles were almost white on the arm of his chair, clenched so tightly it must have hurt.

"I thought you would like to know," Albus said gently. Severus nodded, and slowly emotion began to fill his face.

"Ebony," he murmured. "She always was headstrong. She wouldn't have run away. I told her she'd get herself into trouble one day, but she wouldn't listen."

Lupin extended one hand.

"I'm sorry," he said, in that gentle way that almost made Hestia like him, despite everything else, but Severus brushed it away with a flip of his hand. His face turned hard again.

"Well, that's it, then, isn't it?" he said softly. "This is what we've been waiting for." He looked up at Albus, whose face was an image of sorrow and compassion. The headmaster nodded.

Hestia straightened.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded. "What's going on here?"

It was Severus who answered her, looking her directly in the eye with that piercing gaze of his and silencing anything else she might have said.

"We've been looking for a reason for me to turn against Albus," he said wearily. "Last year when I wasn't with his Death Eaters, Voldemort knew I was against him."

"But Severus is our best spy," Albus continued. Severus ducked his head, slightly, reminding Hestia suddenly of an ashamed schoolboy. "Even without his connection to Voldemort, he is best trained to infiltrate and gather information. Which puts us in an interesting position."

Severus rose to his feet and began to pace slowly.

"Everything we've heard indicates that Voldemort will attack soon," he said.

Hestia nodded.

"Of course," she said. "The only thing he seems to be missing is the first part of the prophecy. Beyond that, once he finds Harry, the entire game will be in his hands."

"That is a problem, though," Lupin commented in his quiet voice. "Finding Harry isn't hard, but getting to him is. The charm on the Dursley's house is still almost unbreakable, and it's highly unlikely that he could get the boy here."

Albus nodded, frowning.

"So it seems, yes," he agreed. "However, he seems to feel that he has the situation under his control, and that is what worries us. Therefore, it is imperative that we have Severus with them once more. I would not send him against his will, but"

"I insisted," Severus finished. "Hestia, your spies are good. You wouldn't choose them if they weren't. But they were never in his upper circle, and I was."

"Of course," Hestia replied. "But, why do you need me?"

"Ah yes." Dumbledore straightened slightly and his gaze snapped sharply to Lupin. "Remus, as I am sure you are aware, three weeks from now there will be a full moon." Lupin nodded. "On that night Voldemort will hold a gathering. I need you and Hestia to accompany him to the gathering. Discreetly, of course."

Once again Hestia froze. She turned slowly to look at Lupin, whose gaze met hers calmly. He was well aware of her dislike for him, and helped to maintain the courteous distance between them. This was not always easy, because of their responsibilities to the Order, and what she felt was certainly not hatred, but the mistrust she felt was too strong to be ignored. As gentle and kind as he seemed, the man was a beast.

Albus cleared his throat softly.

"I trust there will be no difficulties?" he asked.

"Of course not," Lupin answered, and Hestia relaxed. She smiled faintly.

Severus, on the other hand, glared at the Headmaster with a ferocity he normally reserved for potion-spillers. Albus held up one hand

"Severus, I refuse to send you without an escort."

"Headmaster," Severus objected, "If I'm seen running around the forests with a wolf and a witch, the Death Eaters will suspect. They may be evil, but they aren't stupid."

One snowy eyebrow rose.

"Indeed. I wholeheartedly agree with you. Which is why I am not sending you 'running around the forests with a wolf and a witch'." Suddenly, comprehension passed over Albus's face. "You are not aware that Hestia is an animagus, are you?" Severus shook his head slowly, looking suspicious. "Well, perhaps I can help to put an end to your worries. Hestia, if you would be so kind?"

Hestia nodded and rose from her seat. She concentrated for a moment, and the world suddenly grew. Her vision turned grey, and she watched as Severus jumped. Hestia sniffed.

"As you see," Albus said in a rumble that echoed through her, "Hestia's animagus form seems especially suited to this. Thank you, my dear."

Returning to her normal form, Hestia smoothed the folds of her robes and sat down again.

"A wolf." It was Lupin, this time, and Hestia saw an expression in his eyes that suddenly made her pity him.

"And a black one," Severus conceded. "All right, I suppose if you're all convinced, two wolves will not be suspected. But if I find myself facing a mad beast -" he let the sentence hang, glaring at Lupin. He seemed to realise that there was no point in arguing.

