"And then… and this is the best part…" Harry hooted. He was laughing so hard that joyous tears were welling up in his eyes.

            "Wait… no… hold on…" Pansy choked out, raising a single finger to ward off his next comment. "I don't if I can take it. I'm laughing so hard my insides hurt," she gasped, taking giant gulps of air in. Her shovel, inserted into the damp ground outside the castle, was now a crutch against which she leaned for support. "Okay."

            "And then she says I'm going to make sure you get Head Boy for this'."
            "No!" Pansy shrieked.

            "Yes! What was I supposed to say to that?" Harry cackled. "Honestly, keeping a straight face at the moment was the hardest thing I've ever had to do."

            "Oh, that's priceless!" Pansy moaned. "You know, it's a wonder she didn't call off the rest of your detention. Surely a – hee hee – hero like yourself shouldn't have to dig holes out here."

            Harry's expression changed immediately. "She did," he said hesitantly. He looked at her significantly. "Tried to, anyway. I told her that I, uh, thought it best if I went ahead and served my time."

            Pansy stopped laughing, and gave him an odd look. Part of her looked ready to cry, while wanting to smile at the same time. "That's sweet," she said softly.

            "Well, you know…" Harry squirmed uncomfortably under her gaze. "I didn't want you to have to do all of this yourself."

            They dug on in a comfortable silence for several minutes. At the rate they were going, they would be done with the project in another couple of days. Harry could tell that their progress was slowing – each afternoon together, they talked more and dug less.

            "You know, I think that's got to be one of the greatest pranks ever pulled," Pansy remarked offhandedly. "At least in terms of general havoc wreaked."

            "Yeah? Better than the Twins' fireworks last year?" Over the course of their association, he talked to her a lot about his friends – told her their stories, relayed their jokes, and shared the things he knew about them. Gradually, she was getting to know them all pretty well, if indirectly. When he said "The Twins", there could be little doubt in her mind that he was not referring to the Patils.

            "Did they cancel classes for that day?"

            "Good point."

            "And to think, all that trouble, and they still think it was Deatheaters!"

            "I should tell you," he said slowly. "That we didn't get away with it completely."

            Pansy dropped her shovel in alarm. "What?"

            "Professor Nemo," Harry told her. "He knows that I did it. I don't think he suspects you, though."

            "Did you tell him?"

            "Of course not. He's a pretty clever guy, you know," Harry commented.

            "So… what's going to happen?" Pansy's voice was thick with concern.

            "He… well, that's sort of complicated, but it looks like he's going to keep my secret," Harry told her.

            Pansy shook her head in disbelief. "You know what? I think I've changed my mind. I do hate you."

            "Why?"
            "Harry, if anybody else had been caught flooding the school, they would have been expelled – no questions asked," Pansy told him. "If not executed on the spot! You really do get away with murder!"

            Harry laughed, but he thought about what she said. "Are you saying that you would rather we were busted?"

            "Well, no, but still…" Pansy whistled. "What do you say we take another trip to the lakeside?"

            Harry screwed up his eyes suspiciously. "Are you going to kiss me again?"

            "Maybe," she said coyly.
            "Then maybe I want to go."

            Pansy laughed, seized his wrist, and led him to the place on the lakeside they had started visiting regularly. It sat between two large oak trees, just past a small hill that obscured it from anyone who might be watching from the castle. Within a minute, they were both sitting next to the lake, their feet dangling in.

            "I don't know if this is a good idea," Harry said suddenly.

            "Yeah, I have my reservations as well," Pansy said seriously. "I've never dated a half-blood before." She broke out in hysterical giggling at her own joke.

            Harry could not help but join her in her laughter. He put his right arm around her, and squeezed her against him affectionately. With his free hand, he splashed a little bit of water on her. "That's not what I meant!"

            "Ewww!" Pansy exclaimed, wiping the water off of her face. "Okay, what did you mean?"
            "I don't know how welcome I am around the lake anymore," he said, looking into its murky waters. "Last time I saw Mr. Squid, he looked pretty angry with me."

            "Don't worry," Pansy responded. "If he shows up here, I'll give him what for."

            "Okay, good."

            "So, Harry?"
            "Yeah?"
            "What's our next project?"
            "Eh?"
            "You know, for the contest."

            "The WWW contest?"
            'That's the one," she said, her eyes blazing with intensity. "I want to win."

            Harry laughed out loud, kissed her cheek. "Well, you better get to work, hadn't you?"

            Pansy jabbed him in the side. "No, you're going to help me."

            "Am I?"
            "Yeah, I think so."

            "So, what are we going to do?" he asked.

            Pansy's eyes lit up in excitement. It was a look that he would soon come to know very well – it meant that her mischievous mind was working. "Do you know what this weekend is?"

            Harry shrugged. "A Hogsmeade visit?"

            "Even better – the Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff Quidditch match."

            "What do you have in mind?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX     

            Hermione and Ron stared at Harry in expectant silence. Around them, the Great Hall was full of the subdued babble of breakfast conversation. Owl Post had just arrived, and as usual, Harry sat with a pile of letters in front of him, detailing the chaos that was to ensue that day. It seemed that the flooding of the school had been a turning point in the WWW contest. It seemed that a few pranksters had been discouraged, believing that in a single day they had fallen too far behind in the standings to ever catch up and win it all. For the most part, though, the contestants simply increased their efforts. Jokes were becoming steadily more common, and more potent each day. The competition had gotten so fierce that "Preventative Pranking" was coming into fashion. If word got out that someone was planning a big event, that person would find their efforts sabotaged.

            Justin Finch Fletchley and Ernie MacMillan, for instance, had intended to besiege Gryffindor tower with heat-seeking water balloons. Somehow (Harry did not know how), the Creeveys got wind of it, and ambushed their rivals at a critical moment. Justin and Ernie were found, several hours later, crammed into a kitchen cabinet, the entire load of enchanted balloons missing. Harry had a feeling that this materiel would resurface soon, but he had not got any word of it yet.

