Reaching Maturity

Disclaimer: not mine. Am borrowing and will return.

A/N: my name is not Bob Anderson (for those that don't know who he is, he's the guy that teaches the swordfighting and so on to actors in big Hollywood movies, including Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Caribbean). I know nothing about swordfighting, so don't moan at me if I've got things wrong. If you know something about swordfighting please let me know!

A/N 2: the things Draco thinks about towards the end of this chapter when he is gazing up at the stars are things I often think about, and discuss with my dad in great depth (my mum has no interest in such topics)

A/N 3: whoa, another super-long chapter! Not intentional; that's just how it happened!

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Chapter 23: Advanced Lessons

"Becoming an Animagus is rather like buying one of Mr. Ollivander's wands," McGonagall lectured the next morning. "You do not choose the wand; the wand chooses you – or in the case of the Animagus transformation, your character determines which creature you become." She quickly transformed into her tabby cat form and back again.

"Which is exactly why it's our fault for not sussing out Pettigrew sooner," growled Sirius. "A rat – should've known he'd betray Lily and James when –"

"Thank you, Sirius," McGonagall interrupted brusquely. "If you were still a student, I would remove points from Gryffindor for not paying close enough attention in lessons." Glaring at the Azkaban escapee, she returned to her lecture, all four listening earnestly.

Sirius, when it was his turn, explained exactly how he, James and Peter had worked out how to become Animagi. McGonagall attempted to maintain a stern, disapproving expression on her face, but failed miserably and was soon laughing along with the four students at the Marauders' exploits.

While Sirius was talking, she was closely scrutinising the four, trying to work out their possible Animagus forms. Draco was easy – a fox, because his nature was so like that of the creature. Hermione, for some reason, would become an otter. Hannah was harder…perhaps a cat? And Harry would in all likelihood become some sort of lion. Preferably a small one.

She glanced at the clock and gave a small cry of surprise. "Good grief! I have a large class of second-years to teach!" She hurriedly got to her feet. "I must go at once! Professor Snape will be here soon. Sirius, you don't need to stay."

"I won't," said Sirius curtly, getting to his feet and nodding at the four seventh-years. "I'll see you lot later." He swiftly transformed into Padfoot and slipped out of the room, just ahead of McGonagall.

"I never realised we had to know so much!" breathed Hannah, somewhat alarmed. "I wonder what I'll be if I do manage to become an Animagus."

"Same," said Harry, nodding in agreement. "What do you think Snape will be doing with us?" He was somewhat apprehensive; he still disliked the Potions Master immensely and the feeling was reciprocated even more intensely.

"I wonder if maybe he might do some kind of invisibility potion – no offence intended, Harry, but it would be better than your Cloak, because you won't be stepping on it and therefore risking being discovered," replied Draco. "Perceptivity, some truth potions, healing potions – highly important! – incapacitating potions, sleeping draughts, maybe Wolfsbane if we're working closely with Lupin, Polyjuice to infiltrate the Death Eaters if necessary…" He then reeled off a long list of specific potions, quite a few of which Harry had never heard of.

"How do you know all of this!" asked Hermione in amazement.

"I love Potions and I'm good at it," he replied simply with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "I'm not top just because I'm Snape's favourite; I am actually good at it." In the past he would have said it in a boastful way, but now he just stated it in a very matter-of-fact, reserved tone. "When I leave school I want to do something involving potion-making; maybe research – some potions used medically have absolutely horrendous side-effects. St. Mungo's are always eager to take on medical researchers. I haven't completely decided yet."

"You're more decided than I am," admitted Hermione.

"And me," added Hannah. She paused, then stared at Hermione in stunned amazement. "You, Hermione Granger, haven't decided what you're going to do with your life?"

Hermione shrugged. "I plan on doing something academic, maybe writing books, but I'm waiting for a few things to be sorted. I'm saying no more than that."

"You mean you're trying to decide between a huge number of excellent job offers," Harry interpreted.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. "And you?"

Harry turned pink and fell silent, averting his gaze. Three sets of eyes turned on him. "What?" he demanded.

"Spit it out, Harry," ordered Hermione. "We know you're hiding something."

