Chapter six

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Harry dearly wished he hadn't fallen to pieces like that in front of Ron and Hermione. Or, more accurately, he wished they hadn't been there when he went to pieces, as was inevitable. But they had skived off class just to humiliate him. Of course, they probably though they were helping. But if they really wanted to help, why hadn't one of them at least held his hand or wiped the tears from his face and whispered into his ear, like he'd done for Ron so long ago?

For the rest of the day, Harry resolutely hated both of them.

That night, he sat up again with Neville. He reckoned he was now getting more calories from chocolate frogs than anything else, and said as much to Neville.

"Really?" said the other boy, "I've been eating more. I can't stop, actually. I gained so much weight over the summer. Didn't you notice?"

"Er, no. But I didn't notice how much weight I'd lost, either."

"Hm. Did I tell you I saw Cho Chang today?"

"No."

"She's Head Girl now, did you know? Anyways, she asked about you. Wanted to know if you were okay."

Harry swallowed. "What did you tell her?"

"Er, I said you didn't want to talk to her. Was that okay?"

Harry grinned in the dark. "Yeah. I'm pretty much through with her."

"That's what I thought. She was the one who brought that girl into the DA. The one who ratted us out."

"Stupid bitch," said Harry. "It's her fault Dumbledore had to leave."

"Have you talked to Dumbledore yet this year?"

"No."

"Don't you usually talk to him a lot? What did he say to you over the summer?"

"Nothing. He didn't write me at all," Harry lied. In reality he had put the headmaster's letters away without opening them. He was still very angry.

"You'd think he'd want to talk to you," said Neville, "considering you're the one who-"

"Shut up, Neville."

The boy obeyed. Harry knew he'd hurt his feelings, but didn't care.

"I'm going downstairs," said Harry suddenly. He wanted very much to be alone at the moment, and there was no doing that here.

So Harry took off down to the common room, intending to lose himself in staring at the fire.

But when he got to the bottom of the stairs he realized someone was already there. He made out Lucia's fine face in the light from the fire. She turned to look as he approached.

"Hey, Harry."

"Hi."

"Insomnia?"

"Oh no," said Harry as he sat next to her, "I just don't like to be too rested for lessons, you know? Kind of takes the challenge out of it."

She grinned. They sat in quiet for a time, as they had all day, it seemed. Finally, Lucia said, "Aren't you ever going to ask me about this morning?"

"I thought I'd give you the choice if you want to tell me."

She looked at him. "But don't you want to know?"

He shrugged. "It's your business. If you want to tell me, fine. If you don't, that's fine, too."

She sighed. "Well, it's well past midnight and we've still got a ways to go till morning. I've got some Firewhiskey," Here she took a bottle from her pocket, "and the fire's going nicely. I'd say it's story-telling time, if ever there was one."

Harry wasn't eager to tell stories, but he did feel that perhaps a bit of Firewhiskey was just what he really needed.

After they had put a good dent in the whiskey, Lucia said, "You'll want to know why Draco hates me so much."

"Cause you're not a Death Eater."

"Neither is he."

"Sorry, I meant Ampist. And are you sure?"

"No, I'm not. But I would be surprised. Anyways, he always hated me. Because Father always liked me best. I was his favorite, and Draco was Mother's."

"Okay, the fight is starting to make sense now."

"Ha. You don't know the half of it. What he said to me... He meant it literally."

"Meant what literally?"

"I did use to do that."

"Do what?"

"For my father. He made me do it, of course, but I didn't mind. What did I know? I was a kid."

"What are you talking about?"

She had to drink about half the bottle of Firewhiskey before she could answer.

"He use to have me suck him off."

"..... Your father?"

"Yes."

"Oh my God.... That's...."

"It's over. It doesn't matter anymore. He's just fucked up, that's all. Anyways, that's what Draco meant."

"I can't believe he did that to you."

"Well he did, so shut up about it already."

"I'm going to kill him."

"No, you're going to leave that to me. That's why I'm coming with you, when you go to kill Tom. I'll be there, and I'll find Father, and I'll kill him."

There was a long pause.

"No wonder you're a lesbian," said Harry.

Suddenly, Lucia laughed. "Yeah, no wonder. God, though, it was so long ago. I haven't seen any of them since I was eleven. I mean, obviously now I've seen Draco-"

"And gotten duffed up by Draco..."

"Yes, that too. Though I'd hardly call that a duffing up. It was just a push."

"Right." By this time, they had between them finished off the whiskey, and Harry was feeling distinctly drunk.

"So , Harry Potter. What do you think now?"

"Of what?"

"Me. Am I trustworthy?"

"How should I know?"

She sighed and changed the subject. "So, are you going to tell me about your friend Ron?"

