Chapter 22: Of Detentions and Dreams

Harry skidded to a halt outside the Defense classroom and took a deep breath, so it wouldn't be apparent he'd been running. He checked his watch. Good, I'm in time.

He opened the door. Ron waved at him from the middle of the classroom, where he was sitting one desk away from Hermione. "Saved you a seat," he said as Harry took it.

"Look at this place," Hermione whispered. "It's almost all DA."

Taking a look around, Harry realized she was right. There were only two or three people in the room he didn't know. Susan Bones winked at him, and Ernie Macmillan gave him a dignified wave.

"Where's Blaise?" Hermione asked, frowning. "He's taking this class, isn't he?"

"I can find out," Harry said, remembering what he had in his bag. He pulled out the Map and spread it out on his desk.

The dot labeled "Blaise Zabini" was in the hospital wing.

What's he doing there?

The door opened again. Everyone looked around.

Professor Fleming had arrived, her brown hair pulled back in a neat twist, her sapphire-blue robes precisely perfect. Without preamble, she walked to the front of the classroom, pulled a scroll from her bag, and began to take roll. As she got to "Granger, Hermione", Harry glanced down at the Map again. Blaise had left the hospital wing, but there was no way he was going to get to the classroom in time…

"Potter, Harry."

Ron elbowed him. "What?" Harry said. "Oh. Here." He quickly folded up the Map and put it away, feeling Professor Fleming's eyes dissecting him again, as they had done in the kitchen at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

I don't think she likes me.

"Weasley, Ronald."

"Here."

"Zabini, Blaise."

"He had to go to the hospital wing, Professor," Harry said quickly. "He asked me to tell you he'd be a bit late."

Professor Fleming's eyebrows rose. "Very good, Mr. Potter. Five points to Gryffindor for your considerate behavior toward a fellow student."

On cue, the door opened, and Blaise hurried in, looking a bit flushed. "Sorry I'm late, Professor," he began.

"Late, but not tardy, Mr. Zabini," Professor Fleming said with what sounded like approval. "Five points to Slytherin for your forethought in sending a message with Mr. Potter."

Blaise looked surprised for a fleeting second, then said, "Thank you, Professor," and looked around for a seat. Hermione waved at him and pointed to the desk next to hers, which was one of the only ones free, and after a brief hesitation, he took it, pulling out parchment, ink, and a quill.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Professor Fleming addressed the class, "what you have just seen is an example of courtesy. Courtesy is the first rule in my classroom. I will be courteous towards you, and I expect you to be courteous towards me and towards the rest of the class. Your differences, however important outside this classroom, are to be set aside. You will work with whomever I set you to work with on group projects, and you will duel with whomever I choose for you to duel with."

"We get to duel?" Anthony Goldstein blurted, looking excited. "Really duel?"

"Yes, Mr.… Goldstein?" Anthony nodded. "Yes, you will get to 'really duel' in this class. Only – " Fleming held up a warning hand. "Only within the established parameters. You will begin and end the duel when I say so. You will leave all personal feelings about the person you are facing outside the ring. And you will restrict yourselves to the spells I select, no matter which other ones you may know. I wish to avoid accidents in this class which might be prevented with a touch of forethought. Here are the rules for this class – please copy them down and study them at your convenience…"

A wave of her wand and the blackboard was filled. Harry uncapped his ink bottle and dipped his quill. Hermione poked him in the elbow, almost making him spill the ink.

"What?"

She handed him a folded square of parchment and pointed her thumb at Blaise. Harry unfolded it.

I never sent any message. What is she talking about?

Harry scribbled an answer underneath.

I spotted you in hospital and told her you'd be late. No reason for you to get in trouble if you don't have to.

He slid the note to Hermione. A moment later, it returned.

Thanks, Blaise had written.

"A note about our schedule," Professor Fleming said. "On Mondays and Wednesdays, we meet for an hour. These days will be devoted to theoretical lecture and discussion. I will assign reading and writing assignments, which I expect to be completed by the next class. Fridays, which are two-hour classes, will be practical days. You will not need to bring your books. Now, if you would all get out your writing materials, we can begin…"

Professor Fleming gave them an hour's lecture on Memory Charms, when it was and was not legally and ethically permissible to use them. "For Wednesday," she said over the noise of the class packing up after the bell rang, "please read the chapter in your books covering the theory of Memory Charms and be ready to discuss it in class."

"I can't believe it," Harry said to Ron and Hermione as they headed for the Great Hall. "A good teacher. We actually have a good Defense teacher."