            Harry looked at the topmost page in his thick stack of scheduled events. Hermione and Ron were going to unleash a pink balloon explosion on Thursday morning in the Great Hall. The concept struck him as a little silly (he suspected that Hermione was the creative genius behind this act), but the spellwork was sound. If done correctly, the process would start with a single balloon, but each time anyone so much as touched it, it would replicate itself fourfold. Within minutes, there could be enough balloons to fill the Great Hall, and spill outward.

            "So, what do you think, Mate?" Ron asked.

            "As official Liaison, it isn't my place to comment on the quality of the prank," he reminded her.

            "We're not asking you for your professional opinion, Harry," Hermione told him. "We're asking you what you think as our friend."

            Harry glanced at his watch. With exaggerated motions, he took his fork off of his breakfast plate, and tossed it under the table. "I seem to have dropped my fork," he said stiffly. "I think I'll go retrieve it." Ignoring the confused looks of his Housemates, he crawled under the table.

            Overhead, the clock hands moved into the position of 8:24 a.m. Like clockwork, a crate full of dungbombs dropped, as if they had simply appeared from nothingness, and exploded in the crowded room. Herrmione and Ron were soon underneath the table with him. All three cast Bubblehead Charms.

            "If this contest were awarded to the most tenacious, Crabbe and Goyle win in a heartbeat," he told them. They laughed, wiping smoke-induced tears away from their eyes. "As far as your prank goes, I think it's a good one. It has the potential to create some real upheaval."

            "Excellent."

            XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            "Mr. Potter, perhaps you have noticed that times are changing at Hogwarts," Professor Nemo said in a level tone.

            Harry studiously avoided his gaze, which was no small feat in a classroom consisting of only two people. The DADA classroom was becoming Harry's second home; he spent more time in that room in solitary practice than he did in the Gryffindor common room. They were falling into a predictable routine – each afternoon Harry would arrive promptly at four o'clock, and take his usual seat in middle row at the front of the class. Professor Nemo would wonder in a few minutes later and take a seat on the teacher's desk, just a few feet in front of his student. They would engage in a few minutes' worth of polite conversation, and then commence the day's practice. Regrettably, a good number of the practices concluded with Harry going to the infirmary.

            "It's getting to where a man can't walk down the hall without falling victim to some sort of good-natured gag," Nemo went on. "You can imagine my surprise when I discovered that my breakfast was served with a side order of dungbombs."

            "Yes sir, dangerous times," Harry echoed.

            "I've been watching you, Potter," he said slowly. "I've noticed that you have an uncanny knack for avoiding the worst of these… events."

            Harry could barely conceal his smile. "Let's just say that I've developed a keen ear for danger."

            "I see."

            "Surely you don't suspect me, sir, of the dungbomb incidents?" Harry asked, sounding hurt.

            "And if I did?"
            "I'd be rather offended! Surely you know I have better taste than that!"

            Professor Nemo laughed. "Very well, Potter, but heed this warning: I can't imagine that I'm the only one who has noticed your… invulnerability."

            "Duly noted."

            Professor Nemo smiled. He glanced at his wristwatch, and the smile vanished. "Well, Master Potter, it seems that I am left with only four minutes to teach you the theory behind Apparation."

            "Sir?" Harry could not believe his ears. "I am not old enough-"

            "I think it has been generally proven that the normal rules don't seem to apply to you, Mr. Potter," Nemo said, his voice somewhere between amused and accusing. "At any rate, it is unthinkable that you would go into battle without knowing Apparation. It is an essential combat skill."

            "Okay."

            "Now, as I am sure you are aware, it is impossible to Apparate or Disapparate anywhere on the Hogwarts grounds."

            "Right."

            "The technical truth here is that the previous statement actually encompasses two facts. Let's break Apparation into two categories; site-to-site and within-site. The first type means that you would try to transport yourself instantaneously into Hogsmeade, or perhaps beam yourself' into the Ministry. Those are examples of site-to-site Apparation.

            "The second kind is within-site Apparation, and involves crossing a room, or moving yourself instantaneously into the library, the kitchens, or your girlfriend's bed."

            Harry scowled at Nemo severely.

            "I only said it as a hypothetical. From the perspective of execution, the two forms of Apparation are the same. It takes the same skill to move yourself to the roof of the castle as it does to get inside of Flourish and Blotts, for example. However, from the defense perspective, that is, from the perspective of setting up anti-apparation fields such as the ones that guard this castle, they are distinct."

            Harry's face made it clear that he did not understand.

            "Put another way, if we wanted to keep the Deatheaters from appearing at breakfast one day, we would have to set up one ward to keep them out. That spell would be a sort of invisible perimeter around the outside of the castle. If, however, we also wanted to keep seventh years from skipping out of the Potions' lessons, we would need to set up another ward within the grounds themselves."

            "I think I understand," Harry said.

            "Good. Now here comes the interesting part. I have coordinated this lesson with the Headmaster, and he will be suspending the second category of defense spell-" The DADA professor vanished.

            "-Right now." Nemo spoke into Harry's ear, standing directly behind him.

            Harry jumped in his seat, his heart kicked into overdrive, and his textbook dropped from his hand. "Funny," he muttered sarcastically as soon as he got his breath back.

            "Okay, Mr. Potter, I want you to close your eyes," Nemo said, walking back to the desk in front of the classroom.

            Harry did as instructed.

            "Make a very clear picture in your mind of where you are; the seat underneath you, the look of the windows to your right, the idiot standing in front of you."
            Harry gave a half smile.

            "In just a second, not yet, I want you to picture the place I am about to tell you. It is important that you picture this place in your minds' eye as clearly as you can, every detail as sharp as possible. Okay, if you are ready, think of the front door to Hagrid's hut."

            Harry did as he was instructed, pleased to have such an easy assignment. A vision floated into his consciousness; a large, weather-beaten, dome-shaped stone hut. He could see clearly the small pebbles lining the passage to the front door, the trees swaying slightly in the wind, the orange thatching of Hagrid's roof.