Uncharacteristically, Lupin's voice hardened. "If I end up a mad beast," he replied coolly, "it will be because of the potion you brewed for me."

Severus fell silent at last.

~*~*~

"I don't understand it," Hermione said suddenly one afternoon, throwing down the scrap of parchment she had been reading and glaring. Harry looked up from his own work. The Common Room was almost empty, given that it was a Sunday afternoon, and Harry was sitting at one of the large tables with Hermione, Dean, Seamus, and Lavender working on a project for Advanced Magics. Parvati had decided to take Muggle Studies instead, and the two girls always met in tears after their separation.

The course was definitely one of the more interesting ones, Harry thought. Probably because of the name, most students had decided not to take the course, resulting in an interesting meld of Sixth Years from all four houses. The only real negative aspect of this was that it put him in a class with Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and the two Slytherin idiots, Crabbe and Goyle. Still, there seemed to be an unspoken truce in Advanced Magics, and everyone behaved relatively decently.

Another major difference between this and his other classes was that Advanced Magics was taught by Professor Dumbledore. The news had come as a shock to most people, but his cheerful disposition and the ease of his assignments soon overcame any fear of being taught by the headmaster. Everyone thought the class was wonderful, and decided as a group that the real work probably began in Seventh Year.

Until now.

"Now," Dumbledore had said three days ago, closing the book in front of him and folding his hands. His eyes had begun to shine, which experience had always indicated to Harry was a bad thing, and his smile held too much amusement to be safe. "Who here can tell me what an Animagus is?"

Lavender's hand had shot into the air, along with almost everyone else's, and she had beamed when she was chosen to answer.

"An Animagus is a witch who can turn herself into an animal whenever she wants to," she said excitedly. "That would be such fun, wouldn't it? I'd love to be able to turn into a horse!"

Dumbledore nodded.

"You are indeed correct, Miss Brown," he said. "However, a person cannot simply choose which animal they become. Each witch and wizard has an animal already. The Animagus ritual simply brings it out."

Harry had suddenly had difficulties hearing things properly. Memories of his father, and Sirius, had flashed through his head. They'd said it was difficult - almost impossible, in fact. And they had been in their Seventh Years. True, there hadn't been an Advanced Magics class then - it was a recent addition, Hermione had told him - but that didn't chance the facts. And another thought came in on top of that, his father's stag.

Dean's hand rose shakily into the air.

"Are you saying, sir, that we're all going to become Animagi?" Dumbledore had smiled again.

"Indeed, it is," he answered. "It appears that the Ministry of Magic has realised that there are more unregistered Animagi running around than they had thought. They have decided that if I teach you how to do it properly, you will register, and they will know what is going on." His eyes twinkled. "Of course, I cannot make you register. However, they can always hope."

Dean looked nervous, but nodded.

And so it was that the Gryffindor Advanced Magics class was spending a warm, sunny Sunday afternoon huddled around one of the Common Room tables. Becoming an Animagus was as difficult as Sirius had indicated, and Harry was starting to understand why his Godfather had hated it so much. Because the spell was personal, it had to be created by the individual. That took a lot of research, and a lot of soul searching.

On Friday morning Dumbledore had given each of them a round, glass sphere. When properly charmed, he said, the sphere would become their animal.

"But there are no spells to do that," Hermione grated. She looked appealingly at Harry, who shrugged. "I know how to transfigure it into something, but I get the impression that if I do I'll find myself turning into a Turtle-monkey, or something, and . oooooh!" She balled her fists up angrily.

Harry chuckled inwardly. Hermione had many strong points, but creativity and imagination were not often among them.

"Hey," Seamus said, amusement laden in his voice. "That wouldn't be so bad, would it?" He ducked as a quill went flying towards his head. He laughed.

Harry looked over.

"What's the problem, 'Mione?" he asked. She shook her head in frustration.

"This," she said, grandly waving her hand towards the sphere on the table before her. "I've looked at all of the spells I can think of . I think I even invented one that will turn an object into whatever colour it's supposed to be," she giggled, "but I don't know how I'm supposed to create an 'essence of Hermione' spell."

Harry frowned, trying to think of a suggestion. His own research at the moment had him looking at a series of spells, which he thought might be combined to produce something . but he highly suspected that what worked for him might have no effect for her. It was personal, after all. Suddenly, Dean spoke up.

