Chapter Twenty

Tested

"Harry!" Ron and Ginny entered the great early the next Monday morning. Harry rose at the sound of his name and grinned at seeing the both of them. They sat down and piled on their food as Harry stared at them, edger to rememorize their faces once again.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, we're fine. It was dreadful being locked up in that house and everyone quit talking whenever your entered the room. It was like they were talking about us and how awful we must feel without even asking us how we did feel." Ginny said, shoving another helping of eggs onto her plate.

"Ron?" Harry asked.

Ron put down his fork and looked at Harry. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it instead. He turned his head and began to eat again. Harry nodded understanding Ron must be dealing with it pretty poorly… heck he would too if his parents died. Harry froze realizing his thoughts and stooped into a stooper just like Ron, eating and saying nothing.

"How were classes?" Hermione asked, sitting in the back of Potions beside Ron, Neville with Harry. Neville had stuck to Harry all week, amazed by how effortlessly he was learning and improving this year from last… Harry was amazed at himself.

"Fine, Snape's private lesson went alright. Passed out once, but he said he could tell I was practicing." Harry shrugged.

"I think it would be frightful to have a private lesson with Snape," Neville whispered, eyeing the professor with loath. "He's already so mean and arrogant; it' d be hard to spent time alone with him."

Harry shrugged, not going to blow Snape's cover of actually being decent for once.

"Class, follow the instruction and get started on the potion. When you finish bring a vial of it to the front and clean up. If you do not finish within an hour and a half you will fail this potion." Snape turned the board over to reveal that day's lesson. The class, in a scurry got to work. "I'll be handing out your grades from last class."

Harry's was the first handed back. Off-handedly not worried about and not expecting too much handed the parchment to Neville and began to chop the gilly-weed into tiny square pieces. "H…Ha…Harreeee." Neville moaned his hands shaking.

"What?" Harry asked, not looking up.

"We…we… got the… the highest grade in the class." Neville put the parchment in Harry's face. In writing that reminded Harry of oozing blood, he read, "Congratulations both of you. I have found great improvement in your work. Outstanding! (only ones that high.)"

Harry looked shocked but grinned. "Good job Neville, see, you're improving."

"Naw, it's all you." Neville chuckled, starting the measure the temperature of the potion.

"Did we have anything in Dark Art?" Ron asked softly.

The three of them sat in the library, catching Ron up on work he missed. Hermione outlines the charms and Harry made note of Potions for him.

"No, just notes." Hermione said, grabbing her bag to search for them. "Shoot, I don't have mine. Harry, could Ron copy yours."

"Yeah, hang on." Harry opened his Defense Against the Dark Arts book and handed Ron the four pages of notes. "Have fun," he jested trying to get Ron to smile. His efforts failed. Ron just frown more so and began to copy.

"Harry…" Ron stuttered moments later. "Is this some kind of sick joke?!?" As he spoke his word became stronger and his voice louder.

"What are your talking about?" Harry asked, watching the strain of Ron's eyes increase.

"That's what you git!" Ron yelled, slamming the parchment down in front of Harry and pointing to a line. Harry followed his finger and read, "The Prewetts are next."

"Oh, that." Harry said, turning red.

"Yes, God damnit that!" Ron screamed.

"SHHH!" Madam Prince yelled over him. Ron glared at her and turned back to Harry.

"You think you're so funny, rubbing it in my face that my mum died! Well… well your mum's dead to you little jerk!" Ron reached for words he didn't know.

"Ron!" Hermione gasped. "Stop it, Harry did no such thing."

"Oh he didn't did he?" Ron snapped. "Look was he wrote!" He moved the paper in front of Hermione and left her to read the line.

"The Prewetts are next?" She read in question, "but Ron, what does that mean?"

Ron folded his hand through his hair and glared at Harry. "My mum was a Prewett!"

Harry went numb. "Oh geeze Ron… I had no idea. Hagrid told me about the Prewett Family when I was eleven. Said they were a real good family, but Voldemort whipped them out just like my family." Ron said nothing, just glared. "I had no idea your mum was a Prewett, I thought they all had died."

"Then how did you write it?" Ron asked, calming down.

Harry heaved a sigh, "I was kinda out of it I guess, writing those notes down. I guess my mind escaped me for a moment. I don't know, but I looked down and that's what I had written. I didn't know what it meant or anything. Write after that your owl came and class ended. It just didn't cross my mind again."

"Harry," Hermione started. "What if it was like one of your dreams? Maybe Voldemort was writing that and you started day dreaming so you wrote it too." Ron shivered.

"That's creepy," Harry said, watching Ron. "Ron, I had no idea. I'm sorry."

Ron said nothing, neither did he push the blush from his cheeks.

"What did the voice say in your dream?" Hermione ask Harry.

Harry looked down, not noticing Ginny's tear stained face coming closer. "I kept chanting… they will drop like flies, everyone you love, everyone you ever met will drop like flies."

There was silence for a moment before there was a shrill hic-cup. They jumped to see Ginny standing there.

"Excuse me," she blushed. "Harry, this note came for you. I found Hedwig circling the Gryffindor Towel." She handed the note to him.