"Yeah; you're a really bad liar, Potter," added Draco, smirking.

Harry sighed resignedly. "OK, OK, you got me." He delved into his robes and pulled out a very official-looking envelope with two crossed golden bulrushes on a circle of navy blue, in the top left-hand corner.

"That's the Puddlemere United crest," said Draco slowly, taking the envelope from Harry and easing the parchment out of it. He scanned the letter and almost dropped it. "Flipping heck, Potter!"

"What?" demanded Hermione impatiently, reaching out for the envelope and attempting to snatch it from Draco's hand. Draco held the letter out of her reach.

"Puddlemere United's Seeker is retiring at the end of this season," Harry informed them.

"And they only want Harry! Our Harry!" added Draco. "I know you're good, but still…"

Harry shrugged, embarrassed. "There's going to be an announcement at the Leaving Feast." He flushed. "It's not that big a deal."

"Yes it is!" retorted Hannah fiercely. "You could well be playing for England one day! You could win us the World Cup!"

"I'm not that good," mumbled Harry uncomfortably, shifting in his seat.

"Harry, I've played against you numerous times and you've never beaten me," cut in Draco. "A professional side – a good one at that – want you. I hope you've accepted the offer. They're like gold dust."

"I'll get to see Oliver Wood again; he plays for them," said Harry thoughtfully, thinking of his old captain when he had first come to Hogwarts.

"I bet he'll be over the moon," predicted Hermione. "He'll probably be more intense than ever – if that's possible."

They sat in silence, examining Harry's letter in close detail until Snape swept in. "Good morning. I hope you are not too tired, Draco?"

"I'm fine; all I've been doing is listening to Sirius and McGonagall," answered Draco quickly.

"I suggest you all get out something to write on and with," said Snape briskly. "I am going to give you the recipes for a number of potions today and we will spend the rest of the week making – or attempting to make – them. Pay close attention. If you want me to go over anything, do not hesitate to ask. Ready? Good. First, the Perceptivity Potion, which, when taken, enhances your senses and you can also sense any recent spells performed within a room, or a certain radius when out in the open. One or two Aurors in the past have, I believe, suffered from severe overdoses – Perceptivity is an excellent potion for an Auror to use because it enables them to sense the lingering traces of Dark magic. It will no doubt be invaluable in any battle situation."

He began reeling off the ingredients and procedure, checking that they had everything written down correctly by making each one of them in turn read their work out to him. Each was perfect, with the exception of Draco towards the end, who had found his concentration wandering. Snape allowed a small smile to flicker briefly across his face; Perceptivity was one of the hardest of the potions he would be teaching them. "I know that you learned the theory behind the Polyjuice Potion last year, although I cannot expect any of you to have actually made it…Granger, Potter, what is so amusing?"

For Harry and Hermione had caught each other's eyes and had burst into uncontrollable laughter. Eventually Hermione forced herself to calm down enough to speak, shooting a guilty look at the teacher. "Sorry, Professor Snape. It's just that, well, in our second year, we – that is, Ron, Harry and I – er, we thought that Draco was the heir of Slytherin. Sorry about that," she apologised hastily to Draco, who narrowed his eyes at her. "Anyway, Ron and Harry took the Polyjuice and became Crabbe and Goyle respectively, during the Christmas holidays, to try to find out if Draco was the heir."

"Which I'm not," put in Draco. "A sort-of descendant from what I can gather although not directly, yes, but not the heir."

"I know that now," said Hermione quickly. "But the point is, Harry and I know what we're doing with the Polyjuice Potion. We – I mean I – took some of your Boomslang skin, that lesson when Harry threw a firework into someone's Swelling Solution as a distraction. Sorry, Professor Snape."

"So that's where it went…" Snape turned away for a moment as he struggled to maintain a stern and forbidding demeanour. He was unable, however, to keep a small expression of pride from his face when he turned back. "Certainly a…creative way of trying to unearth things. I will give you that." He grew serious again. "Back to business. Incapacitating potions. A strong one may well be necessary if you have someone advancing on you with the intention of killing you and the Impedimenta spell has failed to halt them…"

By the end of the session, all four were exhausted, minds whirling with new information that they knew they had to retain and hand aching from frantic scribbling in an attempt to get everything down. They had taken a break halfway through, but it did nothing to prevent Draco from being completely drained. At lunch, he picked at his food, barely eating anything. He wasn't hungry and eating just required too much effort for him to be able to do so.