            "Got it?"

            "Yep."

            "Okay, now with all your attention focused, I want you to will yourself there. Think of how nice it would be if you were in front of his hut, just now, on a rainy, windy day. Imagine yourself there."
            Harry did as he was instructed, straining all his mental energies on one image; his own body in front of Hagrid's home.

            "Okay, open your eyes."

            Harry was not surprised to find himself still sitting in the DADA classroom. "Did I do it wrong?" he asked.

            "I have no doubt that you followed my instructions perfectly," Nemo told him. "But if Apparating were that easy, no one would ever get splinched, now would they?"

            Harry gave his instructor a wry grin. "You're quite the comedian today, sir."

            "I guess I'm feeling my oats," the young man answered, shrugging.

            "So, how does one Apparate?"

            "Quite the eager beaver, eh? Very well. I should tell you that the preceding exercise was meant to be more than amusement for me; you practiced skills that are essential to the process. First of all, pick your destination ahead of time."

            "Hagrid's hut," Harry said at once.

            "Okay. That's good, but it's often easiest to start by Apparating to places you can actually see from your present location."
            "Hagrid's hut," Harry reiterated.

            "Oh, very well. First of all, forget where you are. In fact, forget everything. Forget who you are, what you ate for lunch, what your mate said to you between classes – all of it. Clear your mind of all thoughts. Hold that for as long as you can."

            Harry did as he was instructed, maintaining mental silence for as long as he could bear it. Minutes elapsed, or at least, he thought they did. He pushed the thought of time out of his mind, as well, and focused on the thought of black. No, not black. Just nothing.

            "Okay, I'm about to give you the spell… when you say, please remember to focus on nothing at all, not even what you are saying, okay? Repeat after me:

            "Oculus."

            "Oculus."

            Harry felt something inside of him move, almost like an electrical shock, only pleasant. He had only the fraction of a second to dwell on this sensation before his blank field of vision gave way to a panoramic light show of every color known to man. It was not before him, like vision, but all around; he suddenly had the sense of being immersed in a field of various, brightly lit energy pulses. It came on so suddenly that it startled him. He tore his eyes open, only to find that he was laying on his backside on the ground.

            "What… was that?" Harry asked.

            "I can't tell you for sure what you saw, Mr. Potter, at least to say I cannot tell you what it looked like to you. Oculus is an old and powerful spell that one may cast on themselves without a wand. This is because it actually predates the use of wands. It is a vision spell, and what it shows you is, literally speaking, magic itself; the current of energy that surrounds us constantly that we cannot otherwise see."

            Harry, still a little shaken, retook his seat.

            "It is imperative that you always empty your mind before performing the Oculus spell, at least until you get the hang of Apparating. In order to Apparate, you must be focused on magic itself, nothing of the tangible, physical world. Do you remember what you saw just now?"

            Harry had not trouble visualizing the terrifying image. "Yeah."

            "Try not to."

            "Come again?"

            "When you remember what you saw last time, you are focusing on a memory, something that is a part of your brain, not at all magical. When you perform the Oculus spell, you must clear your mind of all memories, even memories of magic."

            "Wow."

            "Indeed. That's the easiest way to splinch yourself, to keep something in your mind when you try to Apparate. Are you ready to try again?"

            Harry nodded shakily.

            "Okay, close your mind again. When you have done that completely, say the spell."

            Harry closed his eyes, pushed everything out of his mind. "Oc-". With the first syllable out of his mouth, the vision flooded back into his view, but only the memory. Harry focused on nothing again. "Oculus."

            He was back in the realm of magic. Flashing lights pulsed in front of him, swayed with some unseen force. Moreover, he could see it behind him, above him, under him, all around.

            "Self."

            The word flowed in from nowhere. Harry's mind focused on himself, and a large block of pure white energy, located somewhere within the span of what would have been his physical body, swelled accordingly.

            "You should now be able to see your magical identity." More words appeared in this world, not sounds, but ideas themselves. Somewhere in his near vicinity, a thread of red energy pulsed vibrantly.

            "Do you see me? Don't answer." The red energy vibrated again. "This is what people look like, at least magical people."

            "Now, picture Hagrid's hut, while remembering the self. Picture the physical place of it, in the real world."

            Harry tried to picture the place he knew so well, but no image appeared in his mind. Instead, he found that the lightshow in front of him began to move, very quickly indeed. He felt nauseous for a split second, put pushed the sensation out of his mind. Presently, the lights and shapes in front of him ceased whirling, and he found an arrangement of energy that… felt like Hagrid's hut.

            "Remember the self."

            Harry saw the white energy that he identified with, and a shiver ran through the cosmos. A sharp physical pain surged in his rump, as he landed roughly on the pebbles below.

            "BLIMEY!" came a thunderous voice. "'Arry?"

            Harry opened his eyes and the energy ebbed away as the physical world reappeared. A cold breeze tore at his exposed skin. He was dimly aware of rocks and bits of dirt stuck to his underside. In front of him stood the familiar form of Hagrid's home, but he could only see the outline – the majority of his field of vision was filled the looming figure of the groundskeeper.

            "'Arry!" the voice repeated, sounding louder and more concerned. "What are ya doing here?"

            "Congratulations, Mr. Potter," came the voice of Professor Nemo, from behind Hagrid. "You have successfully Apparated."

            "I… fell down," Harry mumbled.

            Nemo laughed. "Not precisely. What you did was Apparate. What you did not do was configure your body for your arrival here."

            "What?" Harry asked, not understanding.

            "What position was your body in before your departure, Mr. Potter?"

            "I was… sitting in a chair."

            "Exactly. So, when you arrived here, you were still sitting, except there was no longer a chair to support you. If you had configured your body to a standing position, you would have arrived as such."

            "Nice of you to mention that," Harry grumbled, finally taking Hagrid's offered hand. The half-giant pulled him up with such force that Harry was lifted completely off the ground on his way to a standing position.

            "I suppose I would have," Nemo said slowly, "But I did not think you would accomplish the trick on your first try. To my knowledge, that act is entirely without precedent."