Harry froze. "What? Why?"

She laughed. "I notice things, Mr. Potter. There's something between you two, isn't there?"

"If there was," said Harry slowly, "I wouldn't be too likely to tell you about it, would I?"

"Right. You can't trust me."

"Can't trust anyone. Not right now, anyways."

"Relax, Tom's not going to get you here. Or at least, by the time he does you'll be ready for him. And you'll kill him."

Harry sighed. "Today he and Hermione saw me cry."

"I take you mean Ron, not Tom," she said. "But what's the big deal?"

"It was terrible," said Harry. "They didn't know what to do."

"Oh, one of those. What'd they do, just stand there staring?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"People suck."

"Yes, they do."

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The following morning found Harry and Lucia sleeping curled up in front of the common room fire.

"Harry," said Hermione as she shook him awake. "Harry, wake up. Something terrible's happened."

"I don't want to know," muttered the boy, covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut.

She sighed. "Well, you're going to have to get up anyway, because you're sleeping on the floor of the common room- did you know?"

He sat up slowly, one hand to his head.

"Bit of a hangover?" asked Hermione angrily. She didn't see why Harry needed to be drinking on top of everything else.

Harry winced. "Ow, could you keep it down?"

"No. Harry, the queen's dead."

"What queen?"

"What queen? The queen! Elizabeth the second has been killed!"

Harry sat still for a moment. "Where are my glasses?"

Hermione retrieved them from where they lay by his feet, performed a quick and silent reparation spell to fix the broken glass where he must have kicked them in the night, and handed them over.

Once his glasses were securely on his face, Harry said, "Who did it?"

"I don't know, some terrorist revolutionary group. The muggles have their own wars brewing."

"You think it might have something to do with Voldemort?"

"I don't know, Harry. But there are riots everywhere. Already eleven people have been killed in the streets."

"What does that have to do with me?"

Hermione could have slapped him. Here he was, pretending that muggle lives meant nothing to him. She'd thought he would be the one friend she had who would understand what it meant for the queen to die. She thought he'd be as affected as she was. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Didn't it even occur to him that his family was in danger? And even if he didn't care about them, what about her parents? Did he only think of himself?

"What?" he said finally, as she stared at him, the heat rising in her cheeks.

"You're right," she said, "I shouldn't bother you with silly muggle things. After all, they are just muggles. Who cares if they all die, right?"

He didn't even answer, just looked angrily back at her. She stood up and left.

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"Jesus Christ, what was that about?" asked Lucia, sitting up and rubbing her head.

"Something about the queen," said Harry wearily. "God, my head hurts."

"That can happen with Firewhiskey," said Ginny's voice from behind him.

"Oh, good, someone else to tell me off," said Harry.

"I just came to tell you that class starts in about fifteen minutes."

"I haven't got anything first."

"I know. If you did, you'd have missed it."

"Oh."

"You want me to tell the teacher you're terribly sorry but you can't make it because you spent last night getting soused?"

"Oh shut up!"

"Snape's back, by the way. At least, he was at breakfast. He looks a bit peaky, but then again he's Snape."

"Right," said Harry, trying to stand. Ginny held out an arm and steadied him.

"Thanks," he muttered.

Lucia stood up beside him and tried to straighten her dressing gown. "Guess we'd better get dressed, then, eh?"

"I suppose so. What do I have, anyway?"

"Transfiguration," said Ginny. "Won't that be fun? I had it yesterday, and I'll tell you, McGonagall's not in a good mood."

Harry groaned, and made his way to the dormitories.

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Ron kept looking at his watch. "Is he really going to be late for his first class of the year?"

Hermione sniffed disdainfully. "I really couldn't care less."

"You're really upset at him, aren't you?"

"Where'd you get that idea?"

Ron said nothing. He didn't know why Harry and Hermione were quarrelling, but he thought it best not to pry. He didn't want to do or say anything stupid that might jeopardize his relationship with Hermione. Especially after last night. They'd found a wonderful little empty classroom in Gryffindor tower where they could be alone, and now Ron could still taste her tongue. As far as he was concerned, if she wanted to fight with Harry, Ron for one was not going to object. In fact, if she wanted to burn the school down Ron probably wouldn't object.

"Why didn't he sign up for Care of Magical Creatures, anyways?" asked Ron idly, trying to make conversation.

"He did," said Hermione. "They just didn't give it to him. I expect they want him to concentrate on DADA. Then again, perhaps he's having a row with Hagrid."

"A row with Hagrid? I don't know if anyone has ever had a row with Hagrid, Hermione. I don't even think it's possible. Certainly not with Harry."

"Well, Harry is being awfully difficult, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, but he has got a lot to deal with, you know." After he said it, Ron bit his lip, hoping she wouldn't get angry.