"Anything would seem good after Umbridge," Hermione pointed out. "But she does seem to know what she's talking about."

"D'you think we're going to practice Memory Charms on each other?" Ron asked.

"Probably on animals," Hermione said. "See if you can make mice forget where their cheese is or something."

"Can I sit with you?" said a quiet voice from next to Harry. He turned and found himself facing Colleen Lamb.

"Of course," Hermione said before Harry or Ron could say anything. "How was your morning?"

"Fine, how was yours?"

"Defense was pretty good," Ron said, sitting down and reaching for the chips. "Fleming's better than Umbridge any road. Better than Lockhart or Quirrell too."

"I wouldn't eat those if I were you," Colleen said, serving herself a baked potato.

"Why not?"

"We have Potions after lunch. Professor Snape and fried food don't go well together."

"You have a point," Harry said, relieving her of the dish of baked potatoes and dumping one onto Ron's plate before he served himself. "Professor Snape and anything doesn't go well together."

He remembered suddenly the letter, sitting in his bag, which he would have to give to Snape before class started. And there was something else in his bag, something he might have forgotten to turn off…

He unfolded the Map just long enough to see that it was, indeed, still active, tapped it and muttered "Mischief managed", and sighed with relief as it went blank. The last thing he needed was to go rummaging for an extra quill or something and have the Map fall out in front of Snape. He'd never see it again.

When lunch was over, the four Gryffindors made their way down to the dungeons. Draco Malfoy was already there, with Theodore Nott as his partner, talking in low tones. They whipped around, looking half-affronted, half-amused, as Harry came through the door.

"Well, well," Malfoy said, in a tone meant to be overheard. "Potty, the Weasel King, the Mudblood, and the Slytherin wannabe. The gang's all here."

"Look, everyone," Harry said in return, pointing at Malfoy as if he were a tourist attraction. "It's the Boy with No Creativity! How many years has he been calling us that stuff now, Ron? Four, five?"

"Well, he did just come up with Weasel King last year," Ron allowed, "but he can't seem to get over my last name sounding like a little skinny animal and yours sounding like a baby word for a toilet."

"Isn't a ferret a little skinny animal too, Ron?" Colleen asked quietly.

"That's right," Ron said, snapping his fingers. "Thanks, Colleen."

"And he's never recovered from finding out I'm a Muggleborn," Hermione said. "I think he had a crush on me and was devastated when he found out his father would never approve."

Harry and Ron shook their heads sadly. Colleen sighed, looking pityingly at Malfoy, whose face was almost as pink as it had been the day the false Moody had bounced him around the entrance hall as a ferret.

"And, of course," Colleen finished, "he can't understand that a Slytherin and a Gryffindor can like each other – maybe even be friends – and still be a Slytherin and a Gryffindor. He's stuck in the past, poor boy."

Nott grabbed Malfoy's arm as Malfoy started to get up and hissed something in his ear. Malfoy slumped back into his seat, looking sulky, as more students started coming into the classroom. Harry and Ron chose a table together, Hermione and Colleen across the aisle from them, and avoided looking at one another while they set up their cauldrons. Harry had a very strong feeling that if any of them met each other's eyes at this point, they would be unable to stop laughing, and that would be very bad for everyone involved.

With one minute left before class was supposed to begin, Harry remembered the letter. Quickly, he pulled it from his bag, put it on Snape's desk, and turned to go back to his place.

The door opened.

"Detention, Potter," Snape said icily.

"Sir?" Harry said in disbelief.

"Rummaging through a teacher's desk when that teacher is not present is certainly a punishable offense. I will see you for detention tomorrow night at seven."

Harry bit his lip hard, remembering that he had just finished writing a letter apologizing to Snape, and that he would not do his credibility any good by blowing up at the man in their first meeting of the school year.

"He was not rummaging in your desk," Ron said in disgust. "He was just putting something on it."

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and I can make it detention for two if you like," Snape said, closing the door behind him. Ron went pink and said nothing.

"Welcome to N.E.W.T. level Potions," Snape went on, managing to make the word "welcome" sound as if it tasted bitter. "I will never understand how some of you achieved the necessary grades to be admitted to this class, but here you are, and I will teach you. Whether or not you learn is up to you. I suggest you all put your cauldrons away, as today's class will be lecture only."

Ron stifled a groan. Harry knew exactly how he felt. Lecture only, and a double period, spelled pain – and for the lecturer to be Snape was beyond all reasonable bounds, in Harry's opinion.