            "Well, 'Arry's a pretty bright fella," Hagrid put in.

            "Indeed. Hagrid, old chum, can you do me a favor?" Nemo asked.

            "Wa's that?" Hagrid asked.

            "Don't mention the fact that Harry has learned how to Apparate to anyone," Nemo said quietly. "It's for his own good."

            "O' course," Hagrid agreed, lowering his own voice.

            "Okay, Harry, congratulations on your first success," Nemo told him. "But we still have a lot of work to do."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

            "Okay, I'll be receiving the shipment Thursday night – that's tomorrow night, at nine p.m. sharp," Pansy told him.

            As usual, the two of them were sitting at their place lakeside, making the most of the end of their detention. In truth, they had one last tree to plant and their detention would be completed, and they were in no hurry to end it. They had briefly discussed getting caught in some minor transgression so as to land in more detention together. However, they felt they could not trust the staff to keep them together through it.

            Harry smiled. He had been reminded of this detail over a dozen times now. It was amazing how seriously she was taking larking business. He answered her the way he always had: "The Creevey Brothers are handling the diversion for your pick-up," he reminded her. "Not that they know it of course. I daresay that a hundred heat-seeking water balloons let out on the ground-floor will create enough mayhem for you to slip away discreetly."

            Pansy frowned. "Even so… Look, Filch has been watching me pretty closely lately. I think he suspects," she said softly. "Either that or he's developed a crush on me. Yuch!" She feigned a gagging sound.

            Harry's eyes widened slightly; this was a new development. "Is that so? In either event, he must be dealt with. Leave him to me."

            Pansy kissed him softly on his cheek. "My jealous lover," she said proudly. "Do we have everything set for our warm-up, Scarhead?"
            "What's to set up?" Harry asked. They had been laying detailed plans for a big strike during the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw Quidditch match, but had also agreed to pull some smaller affair the day before – namely, to put Sticking Charms on all the toilets in the castle during lunch. Shortly after the meal, a number of students would take a seat on the can and find themselves unable to stand up again.

            "Just making sure," she said defensively.

            "I, er, well, I was thinking about adding a new wrinkle to the plan, actually," he told her.

            "What's that?"

            "Just this – I think I'll take a crap after lunch," he told her.

            "Lord Potter," Pansy said through clenched teeth, a revolted expression on her face. "If no one explained it to you previously, it is not a good idea to share your bathroom habits with your girlfriend."

            Harry blinked in surprise. She had never mentioned the word "girlfriend" before. "Okay, Pans. No problem."

            "Do you want to get yourself stuck?"

            "Yeah. You know; throw them off my scent a little," He responded. "No pun intended."

            "Gross." She nodded in understanding. "But it might be a good idea."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX      

            "Well, now this interesting," Harry muttered, glancing at the latest batch of prank advisories. They were enjoying their dinner quietly at the end of the Gryffindor table. It was Wednesday night, which meant that his two chums would be going forth with their first prank in the morning.

            "What's that? Crabbe and Goyle graduate to Industrial Strength dungbombs?" Ron quipped.

            "No, nothing that extreme… but still. It seems that we can expect a Thai Sneezing Curse."

            Hermione whistled appreciatively. "That isn't easy magic," she told them.

            "What's it do?" Ron asked apprehensively.

            "Induces fits of sneezing," Hermione answered sarcastically.

            "What's so bad about that?" Ron asked.

            "They don't stop until you receive medical attention," Harry answered through gritted teeth. "I'll have to be sure to avoid that one."

            "Too right!" Ron exclaimed. "When will it be?"

            "Of course, it isn't the spell itself that I found interesting, it's the person who's doing it," Harry went on.      

            "Who?" Hermione and Ron asked in unison.

            "They call themselves the Irascible Duo; Professor Flitwick and Professor Nemo."

            "Professors? They're entering the contest?" Ron asked incredulously.

            Hermione looked ready to cry.

            "It looks that way," Harry answered calmly.

            "But surely… the contest isn't… they can't… but they're professors!" Ron exclaimed.

            "I can't say there's anything in the rules that would disqualify them," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders.

            "But-" Ron sputtered.

            "Does that mean they know what you're up to?" Hermione asked, lowering her voice.

            Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. They sent the notice by school owl. Fred and George worked it out, somehow. All the owls up there deliver the parcels for the Liaison to me."

            "I'm going to kill by brothers for ever starting this," Ron remarked darkly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            On Thursday morning, Harry awoke reluctantly. The night before, he and Pansy had been out rather late, walking around the grounds alone. Harry found that he was open to talk to Pansy in a way that he had never talked to anyone else. He had good friends in Ron and Hermione, he knew, and to a lesser extent Ginny, Neville and several others. Pansy, however, was something special. Whenever he felt snowed in, buried under the pressures that he had to bear alone, she somehow took all the strain away. She did not offer him any solutions, did not try to fix his situation, but she was always able to take his pain away. The only problem lay in the fact that she was in Slytherin, and as such it was beyond taboo for him to speak with her in public. It seemed that if they wanted to find any time to spend together, they would have to manufacture it.

            Harry's attention was seized by a murmuring noise to his side. He turned to look at it, and was surprised to find that Ron was already awake. The Weasley boy was sitting upright at the edge of his bed, staring into the cautious morning light outside their window. He must have been awake for some time, because he was already dressed for the day, and the sun had barely risen. "Hey there, Mate," Harry said groggily. "What's going on?"

            "Nothin'" Ron said nervously.

            As Harry's dulled senses slowly returned to him, he could see that Ron was clutching something in his quaking hands. "What's that?" he asked, gesturing toward it.

            "Nothin'!" Ron repeated, more forcefully this time.

            "That wouldn't be a pink balloon, would it?" Harry asked, his voice laced with amusement.   

            Ron looked ready to explode. "What?" he hissed, looking around at their sleeping dormmates. "Don't say that out loud!"