"What about a potion?" he asked softly. "You always were good with potions."

"And transfiguration," Lavender pointed out wistfully. "If I were you I'd just -" she stopped suddenly. "That's it," she gasped. "Well . maybe . I have to go check something." Grinning, she grabbed her sphere and left the room.

Hermione watched her go.

"It wouldn't have to be a charm," she said slowly. She took out her wand and whispered a few words. The sphere shimmered slightly, becoming a miniature statuette of Hermione herself, before returning to its original shape.

Harry shrugged. He'd tired that before, an attempt to simply transfigure the sphere. It never stuck, nor did any of the other basic spells he'd tried.

"Still," Hermione muttered, "it might work. Thanks Dean!" She smiled at him and left.

The black boy looked over at Harry.

"But I didn't do anything," he said, sounding slightly bewildered. Harry shrugged.

"Maybe you helped her with an idea? I don't know . but these bloody things have to be ready for tomorrow's class . and I haven't got the faintest idea of what to do."

Across the table, Seamus's face brightened for a moment. He spun his wand dramatically and then tapped the sphere.

"Me," he said. Nothing happened. He grinned sheepishly. Dean laughed. "Oh well, it was worth a shot."

Eventually, the rest of the Gryffindors packed up their supplies, leaving Harry sitting alone at the table. There was something, he knew, something he almost understood, but couldn't quite. Something he had heard a long time ago . he opened his texts again and started randomly flipping through, hoping that something would appear and show him the answer.

Potions wouldn't help him at all, that was certain. They had never been his strength, although this year he appeared to survive. Snape had been speaking to him less often, at any rate. But the solution to this was inside him, somewhere, so potions were ruled out. Harry was relieved. Transfiguration was also an unlikely solution, at least not on its own. Experience had shown it just didn't work.

Which left him with very few options, really. Wards and Protections gave him no help, nor did Defence, although the idea of the Patronus kept sticking in his mind. Maybe there was something to that, in the end. A Patronus was, after all, his guardian, a piece of his soul.

He didn't notice as the sky outside the window got darker and darker, until his head slipped from his unfeeling hands and landed quite sharply on the table. Harry rose with a start, rubbing his forehead, and looked down at the parchment he had landed on.

Everything clicked.

Written there, in two short sentences, was the answer to all of his problems. Grinning, Harry closed the book, picked up his sphere, and went to bed.

~*~*~

Of course, he didn't get to use his idea that Monday. In fact, when they had come in to Advanced Magics, Dumbledore had seen all of their solutions, smiled, and told them that they should put them away and bring them out in a few weeks.

They had grumbled about it, but speaking honestly people had been relieved to be able to forget about it for the moment. Classes went on.

Two weeks later, Harry was putting away his Potions' supplies after a particularly gruelling lesson. He had, rather predictably, produced an almost-perfect potion, only to have Neville accidentally tip it over just before class. Harry had managed to salvage part of the Anti-Material Potion to hand in, but the rest of it had began to drip slowly over the table, and the stone was slowly losing its form.

"Well, well," a sneering voice had said over his left shoulder, as Snape materialised from the far side of the classroom. "It appears you have a problem. I expect to see no sign of that before you leave this room."

And so, the rest of his class had left, the Slytherins snickering beneath their breaths, and even overtly, and the Gryffindors sending him whispers of sympathy. Snape had, naturally, refused to give him a pass to be late for his next period, which just happened to be Transfiguration. Harry was therefore stuck in the awkward position of knowing he was late for McGonagall's class, and knowing that if he messed up here he would be in more trouble than he wanted to contemplate.

In the midst of all of this, he heard a noise behind him. Before he could react, a word was whispered.

"Legilimens."

No, Harry thought. No, no no no nono. That was not fair. That was beyond not fair. As the veil began to close over his eyes, emotions came bubbling to the surface, urged on by the spell. Anger at being caught by surprise, fear of failure, and above all, hatred towards the man who was causing this. At the edge of his mind, he felt an alien sense of satisfaction and triumph.

'He's pleased,' he thought. 'He knows I'm not ready, he knows he's won.' He was starting to hear things now, the memories coming on. Harry strained to feel what he had felt before, but it wasn't there. Simply a line beginning to cloud his vision, replacing cauldrons with the Hogwarts Grounds as his emotions rolled.