Snape waved his wand at the board, which was immediately covered in writing. "We will now discuss the theory of potion-making, beginning with a brief overview of its history and concluding with a comparative look at the different potion-brewing techniques used today the world over…"

By the time three o'clock came, Harry felt as if his brain was ready to explode. He'd had to elbow Ron twice as he noticed him falling asleep, and Ron had performed the same service for him once. The only good thing about the class was that Snape hadn't picked on him – he seemed, after his initial speech, to have adopted the viewpoint that Harry didn't exist. Harry was used to this, from the Dursleys, and far preferred it to Snape's usual outlook, which was that Harry was something smelly clinging to the bottom of Snape's shoe.

"Let's go outside," Ron said wearily. "Blimey, if he's going to lecture like that every Monday I might just give up the class, Auror or not. At least we have an hour off now."

"You have an hour off," Hermione said tartly. "I have to go to Arithmancy. I'll see you in Muggle Defense."

"Bye," Harry said to her back. He and Ron made their way outside into the sunshine and found a place to sit. Ron lay back on the grass, flung a forearm over his eyes, and promptly went to sleep.

Harry looked around, thinking of nothing in particular. Some Hufflepuff third-year girls went by, giggling as they looked at him and Ron. He wondered vaguely why, but it wasn't all that interesting. What was interesting was how warm the sun was, and how soft the grass was… maybe Ron had the right idea after all…

-----

"So what was your old school like?" Erica asked over dinner.

"Ah… hard to describe," Harry said, biting into his hamburger. "Big. Not the students, there weren't so many of them, but the building. It was huge, and so hard to get around in – you'd swear it changed day by day, like the staircases and the rooms moved or something."

"It was a boarding school," Ron put in. "Not many of those in America, are there?"

"Not around here," Erica said. "I certainly didn't go to one."

"We had nice dormitories," Harry recalled, "kind of hidden so you couldn't find them unless you knew where to look. It wasn't exactly a secret where they were, but you weren't supposed to go telling people."

"The food was good," Ron said through a mouthful of chips, or fries as Harry had learned Americans called them. "Not that it isn't here."

"It isn't," Erica said bluntly. "Trust me, it isn't. I'll have to bring you boys home with me some weekend, you can try my dad's cooking. He's good. Speaking of boys, where are the girls? I thought they were meeting us here."

"Probably got held up in some meeting or other," Ron said. "Hermione's joined so many clubs she's never home."

"Get used to it," Erica said. "Harry and Ginny will never be home either. Not with the play about to take off. Oh, Harry, just to warn you, Professor Williams, the director, she'll probably want you and Ginny to be accent coaches."

"Accent coaches?" Ron asked.

"She feels Shakespeare goes over better if everyone has a British accent," Erica said, shrugging.

"I don't mind if Ginny doesn't," Harry said, taking another bite of hamburger.

"And while we're on the subject, Harry, don't forget read-through is tomorrow. It's at 7 at the Cashbox."

"Seven?" Harry felt odd. "I… I don't think I can make it. I have somewhere I have to be at seven…"

No, you don't, part of his mind objected. Read-through is where you have to be at seven.

But I have detention, another part insisted. I got detention in my last class, from… oh, what's his name? The nasty fellow…

Fran breezed into Garritty's, saw them in their booth, and came over. "And how are we this fine afternoon?" she said teasingly.

"We are just fine," Erica responded, extending a fry towards Fran, who bit the ketchupy end off it and giggled. "What were you saying, Harry?"

Suddenly, Harry remembered. "Fran, can we reschedule that study session we had on for tomorrow? Erica's just reminded me about read-through at seven."

"Of course," Fran said, taking off her light green jacket and hanging it over Ginny's red one on the hook on the side of the booth. "Day after tomorrow OK?"

"Do we have rehearsal then?" Harry asked Erica.

"You probably won't, your part's fairly small. I may, Ginny might, but you should be all right."

"That's fine," Harry said. "After choir, of course."

"Of course." Fran took her ID card from the pocket of her coat and headed for the food lines.

Suddenly, Erica grabbed Harry by the shoulder and shook him. "Wake up, Harry," she said – with a perfect British accent.

"That's really good," Harry said. "But why are you telling me to wake up?"

"Because we're going to be late," she said, still shaking him. Harry was struck by how much her voice sounded like Hermione's…

-----

"Come on, Harry, wake up," Hermione said in annoyance. "Honestly, anyone would think you hadn't slept all night."

"I had a rough day," Harry yawned, sitting up. "What time is it?"