Hannah watched him and, after a few minutes, decided that enough was enough. "Go and lie down," she ordered. "You'll feel better this afternoon if you rest now." She helped him over to his bed, where he immediately fell asleep. Hannah returned to her seat, her face clearly showing the strain and anxiety she was feeling. "He shouldn't be doing this," she said quietly, despairingly, pushing her hair back from her face. "It's not fair on him. He'll be killed for sure." She had to bite her lip to keep back the tears that threatened. "I'm scared. Not for me, but for him."

The other two remained silent, not knowing what to say.

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Draco seemed somewhat refreshed – and definitely more lively – by the time Lupin and Figg arrived, both carrying swords that had, the teachers informed them, been borrowed from various suits of armour (which, judging by the superficial lacerations on Lupin's cheek, had not taken kindly to this). "Sword skills," Lupin told them cheerfully, as Madam Pomfrey hurried up. "I'm going to bewitch these and your swords –"

"You are going to let me deal with those cuts, prior to bewitching anything," interrupted Pomfrey. "Professor Figg can do the bewitching."

Lupin meekly allowed himself to be led away, knowing better than to argue with Poppy Pomfrey.

Figg took over, smiling at the four. "I am going to bewitch the swords so they're blunt and thus can't cause any serious injuries. I wouldn't be too popular with Poppy if I let you get hurt. When the practice is over, I'll remove the spell. You need to be familiar with your own swords. Well, what are you waiting for? Get them out!"

They hurriedly obeyed and Figg placed the charm on each sword in turn. "I wouldn't advise using this spell in combat on your opponent's weapon – they'll only retaliate and put the spell on your sword. Utterly useless in battle." She returned the now-charmed swords to their owners. "Pair up. Boys, go together. Girls, you do the same."

Lupin reappeared at that point, cuts healed. He and Figg demonstrated the basic moves several times and talked the four through them. "Your turn now," he eventually announced. H and Figg watched carefully, warning them to not try to go too fast just yet and to be careful. They corrected where necessary and praised Hannah when she managed to knock Hermione's sword from her hands.

Pomfrey appeared at one point, grumbled a bit and then, seeing that there were no injuries, departed to see to a second-year Hufflepuff girl who had got caught in the crossfire of the violent break-up of a Ravenclaw couple.

Eventually the four collapsed, worn out, to the floor. Lupin and Figg beamed at them. "Excellent start!" Figg told them. "I look forward to doing more with you tomorrow. I must go – I have a third-year class to teach." She hurried off.

Lupin removed the blunting charm from the swords. "Major and serious curses. We need to discuss them. You all need to know them. Sit down and make yourself comfortable – not too comfortable, Harry! You're not going to sleep yet!" he hastily added as Harry settled himself onto the two-person sofa and leaned against Hermione. Harry, feigning annoyance, glared at him before obediently making himself slightly less comfortable.

Lupin handed them each a thick booklet of A4-sized Muggle sheets of paper stapled together. Hannah, who was mildly dyslexic, let out a cry of pleased surprise when Lupin gave her a booklet of lilac, rather than white, paper. "You remembered!"

Lupin nodded. "You said that lilac was a better background for you than white, and you normally write your essays on lilac."

"It was the first spell I learned – the one that turns paper lilac."

"I have a good friend not too far from Hogwarts – Muggle – who let me use his computer to type up and print all of this." Draco, who had been brought up exclusively in the wizarding world, and Hannah, who had only very limited knowledge of the Muggle world and parents that were slow to learn about new Muggle technology, both looked extremely confused. Lupin, with some assistance from Harry and Hermione, attempted to explain what a computer was.