            "Don't worry -- they're asleep," Harry said reassuringly. "You know, Ron, I can't help but notice you seem a little nervous there."

            "I'm fine," Ron remarked. His hands quaked so badly that he dropped the balloon in question, and hurried to snatch it up.

            "Uh-huh."
            Ron gave a half-laugh. "It's nothing really," he said quietly. "I don't know why I'm so nervous. All I have to do is inflate it, and start the spell. Hermione's already prepared it… I don't know why I have to be so… fidgety."

            "Don't worry, Ron. You'll be fine. Once you get the first one under your belt, all that gets easier," Harry said sleepily. He quickly finished preparing for the day.

            "I guess so," Ron said dubiously.

            "Come on, Man, It's just like Quidditch. Don't you always get nervous before Quidditch games?"

            Ron brightened a little. "Yeah," he said hopefully.

            "But you do fine in spite of it – it's just nerves," Harry told him. He put his hand on Ron's shoulder and gestured toward the door. "Let's go down to breakfast, and you can start some mayhem."

            "Okay."

            Just as Harry had predicted, Hermione and Ron's plan went off without a hitch. When the meal was two-thirds completed, Ron took a walk over to a water fountain, and deposited the inflated, enchanted balloon into a trash can, then scampered off. After a few kinetic bumps, balloons began flaring out of the trash can in alarming numbers. A wash of pink spread over the room; each table was littered with a few of the balloons within seconds. Thereafter came pandemonium; as each student poked, prodded or slapped a balloon, it multiplied into four. Before long, incidental contact with the balloons became impossible to avoid. Four minutes after Ron had started it off, the balloons had filled up all the available room in the Hall, and were spilling out in the school.

            Harry was just getting concerned about breathing room when Dumbledore cast a spell that vanished them all. The Headmaster, his face unreadable, stood up at the staff table with his wand out, staring down the entire student body. Harry, trying not to smile too obviously, went back to his breakfast.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX     

            Harry arrived, at the usual time, in Professor Nemo's classroom. To his surprise, the instructor for Defense was already in the classroom, which was unusual. Harry took his usual seat in the front row.

            "Afternoon, Harry," Professor Nemo said, smiling courteously. He had a stack of papers in front of him, which he was perusing interestedly. "I'm afraid that I won't have time to hold our session today – I've been falling a little behind in my duties as a teacher of DADA."

            Harry gave a little laugh – he and his classmates had been waiting an unusually long time to receive their marks from the last test they had taken. "No problem, teach," Harry said, shrugging. He grabbed his bag, ready to depart.

             "Hang on just a second, Harry," Nemo said, putting up a hand to stop him. "I've been reading some more adventures of your fourth year."

            Harry scowled, setting his satchel back down. The last time Nemo had said this, Harry had been treated with an afternoon of the Imperius Curse. "Yes sir?"

            "More specifically, I've been reading about your duel with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Nemo told him.

            Harry said nothing, trying not to remember that horrible day.

            "You know, the one at the end of the Triwizard Tournament."
            "I remember it," Harry said fiercely.

            Nemo did not seem to notice. "It's entirely likely, of course, that You-Know-Who has obtained a new wand since then, but on the other hand… it's rather hard to find a wand you're comfortable with, you know?"

            "Yeah…"

            "I think it would be a good idea if you were to purchase another wand," Nemo told him. "Our knowledge of the Reverse Spell Affect is incomplete at best; it is not entirely clear how you would fare in the event of a relapse. It would be a good idea if you had a back-up just in case."

            Harry nodded astutely.

            "And, who knows, maybe we could teach you some double-fisted combat basics. Katana style, developed by Japanese Ninja-Wizards in the Dark Ages."

            "Interesting."

            "As I have said, I will be unable to accompany you on this trip, Potter," Nemo said. "Do you think you Apparate your way to Diagon Alley and back?"

            "I believe so," Harry said, smiling.

            "Okay, then. I have arranged another pair of windows for you to get there and back," Nemo told him. "The Apparation wards will go down in a minute and a half, and will be open for exactly three minutes. While you are on Diagon Alley, do not mention anything to anyone about how you got out. We will lower the wards again in exactly an hour and a half, for exactly three more minutes. Okay? Make sure no one sees you Apparate in or out. It is of the utmost importance that you keep your new ability a secret. In fact, make sure you conceal yourself. Personally, I recommend the restrooms at the Leaky Cauldron – no one ever uses those filthy things."

            "Will do, sir."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            Harry appeared in a grimy, poorly-lit cubicle. At once, his hand covered his nose as a terrible stench assailed his nostrils. He looked down, and nearly vomited. He was standing directly on top of a toilet, lid up, with each of his feet on one side of the bowl. Carefully, he stepped down from his perch and left the stall. As Professor Nemo had guessed, the restroom was completely empty. It was not hard to guess why. Harry stepped across the filthy floor in cautious, long strides, his feet sticking with each step. He made his way over to mirror, and checked to make sure that his disguise was intact. Nemo had zapped him with a quick pair of grooming spells. The mass of messy hair atop his head had given way to a thick mat of blond curls (which completely obscured his scar), and his eyes were a bright blue in shade. To make matters worse, he had then put on an outfit that Nemo had conjured; a long green dress, black sandals, and (yes) a push-up bra.

            Harry looked for a minute at the outfit in dissatisfaction. He did not look like a girl much at all, he knew – he looked like a transvestite. He rubbed his jaw line thoughtfully, wishing suddenly that he had shaved before he left the castle. But, whatever else he might look like, he did not look like the Boy-Who-Lived either. Sighing with amusement, he left the restroom and hurried out into Diagon Alley.

            The street, which was normally crowded whenever he had come to collect his school books, was surprisingly empty. As near as he could tell, there was not a single idle shopper to be seen anywhere. A thin fog hug in the air, and overcast skies allowed precious little sunlight to penetrate the gloom. All around him, he could see yellow flyers affixed to every visible surface – the sides of buildings, benches, and notice boards. Harry stopped to examine one, and was saddened by what he saw. It was an advisory from the Ministry, urging people to stay indoors as much as possible, and to report any strange activity to the Ministry as quickly as possible. Harry frowned; the return of Lord Voldemort clearly had the magical community in a state of panic.