"3:53. Come on, we'll be late for Muggle Defense. Help me wake Ron."

Ron's eyes popped open as soon as Hermione shook him once. He stared at Harry. "That was the weirdest dream ever," he said as he stood up. "You disappeared right in front of my eyes – I thought you'd learned to Apparate or something!"

"You were dreaming about me?" Harry asked. "Where were we?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. Somewhere with a table and benches. You were across from me. And there was somebody else there, some girl or other…"

"You're dreaming about girls?" Hermione asked a trifle shrilly.

And they're off, ladies and gentlemen… Harry sighed and fell back a step to let Ron and Hermione go at it.

Muggle Defense was held in a classroom Harry had never been in before, on the third floor of the castle. The room was huge, its floor was wooden, and two of its walls were mirrored. Harry wondered what it had been used for before this class was inaugurated.

Professor Fleming was standing against the back wall, now dressed in what looked like a sweatsuit, her hair in a severe bun, watching the two men who were facing one another in the middle of the floor. Both of them wore padded shirts, soft leather boots and gloves, and masks which covered their faces entirely, making it impossible to tell who they were. However, more of the students' attention was fixed on the swords in their hands, with which they were alternately striking and blocking.

"Those are epees," Hermione whispered to the boys. "Fencing swords. The points are blunted – in Muggle classes, they put a thing called a button on it, but here they've probably done it by magic – ah, there, see?"

One of the men had lunged at his opponent, penetrated his guard, and touched him on the vest with the point of the sword. A buzzing noise filled the room. "Hit!" Professor Fleming called, lifting her right hand, and both men lowered their swords. "Point. 4-3. On guard." Both swords snapped up. "Play."

The fighting this time was furious, but the same man who had scored a point the last time finally touched his opponent again, this time on the arm. "Hit," Professor Fleming declared, again raising her right hand. "Five points. Bout to Remus Lupin. Shake hands, gentlemen, well played."

The students broke into applause as Remus removed his mask. "I didn't know he fenced!" Hermione whispered. "He's good!"

"Wonder who the other bloke is?" Ron asked as the fencers shook hands.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Who else is teaching this class, Ron?"

"Not…" Ron trailed off as the other fencer pulled off his mask, revealing the unmistakable features of Severus Snape. "Oh no. We get him for four hours on Mondays? That's not fair."

"Life is not fair, Mr. Weasley," Snape said loudly. Ron flushed. "Mr. Potter, a reminder. Tomorrow night at seven o'clock, my office. I will be expecting you."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, trying not to grit his teeth.

"Shall we start, then?" Remus suggested mildly. Fleming nodded, and Snape merely stalked over to the wall and leaned against it, arms crossed.

"Welcome to the newest course at Hogwarts, Muggle Defense," Remus said as he took off his fencing jacket, revealing that he was wearing an old T-shirt underneath it. "In this class, you will learn some basic skills of self-defense. If you signed up to get an easy pass, I suggest you leave now. There will be work, hard work, involved here. There is, after all, a war going on, and I'm sure all of you would like to survive. If you pay attention and do as you're told, the chances of that may increase." He nodded to Fleming.

"Changing rooms are through the doors behind you," she said, taking over and pointing them out. "Ladies to the right, gentlemen to the left. You will find a shelf with your name on it and a uniform in your size. These are the clothes you will wear in this class. Leave them on your shelf at the end of class to be cleaned. If I see anyone wearing them outside of class time, you will have me to answer to. I expect everyone back in five minutes, dressed. Go."

There was a scramble for the doors. Once through the one demarcated "Boys", Harry found his shelf with no difficulty and pulled on the outfit, which resembled Dudley's old clothes more than anything, except that it actually fit him. He couldn't imagine why Fleming would want them to keep these clothes in the classroom, but she was the teacher.

"Harry, look," said Ron in a whisper, jerking his head toward the back of the room.

Blaise Zabini was changing in the back corner, apparently trying to escape attention. Harry could see why – there were three or four rather spectacular bruises on his arms and torso, and Harry suspected there were more on his legs. He turned his head quickly away, not wanting Blaise to see him staring.

"Wonder what happened," Ron said.

Harry snorted. "Three guesses, and the first two don't count."

"Mmm… he ran into a door."

"No."

"He fell down the stairs."

"Possible, but no."

"Crabbe and Goyle."

"Now you're talking," Harry said grimly.

They reemerged from the changing room and, at Fleming's direction, took seats on the floor. "My remarks this morning to many of you aside, courtesy has no place here," she said bluntly. "This is a training ground, not a classroom. You will pay attention to me and to your other teachers, and you will obey us. Is that understood?"