'NO!' Harry decided suddenly. With all the force he had, he repressed his feelings, banishing them instantly. All that remained was the triumph, which slowly turned into something else that Harry couldn't place. Slowly, all of his energy still directed on his emotions, Harry stood and turned around.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked, hearing the strain in his voice, but pleased to note it was still steady. The pressure on his mind vanished.

Snape nodded.

"You almost lost, Potter," he said. "You let yourself be surprised, and angry. That suggests to me that you have not been practising enough. I did warn you to be on constant guard. It is more courtesy than any enemy will give you." He turned away, robes swirling. "Still, you managed some control of yourself, in the end. I suppose it is not beyond hope. Here."

Without glancing back Snape half spun, wand extended. Harry flinched backwards, his grip on his emotions vanishing in an instant, but Snape merely muttered something and the desk returned to normal. Snape gestured at the newly repaired stool.

"Sit," he said curtly.

"But, sir, I have Transfiguration next, and Professor McGonagall won't be happy if I'm late."

Snape clicked his tongue impatiently, looking irritable.

"Unfortunately, the doves that she was having you transfigure into kettles vanished last night. She informed me that this class would therefore be devoted to making up extra homework. Certainly you don't need that?" Snape looked gloating once more.

Harry felt his suspicions rising once more, but Snape waved his hand.

"Rest assured, this was not my doing. Certainly you don't think that I would go to such lengths to be able to work with you during my only free period today? I understand that you seem unable to comprehend the fact that the world does not revolve around you, Potter, but if you could try to restrain your arrogance for a moment, you will be gone that much sooner. Now, sit."

This time, Harry sat. Snape nodded slightly.

"You seem to have an understanding of how to shield your mind from spells," he said grudgingly, looking down at Harry. "You are still horribly untrained, but there seems to be hope for you somewhere. However, most attackers will not simply walk up to you and cast a spell. It is an awkward and generally unnecessary way of gaining access to a person's mind, and only ammeters do it."

Harry looked at him.

"Then, what was -" he began, but Snape glared at him.

"Keep your mouth shut, Potter, unless you have something constructive to say. Which I highly doubt. In answer to your inevitable question, it is not unheard of for an attacker to use the Legilimens spell. It is simply improbable. But one must begin somewhere."

Harry nodded, scowling.

"What is more likely," Snape continued, "Is that an enemy will probe your mind gently at first, to determine your nature. This will give him knowledge as to your immediate feelings, as well as general things you feel strongly about. And, if you are not properly trained, he will be able to determine all of this without you even knowing that he is alive. That training will come.

"First, however, I have been instructed to deal with the more pressing issue. You do not lie well, Potter. Your face is naturally expressive, which many people consider a blessing, perhaps, but in this world it is most certainly not. You are born with few blessings, and more failures than I can count. It is my job to eradicate these failures, and your face is one of them."

Harry cringed, almost physically biting his tongue to keep from replying. Snape watched him, eyebrow rising as he saw the struggle of emotion, and he almost sneered when he received no response. He continued as if nothing had happened.

"Therefore, I will teach you to lie. And I will teach you quickly, as Professor Dumbledore seems to think that it is an important skill for you to master, as soon as possible. This means that you will learn to school your features, and most importantly, you will learn to block out any emotion or thought that works against the lie you are telling."

"How?" Harry asked. This time, the sneer was not hidden.

"You cannot expect me to just tell you it all, Potter. I will tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it. Now, listen carefully to me; I will say this only once, and you should be grateful for the warning that I am giving you. I will ask you questions, in class, in the hallways, and you will lie to me. If I can detect your lie, Gryffindor will lose three points."

Harry almost smiled. There seemed to be a major problem in this theory. If he was supposed to hide the fact that he was lying, Snape wouldn't be able to tell the lie from the truth. The Potions Master smirked.

"Oh," he added, almost conversationally, "I will know the answers to the questions that I ask you. So don't think you can just get away with telling the truth. It won't work."

Harry bolted to his feet.

"But, that's not fair," he exclaimed. Snape laughed mockingly.

"Oh, of course. Forgive me. I'll just go running back to the Death Eaters, now, and tell them that they all have to give you plenty of warning, because otherwise it won't be fair." His eyes were hard, now, his voice whip-like. "Get this into your head, Potter. This is not fair. It never will be. You will either play by my rules, or you will die. What House are you in?"