Harry took it and opened it.

"Did you like my trick Potter? Were your amused on how I lured that fat Prewett out of her safety zone? Just remember to never put anything past me. I can make people do what I want, even without magic. They're not even safe at Hogwarts… no one is safe anywhere… and you can't always save the day."

Harry choked and handed the note to Ron. Hermione and Ginny leaned over his should to read.

"We have to show it to Dumbledore!" Hermione squealed.

"What can he do about it?" Ginny whispered.

"Who's they? In the note…'They're not even safe at Hogwarts.' Who's they?" Ron asked.

Harry breathed. "You are… you, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, all of you guys. Not so much fun to be my friend now is it?"

Ginny hugged Ron's shoulders as she gave a shutter. "Harry, we've faced him with you before… nothing is going to happen to us. This snake faced Voldemort figure is not going to scare us away." Ginny said softly, staring deep into Harry's eyes.

Harry nodded and muttered quiet thanks under his breath, staring right back at Ginny.

Harry felt the weight upon his shoulders, holding the world on his back. He left the study group and skipped dinner. It was the second week of school and he could tell nothing was going to be good this year, the bitter sweet arrival of the leaving train, even through months away, was already taking his heart away from his home. He needed something that no one, not even he could give. He needed something and he didn't know what it was.

September passed like molasses, it seeped through day after day making Harry hope for a stop, the end of it all! October seeming opposite, breezed by. The trees changed to their majestic autumn paint and then were naked for the in coming winter. Quidditch practice caught hold someone in the calendar and every moment Ron and Harry weren't studying and Hermione (sometimes Draco) they were on the field, drilling harder than Wood every thought of training, but no one knew that for Harry was the sole survival of the "Wood" days. The team was Ron, Harry, Ginny, Talker, Jack Sloper, Andrew Kirke which left one spot open where the Katie Bell was. They had try out after try outs, but no one was good enough, well not good enough for Ron anyway. So the days counting down till the Slytherin Gryffindor game was narrowing sharply.

"Please Ron." Ginny pleaded, dismounting her hand-me-down broom.

"Ginny, we need the best; we are going to win that Cup!" Ron urged.

"We just need a bamboo that will stay on the broom, we're good Ron." Talker said hovering above Ginny's head. He was spitting image of Oliver, but Jason was a mischievous, fast grin and bright blue eyes that, surprising, could say more than his mouth.

"Ron's the captain; let him do what he wants. But come on mate, if we don't get someone soon, no matter how good they are, we are going to stink of the stadium against Slytherin." Harry said calmly.

"Fine, one last try out, and I swear I will choose SOMEONE this time. As head boy I'm making it mandatory that every Gryffindor come try out." Ron seemed frustrated.

Ron kept his word, or for the most part he did. The whole lot of Gryffindor Tower was outside on the Quidditch Pitch early Saturday morning. Harry had to secret give gratitude to Hermione for this. She fought long and hard with Ron not to make her try out, so instead she put together, with the help of a few dozen house elves, a Gryffindor Breakfast Party. Madam Hooch was there and passed out school brooms to younger years and the crowd of which had not a broom of their own.

"I told you everyone would come?" Ron said a mouth full of cinnamon bread.

"Yeah, you sure did." Talker said, rolling his eyes.

"How about we do Seventh years and then on down? That keeps it fair. I mean, everyone else has next year and stuff for their chance." Ginny chimed in. Mounting her broom and breezing easily away. Harry's eyes followed her, grasping the gentle dance of her autumn hair in the wind.

"Sounds good." Talker said. He took his wand, tapped his throat and boomed.

"ALL SEVENTH YEAR WANNA BE QUIDDITCH LENGDENS PLEASE FIND YOURS ON A BROOM IN THE AIR WITHIN 5 MINUTES. YOUR TRY OUTS WILL START SOON. SIXTH YEARS, BE FINDING A BROOM, YOUR NEXT." Talker tapped his throat yet and again and grinned at Ginny, shaking her head softly in the air.

At call Seamus, Neville (shaking nervously) Dean, Lavender and Patil rose into the air.

"You all know how this works right?" Ron asked tossing the qualffle up in the air and catching it with one hand.

"Yes Ron," Lavender heaved a great sigh, "you've only made us come to the last ten try-outs."

Ron dropped his smile and flew to his posts. "Brown first."

Lavender, with a relax, victorious (that she shut Ron up) smile, she flew to position and caught the Qualffle Ron had thrown at her.

"Ten shots." Ron huffed.

Harry flew to Ginny's lingering side as he watched. "I think Ron is just having these try out so he can practice." Ginny hissed.

Harry chuckled and watched Ron stop ten consecutive shots. Lavender, frustrated with the continual of her shut out, met the ground with ease and moved to Hermione's side. Silently Harry watched Patil and Neville take their ten shots. He breathed in Ginny's smell and inched closer to her.

"I think Ron really wants Dean." Ginny said breaking the silence and then moving edge slowly away. "He smiled every time he blocks Dean's shots which must mean their good shots."