            Harry wondered idly if this was the real reason that Nemo had sent him to Diagon Alley – to see what was happening to the magical community under the shadow of Voldemort. Head hung slightly lower; Harry made his way to Ollivander's through the thick gloom. From inside of Flourish and Blotts, a pair of nervous employees watched him anxiously, but disappeared deeper into the building when he turned to look at them.

            Up ahead, Harry could hear voices talking loudly. The sounds appeared to be coming from the entrance to Nockturn Alley, the darker counterpart to Diagon Alley. Trying to be inconspicuous, Harry stole a glance at the group of men congregated there. He did not recognize any of them, at least not as far as he can tell with such a brief glance. On the other hand, it was not hard to guess why they alone felt bold enough to stand outside and speak in loud voices. Clutching his wand within the folds of his dress, Harry stared straight ahead and kept walking.

            "Hey there!"

            Harry ignored the shout from the group of men and maintained his walk.

            "Hey, pretty lady!" the man shouted again. This time, his comment elicited a burst of tawdry guffaws from the men. "I'm talking to you!"

            Harry kept walking, thankful for the fog. If those men had gotten a better look at him, he might have had to answer some unpleasant questions.

            "HEY!" the shout came one more time, this time from directly behind Harry. He whirled around to see that the man had run up behind him.

            The thug facing him was a squat man with a large belly and a well-receded hairline. He wore dirty black robes, muddy shoes, and a nasty smile on his sallow lips. His right hand stood on the handle of his wand, stuck in his belt. "Well, you're a tall lass, aren't ya?" the man growled.

            Harry made no comment, but reviewed his options. His own hand was on his wand, where the other man could not see it. He was pretty sure he could disarm this one before he had the chance to even draw. However, there were a half-dozen others not far away, and Harry was not so sure about his chances then. Somehow, he suspected Nemo would not have approved of a street-duel. However, if he were to cast a Concussion spell with a wide enough arc, he might be able to disappear into the fog.

            "Don't talk much, do ya lassie?" the man laughed loudly. There was an unmistakably sinister tone to his voice. "That's okay, though, I like that."

            Harry concentrated on putting as much bass as he could into his voice, and replied "I guess I'm just shy." He smiled at the other man as sweetly as he was able.

            "Augh!" the man shouted, his face horrified. He turned around and ran back to his friends, their laughter ringing in his ears.

            Harry left quickly. He reached Ollivander's at a brisk walk, and hurried inside.

            "Ah, Master Potter," came the familiar voice of Mr. Ollivander, proprietor of the establishment. He was not nearly as tall as Harry remembered – a symptom of growing up, he supposed – but the wide, pale eyes shone with the same mysterious glow that Harry had seen on previous occasions. "I see you have taken up an alternate lifestyle." The voice did not waver, but sounded uniformly delighted to see him.

            "No, nothing like that," Harry said, grinning. It did not surprise him that Mr. Ollivander recognized him – the old wizard had proven to be remarkably perspicacious on previous occasions. "I'm in disguise."

            "I see," the old man remarked, smiling brightly.

            "And it's a good thing I am," Harry said, casting a dirty look in the direction of Diagon Alley. "I don't think those gentlemen are up to any good."

            Mr. Ollivander frowned. "No, I daresay they aren't."
            "Are they Deatheaters?"

            "No, not at all," Mr. Ollivander told him. "They are simply the dregs of wizard-kind. You-Know-Who only takes the best, purest wizards he can find for his Deatheaters. These gentlemen are doing well to name both of their parents, much less prove several generations of pureblood wizards in their ancestry. Although, I would not trust them any better than I would a Deatheater."

            "I'll remember that," Harry responded.

            "Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Potter? Don't tell me you have broken that excellent wand of yours," Mr. Ollivander said.

            Harry produced his wand from inside of his dress, and muttered "Orchideous Pansae!" -- conjuring a bouquet of pansies for the older gentleman. "Seems to be working to me," he quipped. "However... uh… I have been told it would be a good idea to have a second."

            Mr. Ollivander nodded astutely. "There are times when it does not pay to have the same wand as your mortal enemy."

            "Right."

            "Let me ask you, was this Anton's idea?" Mr. Ollivander asked.

            "You mean Professor Nemo? Yeah, it was," Harry answered. "Do you know him?"

            "As well as I know you, I guess, or any one else who ever went to Hogwarts," the older man responded.

            "Professor Nemo went to Hogwarts?" Harry asked, surprised.

            "Oh yes," Ollivander replied. "One of the brighter students to graduate from that place in recent years. A Ravenclaw if memory serves, and it usually does."

            "I thought he was an American," Harry inserted.

            "I think so, too. Went right back there after he Graduated anyway. Seems like he and Minister Fudge did not get along particularly well. Had some sort of a falling out, and Anton decided to work for the Americans instead."

            "Interesting," Harry said thoughtfully, a newfound respect for his teacher arising in his mind.

            "Well, how about that wand, huh?" Ollivander said. He disappeared into the back of the building and emerged, minutes later, with a long, thin box.

            Harry smiled; he remembered this process well. Fifteen minutes and twenty wands later, they found one they were both happy with  -- seven and three-quarter inches, oak and dragon heartstring – ideal for transfiguration. Admittedly, Ollivander had seemed more pleased with another (nine inches, ebony and unicorn tail) but Harry had disagreed.

            "How much do I owe you, Mr. Ollivander?" Harry asked – he had brought along a fairly large amount of gold, just in case.      

            "I will not take your money," the old man answered.

            Harry did not understand. "Why not?"

            "Mr. Potter," the old man said gently. "Unless I have reckoned wrongly, it will be up to you and that wand to… shall we say… well, undertake a rather risky business."

            Harry looked at his feet.

            "Consider it my gift to your worthy cause."
            "Thank you, Mr. Ollivander."