It was a question, Harry registered dimly, somewhere in the recesses of his mind. As his mouth opened, he realised that he had to lie.

"Um . uh . Ravenclaw."

Snape's face was cruel.

"That has to be one of the worst lies I have ever been told. Your eyes rolled up, you paused; you may as well have scrawled 'lie' on to your forehead with permanent ink! This is hopeless. Three points from Gryffindor, for lying to a teacher. Now go. You've wasted enough of my time as it is."

Flustered, Harry gathered together his supplies and left the Potions' Room as quickly as possible. Snape was cruel, he decided, with renewed vengeance, and then suddenly realised that that might not be a good thing to do. For all he knew, the greasy bastard was watching his emotions even now .

"Bloody Hell," he swore softly, earning himself a startled gasp from a group of Ravenclaw students. Harry winced and continued moving.

Still, there had been something. In the middle of all of his criticism, Snape had given him two bits of advice. Disguised as insults, naturally, but they were there. If he listened to everything the man said, maybe he'd learn something. But it would be a lot more difficult than just getting instructions, nice and simply, the way any decent human gives them. Harry had the sneaking suspicion that he would lose Gryffindor a lot of points before he got the hang of things.

~*~*~

The first official Quidditch practice of the season happened later on that week, much to Harry's relief. With the increased workload of NEWT courses he had found less time to spend on his own, and hadn't managed yet to get onto the Quidditch pitch. It was still pleasantly warm outside, and the new team dressed quickly, making their way into the room that joined the two lockers - the counsel room, of sorts. Ron was standing in the middle, looking slightly nervous, and seeming like he didn't quite know what to say to Ginny and Natalie, who had changed quickly and were sitting on the benches, smiling at him.

When the boys arrived he looked relieved, and he straightened noticeably.

"Right," Ron said, clearing his throat twice. "Welcome to the Gryffindor team, everyone. This is the first practice, so we'll take it slowly for now. Do some group stuff, and then we'll break off into groups, working more specific things. We can have the quaffle and a bludger, Harry, you can make do with the golf balls again."

Harry nodded. Ron grinned.

"All right, then, what are we waiting for? Let's get going." He picked up his broom and went out onto the pitch. "Everyone follow me to start off with, then we'll split." He mounted and took off, the rest of the team following in a line, with Harry taking the rear.

For a moment he simply enjoyed the thrill of being on a broom again, with the wind in his hair, supported by the clouds. At that point, it seemed like all of his troubles were sitting with the Ball Chest, small and insignificant, a long way beneath him. He followed Seamus, ahead of him, without thinking, and slowly let himself tune into what was happening.

Ron led them through a series of loops, dives, spirals, and practised skimming low to the ground, maintaining a steady altitude. Harry noticed that Dennis seemed to be having problems with this, and kept shooting upwards sporadically. They even spent thirty seconds flying upside down, which irritated Ginny no end, because she had just fixed her hair to her liking. Following that, Colin gave the team a spectacular demonstration of how a person can completely wipe out in an attempt at the Wronski Feint, and live to tell the tale. He stood and bowed as the rest of the team, or those who weren't currently engaged in a dive or roll of some sort, gave him a round of applause.

After that they broke up into smaller groups according to position, and Harry spent the first few minutes circling the pitch, watching. Colin and Dennis were working together, hitting the bludger back and forth between them with remarkable accuracy, and occasionally sending the black iron ball spinning off towards some unsuspecting Chaser, with loud cries of warning and profuse apologies. Harry doubted that poor Andrew had ever been so close to dead in his life before, and was quite impressed by the brilliant shades of red the Creevey brothers managed to produce.

Ron had personally taken control of the Chasers, who were methodically working their way through different drills, while his tried with varying degrees of success to block their attacks. The Gryffindor defence could be improved, Harry noted, but Ron had improved drastically from last year, and it was evident that he had control over his movements, even if they weren't always good enough.

Finally, Ron caught his eye and indicated with his head towards Natalie Macdonald, who was also coasting rather aimlessly.

'She's with you,' he mouthed, completely over-exaggerating the syllables to the point where Harry could barely comprehend what he was saying. He then pointed towards the golf balls on the ground, and completely missed the quaffle that went sailing by his head. Harry nodded and went to get them.