Seamus took his nine shots and missed horribly. Finally he threw the qualffle so hard it bounced off a ring and fell to the ground. Dean took his shots, surprising getting three in, a Gryffindor Try-Out record.

Talker called for the sixth years, then the fifth, then the fourth and the thirds. Ginny and Harry hovered close by the goals with Talker evaluating Ron's reactions and their fellow Gryffindor shots.

"I still say that Colin's kid has a lot of heart. He just needs a LOT of work." Talker chuckled.

Colin Creevy was on the ground, grasping his broom and staring at Harry in a wide smile. "I would have figured he would have ground out of the 'crush' by now Harry. Sixteen, I didn't even stay obsessed with you that long." Ginny giggled.

Harry blushed and hung on her words, "I didn't even stay obsessed with you that long." Did that mean everything the past couple weeks meant nothing?

Finally, Talker called for the second years and five scrawny boys, (a flaming red headed Mark among them) and five nervous looking girls rose into the air.

Mark hung on the out side with Adam and a cute little blond girl with the latest style broom, the Lighting Bolt, which Harry had heard from long night of Ron's sleep talking, was another company rip off of the Firebolt… the only differences where the names and the Lighting Bolt came in the color of your choice; in this girl's case, a metallic pink.

The girl went and did fair, nearly tying Dean's record. Adam screw around throwing them over his shoulder and between his legs. He met the ground with a fit of laughter on his face and the dying Gryffindor crowd.

Lastly Mark flew into position. Ron tossed him the ball and he caught it with difficultly.

"Oh dear, this doesn't look good." Ginny whispered, "Poor Mark."

Mark gulped and Harry gripped his broom tighter, crossing his fingers. Mark looked at Ron, pleading for directions or instructions, Ron only gripped his broom and stared. Mark gulped again and wheeled back his arm. He threw the dang Qualffle like a fast pitched baseball.

The ball was heading straight for Ron but when Ron went to snatch it from the air it curved and zoomed through the left goal post.

Ginny gasped, "He threw a freaking American style curve ball!" She giggled and hit her broom gleefully.

"Come on Mark," Harry yelled, a smile cutting his face. 'Please do that again Mark.'

And he did. Actually, Mark Evans did it nine more times.

"Can you believe it?" Mark squealed coming into the Great Hall. It was nearly lunch time. "Ten times, I scored ten times!"

"I know, great job Mark." Ginny said sweetly.

"Where's Ron?" Harry asked.

"Oh, I saw him in the locker room. He's taking a nice cold shower." Talker said an evil grin on his face.

Harry chuckled and messed with his cousin's hair. "Way to kill Ron's confidence!" he said sarcastically. "Let him block some next time."

Mark gave an innocent grin and bowed his head, "Oops," he mumbled.

Tuesday morning everyone was excited about the strange old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. His face held year, but his eye youth. There was a certain my there was a mysterious laughter on his chapped lips and a shaking stimulate in his voice. Harry took his seat by Ron as Hermione disappear behind them with Draco. Draco was slowly becoming confident in himself. He would be the last on to class and proclaim sitting by Hermione was the only seat he could find, but his lies didn't hold up for long. Gryffindor noticed his quick smile to Hermione as the Slytherin's noticed the lack of "mud blood" in his vocabulary.

Professor Flamel walked into the class briskly and rambled on the next half an hour about how decision making and logic was one of he most important magic in defending yourself, and those qualities very many lacked. As an assignment he gave a ten inch essay on the topic. Harry, to involved in a conversation with Ron, who after the Mark slaughter he underwent, was excited about the new season.

"I want these done by Thursday! Potter, Weasley… did you hear me?"

"Yes sir," they recited in unison, not really knowing exactly what they were to do.

Flamel gave a childish grin and nodded. The bell rang and yet again, Draco spilled his bag and him and Hermione stayed behind cleaning up.

"Dean," Ron yelled.

"Yup?"

"What is our homework?"

Dean laughed and handed them his parchment. In clean printed form Ron read aloud, "Your friend is a wand point and you can either choose to let them die, insisted on being killed instead or risk both your lives in pursuit of a happy ending?"

Harry froze at his still words. He looked back at Flamel who was busing himself with grading last week tests. Harry narrowed his eyes and found hatred lurking behind them. Why was everyone asking the same question? And why after seventeen year was he still at the beginning of finding out that answer?

The night Harry was restless. Ron was moping about and Hermione was engulfed in her responsibility and homework. Harry spent his time, hidden behind his curtains writing and rewriting the beginning of essay. Once he even started it out with, "You dying old crack headed fool, why in the hell did you have to ask this flee bitten question?" But he set flame to that one, hoping Dean and Neville never saw the small scorch on his sheet.

Thursday came and by then Harry had just given up. Flamel looked at the blank roll Harry turned in with his name and the question at the top. He nodded solemnly and threw it in the trash. Harry saw the big red "F" already in his mind. He suddenly regretted it; he needed this grade to become part of the ministry. He tried to relax with the old cliché, "Famous Harry Potter," Mr. Weasley and anyone else would be mad to refuse Famous Harry Potter. Yet now he felt like a failure, and it wasn't just the "F" stamped on his Defense Against the Dark Arts class.