"That's no excuse for the way he's behaving," was all she said.

Harry rushed in just then, glanced around the room, and sat by himself in the back, despite Ron's obvious gestures to the seat next to himself and Hermione. Then Professor McGonagall began to speak, and class was underway.

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Over breakfast the next day Hermione glanced at her Daily Prophet and said, "Oh look, the latest scandal- 'Harry Potter inherits from parents' slayer.'"

"I take it they mean Sirius?" asked Ron, glancing at Harry who was at the other end of the table with Lucia. "He didn't tell me he'd gotten anything."

"He didn't tell me, either. But Dumbledore wrote me that he'd told Harry about it over the summer."

"Good of Harry to keep us informed, eh?"

"Actually," said Hermione, "I'm not entirely sure he's even been reading Dumbledore's letters."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, he's angry at Dumbledore, and he doesn't seem to care much about anything. I could be wrong, of course, but I wouldn't bet my life on Harry having opened Dumbledore's letters."

"So how much did he get?"

"It doesn't say. All Sirius's stuff, though, which means everything the Black family had..."

Ron whistled. "So he's got Grimmauld place, has he?"

"Apparently so."

"And a fortune besides. A second fortune, no less. Remember how much his parents left him?"

"No, I never asked."

"Well, neither did I, but it was enough to make him rich."

"Ron, stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Obsessing over money. You always do that, you know. It gets irritating, and it isn't healthy."

"You obsess about money, too, if you had as little of it as I do. D'you know Ginny and I aren't even paying this year? We can't afford to go here, but Dumbledore gave us scholarships."

"... I'm sorry, Ron. But it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed," said Ron hotly, "I just... I don't know. I guess I just wish we had more money, that's all."

"You will, I expect. After this war's over."

"Yeah, maybe Harry'll leave me all his loot when he snuffs it."

"That's not funny at all." Hermione's voice was cold, and she didn't speak for the rest of the meal.

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Harry waited for Professor Moon outside her office. It was Friday evening, and time for his first lesson with her. He'd brought nothing but his wand, as she had requested no text to go along with her course.

At exactly five minutes after the appointed time, Moon's door opened and she appeared before Harry, wearing her customary green robes, her hair up and a liberal dose of makeup on her youthful face. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen a Hogwarts teacher wearing muggle makeup before.

"Mr. Potter, I see," she said, in her deep, Welsh voice, "Come in."

He nodded and stepped past her into the familiar office. She kept it bare, the walls empty and the desk piled with nothing but papers.

Moon shut the door and walked over to her desk. She opened the top drawer, rummaged around, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She packed them against her hand, pulled one out, and lit up right there, using a tiny muggle lighter from her pocket.

Harry was astonished. Cigarettes were scarce at Hogwarts, even among the students. It was a rare kid who, besides being muggle-born, was addicted enough at age eleven to bring their own fags to school.

Moon took a few long drags and considered Harry. After a moment she flicked the ash off the end of her cigarette in a quick, elegant motion, and said, "Mr. Potter, you know why you are here, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

"Alright, then. There are some things I should tell you before we begin. First of all, I am not here to teach you Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'm here to train you for battle."

Harry shifted on his feet uncomfortably.

"Secondly, you are to do everything I tell you, even if you don't understand it. Some of the things I will be teaching you are very abstract and advanced, and all of them are very different from everything you've been taught so far. Which brings me to my next point. You are not to discuss what goes on in here with anyone. I don't care how well you know the person or how harmless what you say may seem to be. I need complete silence from you. Understand?"

"Yes," said Harry. Hadn't he already been through this with McGonagall?

Moon looked at him critically as she took another drag on her cigarette.

Suddenly, she said, "Give me your wand."

"What? Why?" He was forgetting to be respectful, but he didn't care.

"Mr. Potter." She held out her hand.

Reluctantly, he handed it over. She took it in her left hand, and promptly snapped it between her fingers.

Harry gasped, horrified, automatically reaching out as if he could save his precious holly-and-phoenix feather.

"See how dependant you are on your wand?" she said calmly, showing him the two broken halves of wood. Then she flicked her wrist and opened her palm to reveal the wand, this time whole.

Harry stared.

She didn't give it back to him, though. "Now," she said, "supposing I had broke it, what would you have done?"

"I don't know," said Harry.

"You wouldn't have done anything," she said. "Right now you are completely disarmed. You are helpless. See how easily you can be defeated?"

She handed his wand back to him. "That's lesson number one. Wandless magic is always preferable. You can't rely on having it with you all the time, that's just asking for trouble. Lesson number two- you don't need a wand."

"What did you do just now?" asked Harry, still feeling dazed and grateful to have the warm solidity of his wand back in his hand.