He and Natalie spent the rest of the practice working together with the golf balls. What started off originally as a simple game of Catch rapidly evolved to the point where they hurled the things as hard as they could in an obscure direction, sending the other person racing across the pitch to grab it before it hit the ground or another player. Natalie had some skill, Harry thought, as he pulled up from a steep dive with the small white ball in his fist. It had seemed like it would be a problem at first, with no other students taking an interest in the Seeker position, but maybe they stood a chance when his Year graduated. If they could find another Keeper and a Chaser.

Suddenly, Harry noticed movement on the ground. He held up his hand to stop Natalie from throwing the next ball, and hovered in the air, watching. Beneath him, seven dots of green and silver were making their way onto the pitch; Slytherins. Harry dropped lower, and the rest of the team did the same, until he could hear them.

"What do you want?" Ron demanded harshly.

Malfoy shrugged.

"You have an interesting strategy," he replied instead of answering. "It seems to have some . potential. Although, I hadn't thought it was common policy to wipe out your own players with the bludgers. Dear me, I must be falling behind the times." He smirked.

"Bugger off, Malfoy," Ron retorted. "This is our practice session, and we've booked a double period, so you're not allowed to be out here."

"We're not even allowed to cheer on our comrades in arms?" Malfoy asked, oozing innocence. "What a sad world we live in, when two friendly rivals can't speak on civil terms." His sneer came back. "Well, if that's the case, Weasel, then get off the pitch. Slytherin has the next session, so clear out."

Ron looked furious.

"What?" he demanded.

"Oh, didn't you know?" Malfoy looked gleeful. "We spoke to Madam Hooch, you see. She agreed with us - it's quite unfair for you to have the two best sessions of the day. She changed the booking, you can check and see if you want to."

Helplessly Ron looked over at Harry, who shook his head. His hands were clenched tightly around the handle of his broom, knuckles white.

"He wouldn't go to all this trouble and risk his precious stuck-up neck if he were lying, Ron," he cautioned. "The bastard probably said something to Madam Hooch."

Ron growled.

"Well, fine then," he bit off. "But this session isn't over yet, not for another four minutes. Come on, guys, we're not going to lose any more time because of these lying snakes." With that he urged his broom higher, beckoning his Chasers up with him.

What happened next was something of a blur to Harry. He had turned his broom upwards and was going to head back to where he had been practising with Natalie when there was a sudden noise to his left. He vaguely heard Dennis shouting something at him, and then suddenly he felt an explosive pain in his left shoulder as a bludger connected solidly with bone. His left hand convulsed, losing its grip on the broom, and suddenly Harry was falling from an unimaginable height.

In that instant, everything stopped. He couldn't move, and his wand was in his robes, back in the changing room. Harry knew with a deadly certainty that he was going to die. Which was really rather unfortunate, he thought, because he'd had some plans for life. Who was going to destroy Lord Voldemort now?

And then he remembered something. At the beginning of last year, in the alley, with Dudley and the Dementors. He remembered dropping his wand. Scrabbling frantically for some form of protection. A whispered spell, said without hope, and light blossoming suddenly a foot away from his hand.

But that had been different. His wand had been right beside him, and the spell had been a simple one, that didn't use much power. Now he was completely stranded, and he didn't think any basic spell would be able to help him. Even so, his choices seemed to be limited. He realised that the ground was closing fast, and people had only just realised what had happened, it was all so quick. He could try and rely on them to stop him, but the only people who might have wands were the Slytherins, who all seemed to be content to let him die. That aside, his options seemed to be try, or die.

And then it all sped up again. Frantically, with visions of the earth rising up to meet him and unimaginable speeds, Harry pointed at himself, focussed everything he had, and cried, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

For an instant nothing happened. Harry closed his eyes and waited for the drop. Then, suddenly, he realised that his fall had slowed. He landed with a jarring bump, in a painful heap on the ground, but he landed alive.

The noise came back, then, and the sounds of the girls screaming. The Slytherins chuckled, and someone behind him was asking him desperately if he was all right. And then, just in front of him, he saw Dumbledore.

"Very interesting," was all he said, with an unfathomable expression on his face. "Very interesting indeed. Well, Harry, I think you ought to be very proud of yourself. Very interesting."

And then Harry fainted.