Silence.

"When I speak to you, you answer me, Yes, ma'am or No, ma'am. When Professor Snape or Professor Lupin speaks to you, you answer Yes, sir or No, sir. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," the class chorused.

"Good. Let us begin."

The rest of the class was a blur to Harry. They were split into groups and told to do stretches, push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks, and other things he thought he'd left behind in primary school. By the end of the two hours, he was as tired as he ever was after Quidditch practice, and wanted nothing more than a rest.

"Pitiful," Fleming said, surveying the class. "Completely pitiful. Homework for Wednesday – a two-mile run. Everyone take one of these." She held up a basket of small devices. "Clip this to your belt when you begin your run. It will flash at you when you reach the one-mile mark and emit a sound when you are finished. It will also tell me how fast you ran and over what kind of terrain. Good luck."

There were moans from some of the students, but everyone took one of the things.

"And bear in mind," Fleming called after them as they went to get changed. "This was the first day. It only gets harder from here."

"Wonderful," Ron said with a groan, sitting down on the bench in the changing room. "I'm going to hurt all over tomorrow."

"Got you beat," Blaise said with the ghost of a smile. "I hurt all over now."

"What happened?" Harry asked quietly.

Blaise's smile vanished. "Malfoy decided to make it a little clearer why I shouldn't be seeing Colleen," he said bitterly. "Or, rather, he decided to have his precious bodyguards make it a little clearer."

"Why are you telling us this?" Ron wanted to know. "Aren't Slytherins supposed to be all secretive?"

"Oh, you're Gryffindors," Blaise said. "Brave and noble. You won't tell anyone. Besides, you already know." He smiled wanly. " 'Always be truthful in accounts of yourself. Simply change the truth afterwards.' My father says that."

"What's it mean?" Harry asked, pulling his shirt over his head.

"I don't know. I think that's why he says it so much."

Ron laughed, and Harry had to smile. He found himself liking Blaise more and more. "Care to eat dinner with us?" he offered.

"If Hermione doesn't mind," Blaise said. "I know you always eat with her."

"She won't," Harry promised.

"Harry?" said Anthony Goldstein on his way out of the room. "When's the first DA meeting?"

Harry shrugged. "Sometime soon. Watch the bulletin boards. We might use this room if they'll let us, otherwise we're back in the Room of Requirement. Let everyone know?"

"Sure."

"Speaking of meetings," Harry said as they made their way down to the Great Hall, "when are you going to hold tryouts for Quidditch, Ron?"

"Next Monday night, I think. No, wait, make that Tuesday. We'll be too tired to fly after this class. Why did we ever sign up for it?"

"Because it's teaching things we're going to need?" Hermione suggested with a wince. "Not that I don't feel the same way, some, but we are going to have to shape up sometime. Now's as good as any. When do you want to go for that run?"

"Not tonight," Harry said. "I'll hurt enough tomorrow as it is. How about tomorrow afternoon, at three, between Herbology and Transfiguration?"

"If we can move," Blaise said. "And if I'm invited. I do have three o'clock off."

"Of course you're invited," Hermione said with a smile.

Harry smiled too, and quietly elbowed Ron in the ribs. "Don't get jealous," he muttered. "She's just being nice."

"Fine," Ron said huffily. "And you didn't have to get me right where Fleming kicked me."

"Sorry." Professor Fleming had been displeased with Ron's rate of sit-ups and had provided a little gentle motivation. She had then called him "totally hopeless". Hermione had been unable to complete even three push-ups and been classified as "only good for lifting books". Harry had gotten off with "not entirely without promise".

"From Athena, that's a compliment," Remus had told him quietly a few minutes later. "And she doesn't compliment lightly."

So I've been complimented by one Slytherin and I'm eating with another one. Life is certainly more complicated than it was a few days ago.

But I think it's also going to be more fun.

-----

(A/N: It's less than a week since my last one… just barely…

emikae: Not exactly that you should have figured out, but I think I did drop enough clues that you could have if you read really hard…

MAndrews: What, write an apology letter to a professor for spying on his thoughts?

marathonerobsessed: Well, you already took my life, you can't have my brain!

Tanydwr: I'll try!

MackenzieW: That's wonderful.

Jbfritz, harryp123: Thank you!

I hope updates will be more plentiful in the days to come… I'm getting over the exposition-heavy part, so there might even be some action soon, but please don't quote me!)