He failed miserably and, after a long time of Hannah and Draco looking steadily more bewildered, gave up. "I want you to read the entire booklet. It contains just about every curse the Death Eaters may use. Severus and I put a lot of work into this, and we don't think that we've left anything out, but please, let me know of any that you know that we've missed. As you can see, I've listed the names of the curses, the incantations, the effects and the counter-curses. Learn them. On Wednesday I'll be testing your shields – although from what I've seen in lessons over the last two terms from all four of you, it'll just be a formality. Now get reading."

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They were worked extremely hard that week. Figg was delighted at their sword-fighting skills, which were improving swifter than her wildest dreams. When Harry commented on his rapidly-developing ability and control over the weapon, she responded with, "The power of the Founders, and their skills, are flowing through you; you do possess their swords, after all."

McGonagall and Sirius had taken them out on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday evening to work on Apparating, as it was a useful skill to have, particularly if they needed to get out of a situation quickly. They were both astounded at the huge amount of progress they had made by the end of Friday's lesson. She promised to arrange for them to take their tests soon. The Animagus transformations impressed her no end – very difficult normally, especially as they had only been studying it for an incredibly short length of time. It was all put down to the powers of the Four Founders.

On the Saturday Harry became the first to completely transform. He was followed swiftly by Hermione, who was not to be outdone, then Hannah, and then finally, on the Monday, Draco succeeded. All four swore afterwards that there had been tears in the eyes of both Sirius and McGonagall, the latter of whom awarded thirty points to each student.

Snape, much as he attempted to mask it, was nevertheless clearly impressed by their abilities in potion-brewing. Draco was still the best out of the quartet, but this was not to be regarded as a negative light upon the other three. The Potions Master was making them learn and make as many potions as their time would allow, setting "homework" on a couple of occasions to see how they coped.

The night Draco had succeeded in transforming, he found himself unable to sleep, so he wandered out of the hospital wing and settled himself on the wide window ledge of the window just outside the hospital wing. The silvery moonlight caught his white-blond hair and pale skin, giving him a ghostly, almost unearthly appearance that would have scared some of the youngest students (and occasionally had done in the past). Although he sat there in his pyjamas and thick dressing-gown as he felt the cold extremely easily, Salazar Slytherin's sword was buckled firmly around his waist.

He would quite willingly admit to his three closest friends and even some of the teachers that he had never been this scared before. It did not, in his opinion, require a rocket scientist – whatever one of those was; it was a phrase Hermione frequently muttered under her breath if she felt that something was simple – to tell him that he would have to fight Voldemort's followers, possibly even his own father, in the next few weeks.

That evening, McGonagall had gravely informed them of the murder of Fudge's wife. The list of murders committed by Death Eaters grew longer daily. Draco idly wondered how many his father and Aunt Bellatrix had been responsible for. Last summer Lucius had boasted about being present at the murders of James and Lily Potter. Even though Draco was somewhat sceptical about that particular claim, it had been the thing that had finally done it for Draco. He had taken the decision to turn against the Dark Side; he had sat listening to his father gloating, growing increasingly sick as the man had continued.

Two nights ago, the nightmares had stolen any restful sleep from him, returning abruptly and violently. Tonight he hadn't even wanted to close his eyes, and even though he knew that he would suffer the nest day, he didn't care. Anything to stop the nightmares; he only used dreamless sleep potion sparingly, due to the addictive nature of the most potent ones.

It was, he noted, a clear, beautiful night as he examined the heavens, the stars twinkling white dots against a dark, almost black, sky, identifying the stars and constellations courtesy of Professor Sinistra. He'd always enjoyed astronomy, even from when he was as young as five. Whenever he had been unable to sleep, he would either go outside into the manor grounds or up to the top of the school's Astronomy tower – where he always took special care to avoid Filch and Mrs. Norris – to simply gaze up at the jewels adorning the night sky.

Darkness had always been his friend, and he often felt some kind of affinity with the stars – each one from Earth a tiny, insignificant dot of white in the vastness of the universe. It was nights like these when he thought deeply about the nature of the universe; was it still expanding, and if so, at what rate? Faster and speeding up all the time? Remaining constant? Slowing down? Was there a point at which it stopped expanding and started contracting instead, everything in it hurtling back towards the pinprick it had once come from, to meet with a Big Crunch, as Muggle physicists had called it? Would there then be another Big Bang, followed by another Big Crunch, repeating, cycling, endlessly? Had there been previous Big Bangs and Big Crunches? If so, how long was the timespan between the Bang and Crunch? How many?