            "Well, best of luck to you, Master Potter," Ollivander said, watching Harry go. "Take care of yourself out there!"

            Harry waved in farewell, and exited the small shop, wands in tow. Now, out on Diagon Alley, he was left with a dilemma. Part of him wanted to return the way he had come, and try out some Double-Fisted dueling with the loudmouth and his friends. However, his better judgment prevailed, and he set off the opposite direction to take the long way around. He had forty-five minutes to kill, anyway, before the wards lowered at Hogwarts and he was able to get inside.

            Harry spent the next little while shopping around Diagon Alley. He stopped in at the Apothecary, picked up some owl-treats for Hedwig at Eeylots, and was just considering getting some new robes at Madame Malkins when he heard more shouting.

            "I say, that's the ugliest girl I have seen in some time!"

            Harry pulled both of his wands out and twirled around in a fluid motion. The first half of a particularly vile curse was out of his mouth before he realized he was facing the Weasley twins.

            "I say, George," Fred remarked, his face lit up with a rosy grin. "I think that ugly girl is trying to hex us!"

            "With two wands, no less," George put in.

            "Well, no doubt. If I looked like that, I'd be carrying two wands as well," Fred laughed.

            "I wouldn't be laughing that hard," Harry growled, stowing both wands back into his dress. "If I had just barely avoided the hexing of my life."

            "Ah, you wouldn't hex us, would you mate?" George cackled.

            "How'd you know it was me?" Harry asked.

            "I'd recognize those legs anywhere," Fred quipped.

            "You got a minute, Harry?" George asked. "Step into the shop with us. We won't even hex ya."

            Harry followed the twins inside of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes apprehensively.

            "So, tell me, mate," Fred said conversationally, holding the door open for Harry. "What brings you to Diagon Alley."

            Harry, however, remained silent – his entire powers of mental faculty were spent in appreciation of the wonders inside that shop. He'd been to Zonko's, of course, and thought he knew what to expect. The famous joke shop in Hogsmeade held everything a misbehaving young wizard could ask for. WWW, however, took it to a whole new level. They did carry the basics – fireworks, dungbombs, Skiving Snackboxes and the like – but Harry was surprised to see a whole range of products above and beyond that.

            "Wow, mates, you've really outdone yourselves here," he told them, his voice stricken with awe.

            George snorted. "This from the guy in drag."

            "Can I offer you something to drink, sir?" Fred asked. He held out his hand, in which he held a glass of frothy brown liquid.

            "I'm good, thanks," Harry said politely.

            "Hmmph. Suit yourself."

            "So, what are you doing here? On a school day no less!"

            "Professor Nemo sent me," Harry told them.

            George interrupted. "As in, Professor Nemo of the Irascible Duo?" he asked pertly.

            "Yeah, that's the guy," Harry answered.

            "I gotta meet that guy," Fred remarked, a peculiar light shining in his eyes. "A teacher entering into the contest? That's excellent, that is."Ha

            Harry smiled; apparently they had been reading his contest updates carefully. "Anyway, he thought it might be a good idea if I had two wands."

            "What for?" George exclaimed.

            "I'm… being trained to kill Voldemort."

            The silence in the room was thick. If one wanted to shut the Weasley twins up, all one had to do was discuss something serious, and nothing was more serious than Voldemort.

            "Ah," Fred said gravely. "Well, get to it, would you?"

            "Come again?" Harry asked.

            "That nutter is absolutely ruining business for us," George complained.

            "As it is, we're scarcely making a profit anymore!"

            Harry smiled. "You guys are cleaning up with the contest at Hogwarts though, aren't you?"
            George laughed. "Do you have any idea how much money we've made just keeping Crabbe and Goyle in dungbombs?"

            Harry laughed with them.

            "The Creevey Brothers have been pretty good to us, as well," Fred admitted. "And Justin Finch-Fletchley places pretty regular orders as well."

            "But, Harry," George said seriously. "That is just an added bonus for us."
            "Truly."

            "We never meant to make a profit from this."
            "Not that we're upset, of course."

            "Say… Harry," Fred said, after a moment's pause. "There's…"

            "Something we've been meaning to ask you about."

            Harry glowered; he could guess where this was leading.

            "First of all, we wanted to congratulate you on your performance so far," Fred said hastily. "We think you and your partner are leading our little contest."

            "It was on the topic of the partner that we wished to talk to you…" George said casually.

            Harry had heard enough. "Yeah, I know, a Slytherin," Harry said loudly, silencing the other two. He had had to put both of their names on the field report he had made. "I thought you two would be the last people to rake me over the coals about that old House rivalry."

            "Now, see here-" Fred began.

            "It's not so much the Slytherin aspect we were thinking of," George went on.

            "It is this particular specimen of, erm, Slytherinity."

            Harry glared at them. "Do you have anything bad to say about Pansy?" he asked gruffly. "Because you should know that I feel really strongly about her. So think real hard about it. Is there anything you have to say?" His voice was a low growl, and he was surprised to find that he was threatening the Weasley twins.

            Fred glanced at George, who shrugged. "Not as such… but do be careful, mate," George said slowly.
            "Whatever," Harry fumed. "Anyway, I was hoping that you two could help me with an order I need to place," Harry said slyly.

            "We're all ears, Harry."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            "It's essentially a giant hologram," Harry told her.

            "What are you talking about, Potter? What's a hologram?" Pansy asked, her voice sounding horrified.

            "It's a muggle trick, that… you know what, don't worry about it. It'll work, and it'll be beautiful."
            "If you say so, half-blood," Pansy laughed.

            They were sitting at a back table in the library. Harry, fortunately, had had time to return to his usual form and put his Hogwarts robes on. It was getting late in the evening, and they were mostly concealed from the prying eyes of other students.

            Harry gazed fondly at the girl beside him. "I don't get you, Pansy," he said quietly.

            "Oh?" She said, turning her soft brown eyes upon him.