"Nothing but a parlour trick, Mr. Potter. There's another lesson- don't rely on your eyes, they will betray you." She took another drag and began pacing back and forth in front of him. "Now, none of what I will be teaching you here will require a wand. Next time, leave it behind in Gryffindor tower. And don't think you need it- that's the first mistake, and the first step to dependence. You've been using your wand like a crutch. But you've shown you do your most powerful magic without it already, haven't you? You didn't have a wand with you when you threw off the Killing Curse. Consider that. There's your homework for next time. You may go."

Harry had only been there for about ten minutes, but he didn't hesitate to obey. There was something odd about Professor Moon.

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At the moment, Harry had managed to offend everyone but Lucia, so it was with her that he had spent these past few days and nights. He'd also stopped eating altogether, as Hermione wasn't there to watch him and Lucia was a not-really-recovering anorexic. Ron kept trying to smile or wave to Harry, but Harry tried not to even look at him. Except, of course, in the small hours of the morning when he and Lucia had done talking and gone their separate ways in the interest of avoiding being woken up by the others, when Harry stood for hours by Ron's bed, listening to him breathe long after the moon had set.

So the next morning, when Gryffindor tryouts were to take place, Harry walked alone out the pitch. Lucia was petrified of heights and though sports stupid anyways, so she stayed behind. The rest of the team and potential team were already assembled when Harry arrived.

"Hey mate," said Ron, as if they'd been speaking all week.

Harry gulped and avoided his eyes. "Hullo, Ron. Any good prospects?"

Ron considered, and said, "There's a second year girl was really disappointed to get into Gryffindor on account of she's a seeker. I told her to relax, considering you'll be gone in a few years. But she looks as if she'd make a decent chaser."

Ginny approached them then. "So," she said, "You two friends again?"

"Again?" said Ron. "That's just Hermione who's not talking to Harry."

"Oh, right," said Ginny, giving a subtle little roll of her eyes that Ron seemed not to catch.

"You seem to be speaking to me," said Harry, "Does that mean I'm forgiven for getting drunk?"

"It wasn't that you got drunk," she said, "it was just that I wouldn't have minded a bit of Firewhiskey myself."

"Ooh," said Ron, grinning, "She's jealous."

Ginny tossed her head. "I am jealous. Lucky Harry gets to sit around with Lucia all day! She's only the most gorgeous girl in school."

Harry stifled an ironic laugh.

"Come off it," said Ron to Ginny, "You're not a les and you know it."

Ginny ignored him.

"Er," said Ron to Harry, as he looked around at the small crowd mulling about in the heat. "Think I should start things up, then?"

"Why not?" said Harry. He felt only a touch of jealousy towards Ron for being named captain. Ron deserved it and would have more time for it. Besides, Harry was a shaky leader- he was moody, and public opinion about him changed frequently and dramatically, denying him any sort of authority. Which was why he now counted it a blessing that he wasn't a Prefect like the others.

"Oy," said Ron to the group. "Listen up!" Everyone fell silent. "Right, then. Let's get started. You're here for Gryffindor quidditch try-outs. Anyone who's really mixed up and thought they were at Latin club or something should take this opportunity to bugger off." They all laughed appreciatively. "Anyways, the positions open, in case you don't know, are for two chasers and two beaters. Now, who wants to go first?"

Harry was surprised and impressed at Ron's organisational skills. It seemed Ron had much more confidence without his brothers around. In two hours time, they saw twelve students fly, most of whom were unimpressive, one of whom fell off his broom three times, and one of whom turned out to be a first year who had snuck a broom from the school shed. There were a few decent players. Ron was right about the second year girl who wanted to be seeker- she was a good chaser. Collin Creevey turned out to be the best they could do for the other chaser. As far as the beaters went, there were three candidates. One, a fourth year boy built like a rock, was a shoe-in. The other two were a third year muggle-born girl with an astonishing record in cricket, and a boy in Ginny's year who could fly but admitted he was really more of a keeper than a beater.

Ron, Harry and Ginny talked over the choices as they made their way back up to the castle. When at last they were back in the common room, Ron said, "Harry, you'll sit with us at lunch, won't you? Hermione's got to forgive you some time."

"Yeah, sure," said Harry, running his hands through his hair. He would, of course, do nothing of the sort. Whatever Ron said, Hermione wasn't the only problem.

"Feel like a game of chess?" asked Ron tentatively. Harry thought he must look bad, that Ron was being so cautious. Or perhaps it was just experience that made Ron wary.

"No, thanks," said Harry. "I... I think I'll just go upstairs for a while."

"Alright," said Ron, looking at the floor.

(A/N: Is it obvious I'm not interested in quidditch?)