As for the edge of the universe, what was beyond that? What was that like? How would you know when you had crossed the boundary? Was there a boundary? Could you cross it? What about other, parallel universes that supposedly existed?

He allowed himself a wry smile. He often got carried away when he started thinking about such things. His father, he knew, wouldn't approve of such fantastical, dreamy thoughts – but Draco wasn't his father.

This realisation hit him as hard as if every single stone from the Hogwarts castle had slammed into him, and his eyes widened. "I'm not my father," he whispered to himself. "I'm not." He knew it sounded ridiculous, should anyone have heard – after all, he knew his name was Draco, not Lucius – but he had been brought up to believe himself to be nothing more than his father's clone, to be of the same mindset and opinions.

He leaned back against the wall, left shoulder resting against the glass in the window, right hand falling to hang by his side, lightly brushing against the lump under his dressing-gown that was the hilt of his sword. It was, he thought, a spectacular view across the grounds and the Forbidden Forest.

"Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?"

Draco jumped, startled out of his thoughts and nearly falling off the window ledge in his surprise. "Blaise! What are you doing up here at…" He glanced at his watch, "…ten past one in the morning?"

"Could ask you the same thing!" retorted Blaise. "Thought you were ill. Can't somehow see Pomfrey letting you out from under her beady eye if you're as ill as everyone says you are." He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his housemate.

Draco shrugged. "I couldn't sleep. Why are you up here? Most people are in bed at this time – especially you. You're usually snoring fit to wake the Gryffindors in their tower by now!"

Blaise tossed his dark head in annoyance, averting his gaze. "I fell out of bed. I think I sprained my wrist."

Draco muttered something under his breath about the nature of other boy's relationship with Pansy Parkinson.

"You want to be careful, Malfoy; you're taking a big risk." His cold, dark stare was piercing as he looked back at Draco.

"Pomfrey will get me out of any trouble with Filch. Plus I am a prefect," replied Draco calmly, turning his head to look out of the window again, yet in such a way that he could still see Blaise. He knew there was some kind of double meaning to his words, but he was too intelligent to let on that he knew about it. "I'd get your wrist seen to, if I were you. The sooner you get it treated, the less long-term damage there is. And you don't want a dodgy wrist, I'm sure. I doubt Pansy would like that…"

"What? Oh. Yeah. That." Blaise abruptly strode off down the corridor to Madam Pomfrey's office. Draco felt himself beginning to feel dozy, so he stood and went back to his bed before he fell asleep on the window ledge. Despite his words to Blaise and his position of prefect that permitted some wandering of the school after curfew, he still felt no desire whatsoever to be caught by the vindictive Squib caretaker and/or his equally nasty cat. Draco liked cats as a rule, but not even the cat-loving Mandy Brocklehurst from Ravenclaw could bring herself to speak good of Mrs. Norris.

Despite his sleepiness, it still took him a long time to fall asleep that night.

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TBC

A/N PS: I've recently been informed that we're not meant to do author thanks. However, a number of people asked various questions and so I'm using this space to answer them as it will enhance your understanding of the story.

I suppose you could well think of this as the calm before the storm – which is perhaps worse (Pippin from LOTR certainly thinks so).

Ron, although I haven't explicitly stated but have hinted at, is spending all his time with Parvati Patil. He isn't part of the Assembly and has a very black-and-white perception of the world, unlike Harry and Hermione, so they've drifted apart. I know this is unlikely in Rowling's universe, but you don't know yet – after all, only five of the books are out so far!

The Assembly are completely isolated from the rest of the school. Everyone knows Draco's ill, it's quite plausible that Hermione would have collapsed from overwork, I doubt many would be surprised at the possibility of Dumbledore withdrawing Harry from the school for 'extra training', and as for Hannah, it's entirely possible that she could have collapsed from overwork or need a break from school due to stress.

I am planing on doing a one-shot sort of postscript about the Founders' Assembly (probably in the form of Hermione either writing it herself or reading it somewhere).