            "You're… not like I expected," he said slowly. "I've known you for almost six years, but I never really got to know you until this year. I always thought you were just this cruel, snobby girl in Slytherin, you know?"
            Pansy smiled at him. "I am a cruel, snobby girl in Slytherin."

            "I don't think so," he answered.

            "Well…" She considered it for a moment. "You're dumb, then."

            Harry laughed out loud. "Tell me something, though, Pansy."

            "What's that?"

            "Do you really buy into all that Pureblood nonsense?" he asked.

            Her answer was immediate. "It isn't nonsense."

            Harry frowned. "Come on, Pansy, you're a sensible girl. Do you really think blood makes a difference? I mean… look at Neville, and then look at Hermione. Neville's a pureblood, but he couldn't charm his way out of a paper bag. But Hermione's a really good witch, top of all of her classes."

            Pansy stiffened. "I think that's an isolated example; the exception to the rule," she said. "I think, on a broader spectrum, purebloods make better wizards than mudbloods."

            Harry frowned at the term, but decided not to address it. "How do explain Hermione, then? Is she just a natural'?"

            Pansy scowled back at him. "If Granger excels at anything, it's being a terrific pain in the ass."

            Harry's eyes narrowed. "That's my friend you're talking about there," he said testily.

            Pansy met his gaze defiantly. "You know what I'm talking about, Harry," she said after a moment. "Tell me you've never called her a pain in the ass. She's such a know-it-all!"

            Harry could feel his patience running out. "Okay, I admit that there are times… when she can get a little annoying."
            "A little?" Pansy screeched. Seeing the reaction on his face, she tried again. "Okay, but what if you weren't in Gryffindor with her? What if she wasn't your friend? What if she was in Slytherin? Would you still be so fond of her?"

            "Hermione would never be in Slytherin," Harry shot back.

            "No, she'd never cut it in Slytherin – they'd eat her alive," Pansy growled. "Look, that's not the point. The point is… if you spent your whole life in Slytherin, you'd look at her differently, wouldn't you?"
            "I guess…"

            "Well, then, can't you forgive me for the way I feel about her?" Pansy asked, her voice sounding close to pleading. "Can't you at least understand where I'm coming from?"

            Harry held his silence.

            "Can we drop it?"

            "Yeah," he said. "That's probably for the best. I'm sorry. I don't why I brought it up."

            Pansy looked at her watch. "Okay, I'm going to make my way up to the Astronomy Tower to pick up my shipment."
            Harry consulted his own watch. "Okay, the Creevey Brothers should be starting in six minutes, so don't rush, okay?"
            She nodded.

            "I'll go find Filch."

            "Okay, lover, I'll catch up with you later, then," she said, kissing his cheek softly and turning toward the door. Just as quickly, she stopped, and turned back around. She pulled Harry in close to her, and kissed him, long and passionately, on the lips. "I love this work!" she whispered to him.

            Harry smiled. "Me too."

            "Meet me in the Prefects' bathroom at midnight," she whispered, her face still very close to his.

            "The Prefects' Bathroom?"

            "The password is Lemon-scented.' I'll see you there!" she whispered, and left before he had the chance to object.

            After she had gone, Harry pulled out the Marauder's Map and scanned it quickly. He found the blip representing Argus Filch, downstairs, near the statue of St. Brutus the Ignoble. Mrs. Norris was with him, which was all the better. A wicked grin spread across Harry's face, and he darted from the library.

            Two secret passages and a hidden fire pole later, and Harry was crouching in the shadows behind his intended victims. He checked his watch – The Creevey Brothers should be leaping into action momentarily with their water balloons. Harry had to act quickly, before word got to Filch. He consulted the Marauder's Map again, making sure that the area was deserted. Harry quietly cast a Bubble Head charm on himself, and then pointed his wand at the caretaker and his cat. "Soporificus!" he hissed. A soft, grayish beam enveloped both of them, and they plunged into a heavy sleep at once. Harry pulled a thick roll of Spellotape out of his bag and went to work.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            "Lemon-scented," Harry whispered. Under the watchful gaze of Boris the Bewildered's statue, he stole through the entrance to the Prefects' Bathroom. Pansy, already inside, looked his way with alarm. Harry pulled off the Invisibility cloak as she shut the door behind him. "Are you sure we won't be… discovered in here?" he asked her urgently.        

            "Quite sure," Pansy answered, a satisfied look on her face. She stood next to the gigantic rectangular tub, experimenting with various taps. "It wouldn't be much like the Prefects to be out in the halls after hours, now would it?"

            She had a point. "Did you get the shipment?" He asked, crossing the room and pulling her into a tight embrace.

            "Yep," she said, smiling seductively. She kissed him briefly on the lips. "Already stowed it on the Quidditch Pitch. We're all set for Saturday morning." She kissed him again, this time longer and more seriously.

            "Did you see what horror befell our caretaker?" he asked proudly, during a break in the action.

            "No… I didn't. What did you do to him?"

            Harry laughed. "Well, the hard part was getting the drop on him," he said, grinning. "From there, it was a simple matter to put him and his cat to sleep. They were found, sometime later, taped to the statue of Brutus the Ignoble in a rather… compromising position."

            Pansy laughed; a deep, throaty sound. "That's wonderful," she said, gazing at him meaningfully with her eyes. She kissed him again, holding it this time. Her tongue played across the surface of his lips, and he willingly admitted it. Before he knew what was going on, she was undoing the fastenings on his robes.

            He pulled back in surprise. "Pansy… what…"

            She smiled, raising her eyebrows lasciviously. She leaned in and planted a soft kiss on the nape of his neck. "Well, Lord Potter," she said tenderly. She kissed his neck again, and Harry felt his scalp tingling. "I'm trying to seduce you."

            Harry's breathing was a bit labored at this point, and he was aware of a tightness in his pants. Pansy must have realized it as well, as her hands began to address it directly. She continued raining soft kisses on his neck and ears.

            "Well, you are doing a great job…" Harry said weakly.

            "Trust me on this one, Potter," she said. "I know what I'm doing."

            He did, and she did.